Twist of Fate
by FirePhoenix8
Summary: Harry is taken the night Dumbledore is about to leave him with the Dursleys. With forces meddling in the timeline, Harry and Tom become the Riddle brothers. Follow the boys from the 1930s, WWII & Grindelwald, to canon years and a much changed future. Slash.
1. Part I: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**Part I: Chapter 1**

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A lizard, unnaturally still, observed the proceedings from its inconspicuous position on the front fence of the muggle house. It was attentive, yet inwardly sneered as it watched as the tabby cat transformed into a severe-looking woman dressed in green robes, her black hair drawn into a tight, strict bun.

Lucius Malfoy didn't move a muscle of his animagus form, while Minerva McGonagall wasted no time in making her opinions known as soon as the old fool reached her after having put out the lights from the lamps of the muggle street.

Her conversation with Albus Dumbledore, in that most ominous of days for dark wizarding kind, flickered in and out of his awareness as he awaited for what was to happen.

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said the witch, looking distinctly ruffled.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating?" said the old goat, his blue eyes twinkling, which provoked a small spasm of fury in the tail of the unseen and undetected lizard. "I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the dark living-room window of house number four of Privet Drive. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

Lucius didn't bother paying attention to the doddering old fool's reply. With icy calculation, he was wondering the same thing. He pondered about the sequence of events of the last months which had brought him to be there, in a filthy muggle street, in his animagus form on the fence of a house which belonged to the relatives of the mudblood Lily Evans. The mudblood who had been killed, along with her husband, last night – murdered by his Lord. And if rumors were to be believed, it was her one-year-old son who had brought upon the death of his Master.

He knew very well that part of it had began over a year ago, when Severus Snape had barged in a Death Eater meeting, gasping about something he had overheard, something about a prophecy. Neither Lucius nor the other Death Eaters had been allowed to hear anything about the matter, since their Lord had instantly commanded them to leave him alone with Severus.

But it had started then, with the Longbottoms and Potters going into hiding, with the useless rat, Peter Pettigrew, somehow gaining favor with his Lord, with a strange wizard in hooded grey cloak visiting the Dark Lord behind closed doors, and with the news that Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter were pregnant, with his Lord becoming uncommonly interested in such a mundane and irrelevant matter.

Lucius hadn't quite known what to think regarding his Lord's change in attitude - the Dark Lord's obsession with the spawn growing in the mudblood's womb.

Yes, for many Death Eaters, it had all began over a year ago, but for him, it started exactly thirteen years ago – the day he had seen his father for the last time. The day his father, the wizard he revered and admired above all others, had told him things he didn't quite understand, when he had been given his father's grimoire, with instructions about the ritual he had to use on his family and those he considered worthy.

And he had done so many years later -precisely last night- even when he didn't understand the reason or importance of subjecting his wife and one-year-old son to the strange ritual. Even after he had bestowed the same favor on his sister-in-law, the Lestrange brothers, and others attached to his family, there were many things he still didn't comprehend, despite following his father's orders without any hesitation.

Indeed, what had happened last night only served to perplex him further, since in the precise moment he had felt his Dark Mark flaring painfully on his left arm, knowing that something terrible must have happened to his Lord, the pensieve his father had left him so many years ago had suddenly been unlocked.

Restraining his unhinged sister-in-law from going out and taking vengeance for their Lord's demise, knowing that it would pain Narcissa if something happened to Bellatrix, Lucius had commandeered the Death Eaters and ordered them to wait, to bid for the appropriate time in which to take any measures and actions.

Despite taking the mantle of leadership with icy determination and cool calmness, Lucius admitted to himself that he was none the wiser about the events which had transpired. The moment he realized the wards on his father's pensieve had dropped, he had wasted no time in plunging into the memories which had been left for him so many years ago, but they had only served to confuse and flummox him further.

Nevertheless, there he was, awaiting to witness something his father had foretold so that he could, at last, understand his father's motives and course of action, and indeed, the very reasons for many of his own actions which he had taken following the orders his father had so long ago given him.

Lucius pulled out of his musings when a low rumbling sound echoed in the night. Scrambling in his animagus form, the lizard quickly dashed along the fence to have a better angle from which to observe the proceedings, at the precise moment in which a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of McGonagall and Dumbledore.

He recognized the oaf immediately. It was the Groundskeeper of Hogwarts, whom he had tried, as one of the Governors of the school, to sack repeatedly and which Dumbledore had always prevented. Lucius repressed an inward sneer of disgust and merely kept absolutely still as his small lizard eyes fixed on what the half-giant was holding in a bundle of blankets with depicted snitches flying across the cloth.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

The lizard watched how the old fool and McGonagall reached the half-giant, catching sight of Dumbledore carefully plucking out a letter from his robes' pocket, undoubtedly addressed to the filthy muggles living in the house behind them.

For a moment, Lucius felt a twinge of disgust and pity for the baby – a baby who none, other than the Potters' closest friends, could have seen, having been born, as it was, when the Potters had been in hiding. Dumbledore, given the old fool's expression of gentle expectation, had certainly never laid eyes upon the baby.

If the baby wasn't the spawn of a mudblood and a Potter, and hadn't been the reason for the Dark Lord's downfall, Lucius thought he would have seriously considered snatching it away to bring up the whelp like a magical child should properly be raised, instead of being left with despicable muggles.

However, he remained still in his animagus form as he observed how Dumbledore and McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead, a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning, could be seen. Even from his position, Lucius could feel that it thrummed with Dark Magic, and his lizard body twitched as confusion settled in his mind and as yearning to feel that intoxicating magic trickled on his skin.

Suddenly, it happened the very moment, the very instant that Dumbledore's eyes widened when his gaze zeroed in on the cut on the baby's forehead, one of the wizard's fingers shakily coming forth to touch it.

Lucius felt it acutely, a constriction of air as magic abruptly seemed to snap and thunder around them in rolling, blistering waves. He felt it in his very being, in his soul, mind and body, and he haphazardly fell to the ground, twitching while he suddenly found he could no longer maintain his animagus form.

"Harry Potter," gasped out Dumbledore, swaying on his feet, an expression of deep pain etching on his face as his pupils dilated behind his spectacles, looking as if his mind was being torn and split apart. A shaking finger still poised on the cut on the baby's forehead, just as shocked realization seemed to sweep across his aged features. "Harry Riddle."

'Harry Riddle', the words reverberated in Lucius' mind, but not in the old fool's voice. No, it was in the cultivated tenor of his father's voice, echoing in his mind like in the day they had been spoken, thirteen years ago, when his father had told him about the boy he had known. It was the same name which had been imprinted in his mind last night, as were the images of the green eyes and beautiful face, when he had seen the memories his father had left for him.

A chilly fear of being discovered and undoubtedly captured as a Death Eater swept over him, but none of those present seemed to even notice that a wizard had just appeared on the grass, transforming from a lizard.

McGonagall, the half-giant, and clearly Dumbledore, seemed to be experiencing the same as he was. They swayed and teetered where they stood, their eyes became clouded, their expressions one of deep pain, looking as if their minds were being ravaged, as his own was. Yet his experience wasn't a painful one. And he started to slowly realize what it all meant; the memories he had seen, the instructions his father had left for him, the ritual he had underwent and made others go through as well.

"No – can't be 'Arry Riddle!" the oaf cried out, stumbling on his large feet as he protectively pressed the baby against the coarse material of his coat.

But whatever the half-giant was frantically blabbering about with anguish and disbelief, it was ignored the moment they were all blinded by a flash of light.

Lucius, crouching on the muggles' lawn, in a position he would had never found himself in, being on hands and knees, froze and simply stared at the wizard who had materialized before them, instincts of one having been raised in Slytherin House coming forth to ensure his own survival.

He recognized him immediately as the eerie man who had previously been visiting the Dark Lord – dressed in a grey cloak, with a hood which cast his face in shadows and, in one finger, with a strange ring flashing under the moonlight, a symbol in the black gem he couldn't quite discern.

Lucius might be certain that the wizard was the same one he had seen entering his Lord's study, some months ago, but he surely didn't know the man's identity. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to recognize exactly who the man was and what his intentions were.

Not a word was spoken, but Dumbledore's expression turned thunderous and the old wizard immediately whipped out his wand. It soon proved to be useless - no matter what spells the old fool cast, the cloaked wizard was evidently protected by layers of shimmering magical shields.

In the bat of an eyelash, as Dumbledore swept forward to drive the unknown wizard away, a loud wail pierced the night as the bundle of blankets in the half-giant's arms flew from the oaf's grasp, the baby rushing across the air towards the cloaked wizard.

The silent man brought up something in his hands, his ring flashing under the moonlight, as clouds of wispy air wrapped around him. In the next second, as the wailing baby was about to clash against the wizard's chest, the man threw up something in the air and specks of golden dust showered down on the baby.

An incantation in a strange language Lucius knew not, was spoken, and in that instant, the baby who now floated amidst blankets in mid air, was encompassed by a globe of golden light. With a bright flash of whiteness, Harry Potter disappeared into thin air, silently, only a puff of golden specks remaining. Along with the baby, just as quietly but much more inconspicuously, the strange wizard had vanished.

It was in that very same second, as soon as the baby had been taken away, that everything seemed to ripple around Lucius, an avalanche of images and memories raging in his mind – that which should be painful, the very shifting of a timeline, the adjustment of his own previous memories, came to him as nothing more than gentle additions in his recollections.

He finally understood the reason for the ritual his father had written in the Malfoy grimoire. He felt it in his very being – the winds of change, the twisting of fate that was rippling across all the wizarding world, leaving him and those who had underwent the ritual, to adjust to such shattering modifications in lives and pasts with gentle ease, keeping their memories and their very existence intact, only adding more recollections to their minds, of things that hadn't happened but now, had.

Lucius didn't spare a glance at Dumbledore or the other two remaining, not caring what would become of them, yet having the inkling that one as powerful as Dumbledore would survive and cling to his own memories and what was now his past reality – never to be true again.

With an inaudible 'crack', he instantly apparated to his manor, to the side of his wife and one-year-old son, Draco. Later that night, those who had undergone the ritual and others who had been similarly protected, gathered in Malfoy Manor to celebrate the Dark's soon-to-be reign over Europe, for their Lord had been all-knowing and all-powerful. Their Master had planned everything with utter perfection.

And Lucius would receive a wizard who many had previously believed to be long dead, struck down by dragon pox at an old age. He would hear the story of how Harry Potter came to be Harry Riddle, named as such by a muggle girl, of all twists of fate – a girl who was, unbeknownst to her, the daughter of a squib, a girl who would die in anonymity and whose only impact in the Wizarding World would be the bestowing of a surname to a baby who captured her gentle and tender heart, the repercussions of it stretching out and rippling through time and throughout the lives of all.

That very same night, as the winds of change swept over the Wizarding World, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would conceive their second son.

* * *

Alice Jones inwardly sighed as she did her best to present a chastised and contrite expression on her face while Mrs. Sharpe continued yelling at her and Kathy. She reminded herself that she couldn't afford to hurl her apron at the nasty woman and quit her job there. It had been a miracle, by itself, that she had found the position in such precarious times, even if the wages were dismal.

She needed all the pennies she could scrap together to put food on the table, for her sister and brother. Furthermore, it was her duty -she felt in the bottom of her heart- to make the lives of the children there as happy and merry as possible.

It had taken her a year to find a job and by the end of such period of time she had been so desperate that she had taken whatever was offered. She was literate, thanks to her mother who had been a school teacher and who always insisted that she would go nowhere without an education, and therefore had hoped to find a post as a bookkeeper in some shop. But no one wanted to employ a young girl, no matter if she knew her letters and numbers.

Alice covertly glanced around the room she was standing in, her cheerful optimism not being daunted by what she saw. The home was a ghastly place, with wallpapers torn and peeling from the walls, the walls themselves moldy and stained with black spots of humidity, the many bedrooms in the house tiny and grim, with meager, shabby furniture. But at least everything was spotlessly clean – thanks to her and Kathy's efforts, that was, because Mrs. Sharpe certainly didn't care if the children in the home rolled around in grime and fell ill from unsanitary conditions.

She had been employed a month ago and her heart already swelled with compassion for the children who lived there. What chances did any of them have to be adopted? Slim to none, she thought. Yet her naturally cheerful disposition brightened when she reminded herself that she had persuaded Mrs. Sharpe to allow her to teach the children their alphabet and how to read and write. She didn't think Mrs. Sharpe had agreed out of the kindness of her heart, but because the Matron was gaining a teacher for free – Alice's wages certainly hadn't been increased.

Abruptly, she locked gazes with Kathy and her lips momentarily quirked upwards in a covert grin as Mrs. Sharpe kept railing at them. In Kathy's eyes, she saw the same abhorrence she felt for the Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage. Kathy had been working there for over a year and they had instantly become friends, being the youngest of the caregivers.

Kathy and she had often speculated what Mrs. Sharpe did with the money the British government granted to the orphanage. Why was there never meat for the children to eat, why was there nothing to drink but water from the tab, and why the only clothes that were bought were second-hand frayed ones which looked about to shed to pieces?

Well, they knew why. Mrs. Sharpe liked her gin and liked to have a proper bed in her room and other comforts, while the children slept in ratty cots. But, Alice also had to admit, it was very possible that the funds for the orphanage had been cut short, as many things had in London during the past few years. She didn't like to badmouth or think the worst about her employer.

Suddenly, Alice's head jerked upwards when she thought she heard the wailing of a child coming from the outside. A strange tingling sensation prickled on her skin – the kind of thing she had long ago learned to pay attention to.

Some time ago, when her little sister had been crossing a street, playing with her friends, she had felt the same thing, just in time to see a motorcar about to run over her sister. She had saved her in time. From them onwards, no matter why her skin tingled, she always became alert and took seriously that eerie perception.

"Did you hear that, ma'am?" said Alice politely, interrupting Mrs. Sharpe's drunken and bellowed rants about their lax and forgiving hand with the children under their care.

"Hear what, girl?" spat out Mrs. Sharpe, her beady black eyes narrowing with distaste and anger.

"I think-" Alice stopped and then gasped when the wail sounded clearly through the window of Mrs. Sharpe's office. "There's a baby outside!"

"Well, go get it, lass," snapped Mrs. Sharpe, briskly waving a hand at her and Kathy. "I'm not paying you to stand there gaping."

Alice didn't have to be told twice, and Kathy soon followed after her heels, undoubtedly relieved of being spared from the presence of their employer.

"Nasty old crow," grumbled Kathy under her breath as they quickly made their way along the narrow corridor, the hem of their worn, grey dresses swishing as the floorboards creaked under their feet.

"She does her best, I'm sure," murmured Alice with an apprehensive frown on her round face. "None of us has it easy nowadays, with poverty, unemployment and hunger all around."

Kathy's expression turned grim. "The Americans are doing worse from what the radio says – flinging themselves from the windows of their tall buildings, I've heard…"

"The newspapers are calling what we're living the Great Depression," muttered Alice under her breath as they dashed around a corner. "I never thought that after the Great War things could be bad again. I was just a little girl then, but I remember clearly how my dad-"

She clamped her mouth shut when Kathy shot her a pitying glance. She wouldn't say more. She had already confided in her friend about how her father had come back from the Great War, perturbed and violent. Disfigured, having lost an eye and an arm in the war, her father couldn't find a job when he returned to England and things just spiraled downwards from there on.

She still thought that it was a blessing that her dad had left their shabby, small house in Cheapside, five years ago - to make fortune in America, he had said. But neither she, her siblings nor their mother had ever seen or heard from him again. And she thought it was for the best – the man who had been so gentle and loving once, had turned into a nightmare to live with, and her mother had sustained the full brunt of his unbalanced temper.

Her mother… it still pained her to think about her. She had been a caring, smart woman, a teacher in a school for children of well-to-do families. But after her dad had left and the school had gone bankrupt, her mother's mind had snapped when they had been plunged into poverty after her mother had been dismissed from her job.

It was the only plausible explanation Alice could find regarding her mother's behavior. 'Crazed', their neighbors had started calling her mother, when her mother began going around saying that her parents would soon come for her and her children and take them away to their mansion, to a world of wealth, where there was no hunger or desperation, no people groveling and begging in the streets, but palaces and castles where food appeared on tables, where little green creatures cleaned with a snap of their fingers, where portraits spoke and horses had wings.

A year ago, when her mother had been dying from pneumonia, still in her deathbed did she feverishly speak about it, reassuring Alice and her two younger siblings that their grandparents, whom they had never met or known about, would come for them and take care of them. That they would forgive their mother for not being like them and take her children to live with them in wealth, like princes. Of course, that had never happened; Alice had never seen hide nor hair of these estranged grandparents or received any letters.

"Oh my, you were right!"

Alice snapped her head up when she found that they had reached the front door and that Kathy had opened it and was now staring at a squirming bundle of blankets on the steps – and strange blankets they were.

Without another hitch of breath, Alice bent downwards and gently took hold of the baby that had been abandoned at the orphanage's doorstep, first marveling at the soft texture of the blanket the baby was wrapped in with, then curiously eyeing the small golden balls with wings that were depicted in the fabric.

A gurgle issued from small pouty lips and Alice gasped, astounded and mesmerized, when the squirming baby opened his eyes – luminous emerald orbs peering at her.

"Kathy – look!" breathed out Alice, her blue eyes widening as she kept staring into the baby's eyes, utterly enthralled. "Such beautiful eyes! Have you ever seen the like?" The baby in her arms flailed tinny chubby hands towards her and she chuckled, tenderly bringing a finger to tickle the baby's cute little button nose, as she cooed softly, feeling that her heart had just been stolen away, "Aren't you a charmer, baby boy… so beautiful, so handsome… you'll be a heartbreaker, you will…"

Kathy snorted, glancing at her friend, dryly amused, though she had to admit that the baby was uncommonly handsome. "How do you know it's a boy? We haven't checked yet-"

"Because of this," said Alice, grinning widely as she parted the blanket to reveal what she had caught sight of – on the chest of the baby's one-piece, bright red letters spelling 'Harry' were woven, with a picture of a lion cub sitting on top, with a small golden crown between the cub's ears.

"So Harry is his name…" trailed off Kathy, eyeing the baby's clothes and then the blanket. "And his surname? Is there any letter?"

"No," replied Alice once she had carefully searched the blanket as she tenderly rocked the baby against her chest, her expression becoming crestfallen. "What family name will we give him? Oh, why would anyone abandon such a beautiful baby? And leaving no information behind! Poor sweet thing…"

"His parents must be wealthy folk," said Kathy with utter conviction, while she closed the door shut against the cold London night and followed Alice as they made their way to the nursery. "You can tell by the quality of the blanket and his clothes." She frowned musingly, as she added, "And by his delicate features. He must be gentry. No common folk would have such a good-looking baby, and looking so healthy and well-fed – his cheeks are plump and rosy!"

"Yes, he's a little prince, isn't he?" cooed Alice enchanted, as the baby peered at her with almond-shaped, bright green eyes while his tiny chubby hand grasped her finger, a giggle gurgling from his pouty lips. "Harry… It means home ruler – king, did you know, Kathy?" She smiled down at the baby. "Your parents named you well, didn't they?"

"What do you think happened to him, with that cut he has on his forehead?"

Alice shot Kathy a glance, and then smiled as she gazed back at the baby in her arms. "Some sort of accident, I suppose. It looks fresh, but I'll clean it in a jiffy and it will heal and fade in no time."

The moment they stepped into the nursery, Alice made a straight line towards the only cradle in the tiny room, ignoring Kathy's appalled gasp behind her.

"Surely you don't mean to keep them together-"

Alice halted when she reached the cradle and shot her friend a stern glance. "And why not, Kathy Shear?"

Kathy puffed like an affronted pigeon, briefly glancing at the silent baby in the cradle before she peeled her gaze away, a shiver running down her spine. "You know why not, Alice Jones. That baby gives me the creeps – never crying, always so still and fixedly looking with those dark eyes of his. He's not normal – there's something strange about him, something bad."

"Upon my word, saying such things about a mere baby, Kathy!"

Kathy took a step forward, her jaw setting with curt stubbornness as she looked at her friend with a grave expression on her young face. "I told you about his mother, didn't I? I was there when she gave birth to him – and she was so strange, with eyes looking in different directions, so ugly and dressed so weirdly-"

"Yes, you did," interrupted Alice, lifting her chin up. "It was the first thing you gossiped about the day I came to work here. But I don't see why you dislike baby Tom so much."

Her expression softened as she rocked the baby she had in her arms and gazed at the other in the cradle, being instantly pierced by unfathomable dark blue eyes that stared at her as if they could look into her very soul. She repressed a shudder, not wanting to give Kathy more reasons to say such cruel things about an innocent baby.

All the caregivers in the orphanage seemed to dislike little baby Tom and at first she hadn't understood why – such a well behaved baby who never cried and made no fuss. But she did admit to herself that Tom didn't act like any normal baby she had ever known. Nevertheless, he was just a baby, deserving love, tenderness and affection like all the other children in the orphanage. She wasn't going to discriminate just because the child was spooky.

Without any hesitation, with resolved determination and a plan unraveling in her mind, she carefully placed baby Harry in the cradle, next to Tom.

She gazed at them with a soft smile on her face, as she whispered quietly, "Harry is smaller, but he can't be older than a year, just like Tom. It will do them good to be together - I doubt anyone will adopt them straight away, not with so many wealthy folk having lost their fortunes. In a few years, they'll be taken in by some well-to-do family when this Great Depression is over…"

"What are you rambling about?" interjected Kathy, soon reaching one side of the cradle to stare at her friend with a suspicious gaze. "What mischief are you plotting now, Alice?"

"They are the youngest in the orphanage, Kathy," murmured Alice softly, feeling as if her heart was painfully clenching in her chest, "and you know how cruel children can be to those younger than themselves. They should have each other as long as they are here - they should be like siblings. I don't know what I would do without my younger sister and brother. I would be so lonely. I don't want that for these two babies."

Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed up at Kathy, and she added with steely determination, "We don't have a surname for Harry, so let them be brothers to each other. Let's give them a common past in which the abandonment from their parents will not matter as long as they know that they are together-"

"You want to say that they are brothers?" gasped out Kathy appalled. "To lie to them when they grow up and ask-"

"Of course not!" interrupted Alice, her expression turning dismayed. "If they ask we will tell them the truth - that we don't know about Harry's origins and that we only know Tom's full name. But it will matter little to them when they ask, if we bring them up to be as close as siblings. They have no one else but themselves, Kathy! And they look alike, don't they? Both uncommonly beautiful babies – gentry, as you said…"

She trailed off and blinked as she gazed at the two babies. "Oh, look at them!"

Baby Harry, who had been peering with immense curiosity at the baby at his side, suddenly gurgled happily and then snatched in his chubby hands a silky black strand of hair from Tom's head. Alice, having expected a wail or some sort of protest from Tom, could only gape as the strangely solemn baby locked his dark-eyed gaze with the green one of Harry, one of his small thin hands, with unusual dexterity in a baby, slapping on Harry's tuft of messy hair – as if dishing out as much as he got.

But when Alice was certain that Tom would yank on Harry's hair in retribution, as the baby often did to her when displeased, the baby strangely stilled, his short thin fingers having brushed against the open cut on Harry's forehead.

Alice didn't dare intervene, too perplexed with the interaction, especially when a gurgle, sounding like a puzzled question, issued from Tom's lips, the baby tilting his head to a side as he fixedly stared at Harry. The new baby in the orphanage, for his part, merely let out a soft giggle, his green eyes fluttering close as he placidly snuggled in his blanket, as if Tom's touch felt soothingly familiar.

In a few seconds, after a mighty yawn, Harry had curled up against Tom, fast asleep, while little Tom remained unblinkingly gazing at the slumbering baby, his expression one as if he didn't quite know what to make of the creature that had invaded his cradle and as if he was gravely pondering about his uninvited guest who had no qualms in drooling and draping himself all over him.

Alice chuckled happily, her eyes gleaming as she gazed up at Kathy. "If that's not a sign, what is? That's the first time Tom has done something like this - he cannot stand the presence of other children around him."

"Signs, indeed," scoffed Kathy, rolling her eyes, not looking at all impressed. "Well, as you like, but it will be your task to convince Mrs. Sharpe."

"I don't think it will be hard. She won't care what surname we give Harry, one way or the other," said Alice cheerfully, her voice lowering to a soft whisper as he gazed down at the babies again. "Tom and Harry Riddle."

The tickling sensation prickled over her skin, for a second time in that night, and Alice simply knew that she had done a good thing. As she went around the cradle, to tug on Kathy's apron and leave the nursery for the babies to peacefully sleep in quietness, she caught sight of something from the corner of her eyes that made her pause.

But in the next second, she inwardly chided herself in her mind, 'You will not be prone to flights of the imagination like your mother, Alice Jones.'

Indeed, it was clearly her imagination doing tricks on her when she had thought that she had seen the lion cub, depicted on the chest of Harry's one-piece, letting out a silent roar. And such a beautiful one-piece it was. Pity. As soft to the touch and as of good quality as they were, Harry's blanket and one-piece would have to go and be replaced by frayed grey clothes like other babies before him in the orphanage had worn. Mrs. Sharpe would certainly be selling the rich clothes at the first chance she had.

"Now, Kathy Shear," said Alice quietly as they left the nursery together, "I believe you mentioned this morning that you had something very important to tell me."

Kathy shot her a large smile, with airs of good-natured smugness. "I won't be Miss Shear for long. I'll be Mrs. Cole to you, soon."

"You agreed to marry Mr. Cole?" Alice gawked at her. "But he's so old! He's forty and you're just two years older than myself – you're just nineteen, Kathy."

And as the two friends discussed the advantages and disadvantages of marrying before turning into old maids, and most importantly, marrying someone like Mr. Cole, the owner of a shop and thus able to provide to his bride the certainty of knowing where her next meal would be coming from –an unusual luxury in such times of financial turmoil- two one-year-old babies were left behind, their lives already irrevocably changed further by a soft-hearted caregiver who believed that imaginary bonds of brotherhood were better than none at all.

Alice would never know what her actions had provoked and the profound consequences of it. And in years to come, when Tom and Harry Riddle stepped into the Wizarding World, many would have much to say about the ties that bounded the 'brothers' together, one Transfiguration professor in particular – the very same wizard who would be awaiting in the future, remembering and knowing how the timeline had changed and the Wizarding World with it. That which should never have occurred, happening. But he would be there, to make it right again, for the greater good of wizarding kind. However, so would the Malfoys, raising their second son.


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to everyone for all the encouraging reviews – I've just re-read them and they motivated me to pick up this story again and write this chapter .

As I said in the AN of my new fic, Altered Times, I'll be working more on this story and Altered Times, than on Vindico Atrum. I would like to advance a bit on them, to leave them with 10-20 chapters each, before resuming my work with VA.

Mostly because the plot bunnies of these two new fics won't leave my mind and I'm currently enjoying them more. I feel like having a break from VA to develop these ones, for the time being. It's an author's whim, I know, and for that I'm sorry, but I'm more motivated by them at present – writing VA sometimes feels like a monumental task. So you'll have to be patient with me *winks*

Now, I know the first part of the previous chapter was quite confusing, but that was intended. This story will be a long one, since it will have two parts: the years spanning through Tom and Harry Riddle's childhood and lives in the magical world (in the 1930-40s), and then the years of canon (in the 1990s). It will be in this second part when the mysteries involving the grey-cloaked wizard, the Malfoy's second son, and the ritual Lucius Malfoy used, will be unraveled. So for now you should put it off your minds since it will take a long while before the story gets to that second part.

But I would like to clear up one thing; the timeline was changed and Albus Dumbledore –given his powers- wasn't affected by it (Hagrid and McGonagall were). He remembers the original past along with the new one created by Harry being raised with Tom Riddle – but this is the Dumbledore of the 1990s, who will be awaiting in such time to 'correct' the consequences of it.

The Dumbledore of the 1940s, of course, has no idea of what will happen in the future. And since his future self has no way of 'communicating' with his past self, he won't know. However, that doesn't mean that the Dumbledore of the 1940s will not suspect something about the Riddle brothers. He will certainly interfere.

Well, I hope that explanation made sense, lol.

And Merry Christmas to you all!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 2**

* * *

It was a marvelous summer day, with the sun shining high up in clear skies and a pleasant London breeze bringing some comfort against the heat. The sounds of children enjoying their playtime in the backyard rose high and muffled the sounds from the street beyond and the passing motorcars.

The orphanage's backyard was nothing to boast about, with dried yellow grass and patches of muddy soil here and there, but at least it offered the children an open space in which to play under the sunlight and get some fresh air.

Alice always enjoyed her task of watching over them as they played the games she had taught them.

Some girls were jumping a rope, a few boys were casting stones to see who could throw them further, some others were jumping on one foot from one square to the other, drawn with a stick on the ground.

And four-year-old, little Harry Riddle, as always a bundle of energy, was playing 'knights' with two other boys, with a stick in hand and a short 'cape' tied at his back, made from a torn and tattered pillowcase.

Observing them with a soft smile on her face, Alice kept stitching a ripped hole in a pair of knee-length, small, second-hand pants.

It was always Harry's pants she found herself mending day after day, she thought with bemusement. The cheerful, rambunctious boy never seemed able to go through a day without coming back with torn clothes, dirty smudges on his cheeks, and a beaming grin on his face.

The little darling of the orphanage, having charmed everyone with his easy-going disposition, impish grins and warm, joyful smiles, always seemed to use all his considerable boyish energy to embark himself in some imagined adventure or other, easily pulling others into following his lead.

"He's up to it again," said Kathy with a frown on her face, who was by Alice's side with her own pair of children's clothes to mend.

Alice shot her a glance and inwardly winced. The years hadn't been kind to her friend; at twenty-two years of age, Kathy looked as if she was in her forties. She had deep dark circles under her eyes and already had creases along her forehead and the edges of her mouth. Kathy's marriage to Mr. Cole wasn't a happy one.

Expecting to be the wife of a relatively well-to-do older man who owned his own shop, Kathy had soon discovered that her husband was a greedy selfish man who hoarded any penny earned. She had hoped to be able to leave her job at the orphanage and have a good living.

Instead, Kathy's husband hadn't allowed her to quit her job and also made her work at the shop during the weekends, added to all the cleaning and cooking she had to do at their home and taking care of two teenagers from Mr. Cole's previous marriage, who quite despised their stepmother and made her life hell.

Alice pitied her but knew that her friend was stuck with her lot in life. Only wealthy folk divorced, and even then it was scandalous.

"I wonder what he does there," continued Kathy in a suspicious tone of voice.

Alice sighed, already knowing whom her friend was referring to, and gazed at the row of scraggly bushes at the far end of the backyard. There, a boy was crouching near one of the bushes, taking care of not soiling his second-hand clothes and with his back turned towards them and the playing children.

At four years of age, Tom Riddle had grown to be a very handsome little boy, yet quiet and solemn, who never interacted with other children except Harry. And unlike his brother, Tom didn't participate in any games or 'adventures', but spent all his time reading some book or other. And when they were at the backyard, he always remained near the bushes, doing who knew what.

Alice had once approached him, frowning when she had believed to have heard some hissing sounds. But as soon as she had reached Tom, the boy had frozen and then shot her a dark look, saying nothing and remaining crouched, his back straight and stiff.

"What are you doing?" had asked Alice in curiosity, her eyes darting towards the bushes, trying to see what could possibly be entertaining the boy.

"It's none of your business," Tom had said, his tone calm and his expression closed off.

His manner of speaking hadn't surprised her. Tom spoke like an adult, clearly enunciating his words and already having an extensive vocabulary from all the time he spent reading. And he always acted like an adult as well, which left many dumbstruck given that he still looked like a little boy. His conduct sometimes worried Alice, since such seriousness and cold behavior had no place in a boy so young. But she had become used to it.

Alice had hesitated then, but in the end she had left him to his own devices. Whatever he did, Tom hadn't even shared the secret with his brother. She had seen Harry trying to cajole his brother to join them in their playing, and Tom had always sent him away with curt and dismissive words.

"It's going to be Billy Stubb's birthday soon," said Alice, peeling her gaze away from Tom and changing subjects as she made another stitch on the pants she was mending. "I'm thinking about getting him a rabbit. Billy seems to like animals. Remember last time when we took them out, how he gazed at the display in the pet store-"

Kathy interrupted her with a disapproving click of her tongue. "You're always getting the children presents. You should better save your wages for yourself."

"I don't spend everything I earn on them, Kathy," said Alice coolly, her tone then mellowing as she sighed. "And they have so little that it makes me happy to see them enjoy the few things I can buy for them once in a while."

"Once in a while?" snorted Kathy, shooting her a pointed glance. "Maybe for the other children, but you certainly spoil your favorites-"

"I don't have favorites," interjected Alice feeling offended, halting her needlework to face her friend. "I love all children alike and treat them equally."

Kathy scoffed loudly. "You don't fool anyone. You treat the Riddle brothers as if they were your own. Buying sweets for Harry and always getting books for Tom. Gods knows why, the boy never thanks you for them."

Alice's cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat before she murmured softly, "Well, yes, but they're especial. Harry is such a sweet little boy and Tom is so smart." Her blue eyes gleamed with pride, as she added, "I think he's a prodigy, Kathy, the way his mind instantly absorbs and understands everything I teach the children. Just the other day he asked if he could have more books on Math and Science! Can you believe it? And only four years old-"

"Yes, yes," said Kathy drolly with a roll of her eyes, "he's exceptional, you always say that. But he's a weird one." She frowned darkly as she glanced at the far end of the backyard. "There's just something not right with him. Strange accidents happen when he's around-"

"Tom will do well in life with a mind like his, mark my words," stated Alice joyfully, utterly ignoring her friend's comment, as she usually did when Kathy insisted that there was anything wrong with Tom. "And little Harry too, with the way he unwittingly charms everyone without even trying. With his sweet nature and adorable looks, people just seem to flock to him-"

"We need a princess!" a piping voice suddenly shouted with eagerness.

Both Alice and Kathy turned their faces to gaze at the little boy who was wielding a stick and had a pillowcase tied around his neck like a cape. The boy's delicately handsome round face was smudged with dirt, his messy black hair was sticking in all directions and his green eyes were wide with excitement. Even Kathy couldn't suppress a fond smile as they watched Harry. Though Alice's sharp eyes didn't miss the new tears and holes in Harry's knee-length pants, and she inwardly moaned - she had mended those pants just yesterday!

"Me, me!" instantly cried out Amy Benson, leaving behind the other two girls with whom she had been jumping a rope.

Alice chuckled at that. Amy, a year older than Harry, always orbited around the boy. Shyly blushing but always wanting to be the object of his attention.

Little Harry ran towards her in his dirty tattered pants, showing knobby knees and thin short legs which made him look like a springing young colt. While Tom was already one of the tallest boys in the orphanage, his brother was the shortest, which made Harry look even more adorable, in Alice's opinion.

Amy flushed when Harry beamed a smiled at her and eagerly grabbed her hand to pull her towards his group of playmates.

"What are we playing?" asked Amy as she peered at Harry coyly.

"Dragons, knights, princes and princesses," announced Harry cheerfully, "like in the stories Alice reads to us."

Then he turned to Billy Stubbs and Eric Whalley, the two boys who always went along with Harry's adventures. His small button nose scrunched in pensiveness as he added, "Um, I think we need something to make her look like a princess." He grinned impishly and waved his stick in the air, "We have swords and capes. Amy should have a…er…" He bit him bottom lip and then his eyes sparkled as he chimed, "A veil!"

"A veil?" said Billy dubiously in his high-pitched voice. "Princesses don't have veils. They have crowns or something like that, no?"

Harry looked crestfallen for a moment, before he cheered up in the next second and shrugged his small bony shoulders. "We only have pillowcases. We'll use that."

He widely grinned as he untied the one around his neck and stood on the tips of his toes to reach Amy's head, haphazardly placing the pillowcase on top of her mass of blonde curls. If possible, the girl's cheeks reddened even further but she remained silent as she shot Harry a small shy smile.

"She doesn't look like a princess," piped in Eric Whelley, eyeing Amy with an uncertain frown on his small face.

"I do so!" snapped Amy furiously, grabbing the ends of the pillowcase and tying them in a tight knot under her chin, shooting a glare at the other two boys, defying them to contradict Harry and say that it didn't look like a veil or that princesses didn't use one. She wasn't sure about either but she didn't care.

"Looks good enough," said Harry excitedly as he turned to his two playmates. "Who wants to be the dragon?"

Puffing his small chest out, Eric Whelley eagerly raised a hand in the air and let out what was intended to be a mighty roar. It came out as a frail, high-pitched wail of some kind, but Harry clapped his small hands with approval and flashed a satisfied grin.

"And you'll be my prince?" suddenly whispered Amy, her soft brown eyes fixed on him.

The tips of Harry's ears turned pink and he shuffled his feet on the muddy ground. But then he nodded and timidly smiled. "Sure."

Abruptly, a frown crinkled on Harry's forehead, and he rubbed it with his small hand, shooting a brief, confused glance at his brother who stood in the distance.

It hadn't escape Alice notice how, meanwhile, Tom had stood up and taken a few steps away from the row of bushes, to stare at the group of children with a dark expression on his handsome face as he narrowed his eyes at his brother's playmates.

It didn't surprise her. Whenever Harry played with Billy, Eric and Amy, or throughout the day spent more time with them than with Tom, the boy would have looks like those – of annoyance, irritation, or sometimes, very briefly, showing anger.

The boy was quite possessive of his brother and only looked content when Harry trailed after him and engaged him in some sort of conversation or other, or even when Harry simply sat and amused himself with other things while Tom read in silence. It was plain for all caregivers to see that Harry worshiped his brother and also preferred to be in Tom's company rather than any other's, basking in his brother's attention which always made him toothily grin with happiness.

But such an energetic and high-spirited little boy like Harry couldn't help getting bored with his brother's serious quietness and adult-like past-times. So more often than not, he ended up engaging the other children of the orphanage in some made-up game.

As she watched Harry rub his forehead, Alice wondered about it as she often did. The scar which she had been so certain would heal and fade in time, was still there on the boy's forehead, as fresh-looking as it ever was, as if the cut had been sustained but a few minutes ago. And she had often seen Harry rubbing it, and it usually happened when there were dark looks on Tom's face.

It perplexed her, and it certainly confused Harry too. She had once asked him about it but the boy hadn't been able to explain it to her. He had only said that he sometimes felt pain or headaches but didn't know why.

Alice pulled out of her musings when she suddenly felt that peculiar tingle on her skin and she snapped her gaze back to the children, abruptly feeling apprehensive, especially when she saw that Dennis Bishop had stop casting stones and was approaching the smaller children with stomping strides.

The twelve-year-old boy was the oldest in the orphanage and certainly the tallest and strongest. It didn't bode well when Dennis decided to start bullying the younger children as he often did. He had a mean streak which Alice hadn't been able to subdue, no matter what she tried.

"I'll be the knight, then?" muttered Billy Stubbs, not looking at all happy about it or sure of what his role would entail.

"Yeah, and we will rescue Amy from Eric!" declared Harry with fierce determination in his piping voice, already playing the part of the valorous prince and brandishing his stick like a mighty sword.

"What stupid game are you idiots playing now?" demanded Dennis, brusquely shoving Eric and Billy to a side as he stomped to tower over Harry, bumping his chest against Harry's head and forcing the small boy to stumble a few steps back.

"We're not idiots," snapped little Harry, glowering up at the tall, broad boy whom he hated more than anything in the whole world. "And our games aren't stupid. They're fun-"

As they argued, Alice set her needlework to a side and started to stand up. She was instantly stopped by Kathy, who grabbed her by the arm as she said sternly, "Let them resolve it between themselves. You do Harry no good when you coddle him."

"But Dennis is thrice his age…" she murmured uncertainly, wariness coiling in her stomach.

"He has to learn how to deal with bullies," interjected Kathy firmly, tugging Alice's arm once more to make her resume her seat.

With battling feelings, Alice weakly nodded but focused her attention back on the boys, alert in case things got serious and she needed to intervene. Her skin continued to tingle and that wasn't a good sign.

"They're retarded. Only little children play games like that," sneered Dennis shooting the four children a contemptuous glance full of malice and disgust. "You're all babies and you–" he pointed a meaty finger at Harry, aggressively poking the smaller boy on the forehead and making him wince –"you're the babiest of all."

"That's not a word!" snapped Harry accusingly. He was quite certain that it wasn't. Tom always got angry and reprimanded him when he used words that didn't exist, so he was almost sure he was right. And using words that didn't exist was a bad thing according to his brother.

"It is if I say so, runt," spat Dennis, before his face contorted with gleeful malice as he added in a low, nasty voice, "You're a crybaby. I've heard you. At night, in your room, you cry and sob and wail."

Little Harry paled, his green eyes widening with hurt and no small amount of humiliation. Only Tom who shared his room knew about that, he had thought. And he didn't like thinking about why he cried; it still confused him, the things he saw when he was asleep.

"You have bad dreams and you scream and you cry like a little girl. You're a stupid little crybaby!"

"I'm not!" finally roared Harry angrily, in his humiliation feeling such sudden fury that he launched himself at the larger boy before he could even think about what he was doing.

A surprised yell tore from Dennis' throat as the two of them tumbled to the muddy ground, as Harry wildly failed his small arms and legs at him as he furiously shouted repeatedly, "Take it back, take it back!"

With a snarl, Dennis batted away the flailing limbs and swatted a meaty fist against the smaller boy's face, making Harry cry out in pain as he rolled on the ground.

The other boys and girls merely stood around with wide eyes and gaping mouths, too afraid to do anything.

"Dennis – Harry!" shouted Alice in alarm, already speeding towards the boys. "Stop at once!"

Neither paid her any attention and she continued screaming at them to stop as she ran towards them as fast as she could, while she saw that Tom stood motionless yet with an expression of building fury and hatred, his narrowed gaze fixed on Dennis.

The twelve-year-old boy had now gotten hold of Harry with an arm tightly wrapped around the smaller boy's throat, making Harry haggardly gasp for breath, his expression one of panic. In the next second, with his forehead scrunched, his green eyes flashed angrily as he opened his mouth and chomped down on the meaty arm that was choking him.

Dennis roared in pain and tried to pry his arm away but little Harry chomped harder, sinking his small teeth in the flesh, and mulishly didn't let go.

Just when Alice reached them and when Dennis was aiming a punch to knock out Harry which would certainly injure him quite severely, the twelve year old suddenly screamed and doubled over, contorting on the ground and attempting to wrap his arms around himself as if to protect his own body from some unknown force.

It was such a scream that it made the small hairs of the nape of her neck stand up. Some of the rest of the children were now crying with fear and Harry had stopped biting the boy. To her perplexity, the small boy laid whimpering, clutching his scarred forehead.

Alice stood there, dumbstruck, as Dennis kept shrieking for unknown reasons while Harry's whimpers mellowed but still continued. And then she saw Tom, who hadn't moved an inch, his penetrating gaze still focused on Dennis. Yet now, the boy's expression was one of gleeful enjoyment and satisfaction.

"He's the Devil's child," echoed Father Patrick's voice in Alice's mind, suddenly making her feel dizzy.

It had happened a year ago. Back then, she took all the children at least once a month to the small church two blocks away from the orphanage. She wasn't a particularly devoted religious person but she did believe that it would do the children some good to attend mass once in a while to listen to Father Patrick's readings and lectures about morality.

Though, most of the children didn't pay much attention. Only little Amy seemed to enjoy it. Harry always ended up falling asleep with his head on Alice's lap, snoring, albeit gratefully it was softly. And the small boy always looked so beautiful and angelic in his sleep that she never had the heart to wake him up.

On the other hand, Tom always wore a bored and disinterested expression on his face and ended up taking a book with him, to read it while Father Patrick animatedly ranted about Good and Evil.

Alice had felt a bit abashed since Tom made no efforts to conceal that he read a book and utterly ignored what was being said. When Alice had once seen Father Patrick shoot the boy an irked look from the pulpit, she had politely asked Tom to stop taking a book to mass.

"Then don't force me to attend. It's a waste of my time," had replied Tom curtly, leveling at her a cold glance. "I don't believe in God."

Alice had been struck speechless. For a three-year-old to say something like that, as if he had gravely pondered about the matter, seriously analyzed it from all angles, and had come to his own unwavering conclusions.

Nevertheless, Father Patrick was a good and patient man, and she had asked him to have a word with the boy. After mass, the warm-hearted man had herded Tom into his office and Alice had waited outside.

A mere fifteen minutes had gone by when the door was yanked open and Tom strode out, looking utterly composed and calm while Father Patrick stood trembling, his face pale and his expression horrified and fearful.

"He's the Devil's child," the man had shakily muttered to her as he thickly swallowed. Then he had pulled himself to his full height, pierced her with his eyes, and had added in a fierce and firm tone of voice, "Don't bring him to my Church again."

And with that, he had slammed the door shut on her face while Tom shot her a satisfied little smirk, which seemed to mock her for her efforts.

She never could pry from Tom or Father Patrick what had happened between them. But soon, the whole neighborhood was gossiping about how the Father had banned the boy from Church and they started giving the boy dirty looks whenever Alice took the children out.

That hadn't sat well with her. It meant that Father Patrick had said something about it. And her opinion of him had radically changed. No matter the reason, a man who could cause such discrimination against a child, however unintended, was no longer in her good graces. Orphaned children, especially, had to be protected from such prejudices.

She had never taken the children back to Father Patrick's Church but to another which, alas, was a bit farther away from the orphanage. And certainly, she hadn't insisted anymore about Tom coming with them. And since Tom didn't go, Harry had mutinously refused to attend as well. Where his brother led, little Harry usually stubbornly followed. It had made her sigh but she had yielded to the boy's wishes.

Alice believed in God or some sort of higher power, yes, but she wasn't quite sure that there was a Heaven and Hell. And no matter what Father Patrick said, she was sure that there were no such things as Devil's children. Children were born inherently good and innocent in her opinion, and no matter how Tom behaved, she would never believe otherwise – even now, when she was confronted with Tom's gleeful expression as Dennis laid on the ground.

Finally, Alice acted when she saw that Kathy was already tending to Dennis, helping the boy up and herding him towards the house. The boy still looked in pain and he walked awkwardly, but seemed too out of it to make any protests.

Kathy didn't leave before shooting Tom a glance, and then a pointed one at Alice, as if saying 'See what I mean?'.

But no matter the inexplicable strangeness of what had happened, her friend clearly wasn't seeing what Alice did as she gazed at the Riddle brothers.

Tom had carefully picked up Harry from the ground and was now embracing him, whispering hushed words into his smaller brother's ear as Harry whimpered against his chest. Tom's long fingers were carding the boy's mop of wild hair and it seemed to have a soothing effect on his brother, who soon quieted.

There was indeed inherent goodness in Tom if he cared so much for his brother, and that was enough for Alice.

At last, she cleared her throat, glancing at the other children who looked fearful and perturbed, and she said loudly with all the cheerfulness she could muster, "Who wants me to read to them a fairytale?"

"I do," said Amy softly, her brown eyes wavering from her, to the Riddle brothers, and back. Then she seemed to become even more confident and reached Alice, clutching Alice's apron with a small hand.

Soon, all the other children surrounded her, what had happened already forgotten in their eagerness for tales of doting parents who loved their princess daughter, and kingdoms filled with wealth where there was no poverty or hunger and the people were kind, and peasant boys who became princes and worlds filled with beauty and joy and laughter - everything they didn't have and yearned for.

As Alice started herding them back to the house, she glanced at the brothers and invited hesitantly, "Harry?"

Emerald eyes peered at her from above Tom's arms, and brightened. In the next second, little Harry was already squirming against his brother's hold, attempting to break free.

Tom shot Alice an annoyed, narrowed-eyed glance, but then nodded curtly, as if deciding to allow her to take his brother away from him - this time.

And with eyes which dried quickly and a skip to his steps, Harry joined the others, already piping his preferences, "I want the one of the house made of chocolate and candies and the bad witch that wants to eat the boy and girl."

Alice warmly smiled at him, though she now noticed the bruise around the child's left eye caused by Dennis' first punch. She would have to see if they had anything left to help with a blackened eye. The orphanage's supplies were scarce.

She chuckled and petted his wild mop of hair. "Then you shall have it."

"No! The one of the sleeping princess and the handsome prince and the kiss!" one of the girls voiced dreamily.

And amidst more requests for different tales, they left Tom behind. Alice knew better than to invite him to join them. While Harry was the child who most avidly listened to all her fairytales and bedtime stories, his green eyes sparkling as he envisioned himself as some prince with a life full of adventures with monsters to be defeated and princesses to be saved, Tom had disdained her storytelling from the start. And whenever she gathered the children for such purposes, he promptly vanished to his room to read some textbook or other.

* * *

A flickering flame from a short crooked candle bathed Tom's face as he flipped a page of his book. It was past midnight and absolute silence reigned in the orphanage; everywhere except in his small room, much to his annoyance.

A whimper reached his ears accompanied by the rustle of blankets, and Tom had to make a great effort to control his irritation. He focused back on the text, his handsome face with an expression of forced concentration and his dark blue gaze hungrily roving over the information.

Another sound of distress was heard and Tom's lips thinned. Nevertheless, he shot a glance at the small cot across from his. Harry was fast asleep but his eyes were moving wildly under their closed lids and his small body moved restlessly under the blankets.

Tom clicked his tongue but turned away and continued reading. A few minutes had passed by, when a terrified scream resounded in the room, followed by a gasped intake of air, more rustling of blankets and then breathing that was fast and panted, accompanied by a muffled sob.

Closing his eyes with supreme annoyance for a brief moment, he snapped them open to glance at his brother once more. Now, Harry was awake and had tightly wrapped the blankets around him in a sort of cocoon-like bundle, with his face burrowed into the tattered pillow, which muffled the sobbed sounds that came from the small boy.

As usually happened, in the next seconds, a tuft of messy black hair stuck out from the blankets and pair of wide, pleading green eyes peered from under them, looking straight at him.

Tom let out a suffering sigh, held his book up with one hand and lifted his blanket to a side with the other, invitingly.

In a flash, little Harry scrambled out of his cot and jumped into Tom's, fidgeting until he was comfortably settled against his brother's chest. Tom wrapped the blanket around them and gazed down at the smaller boy.

"The same nightmare? The green light?"

Harry sniffled and nodded before he nuzzled his face into the crook of Tom's neck, as he mumbled with a hiccup, "And the – the red eyes. They scare me."

Tom tsked. His brother had had the same nightmare for as long as he remembered, but it was certain that Harry's overactive imagination didn't need any more encouragement from that damnable Alice and her fairytales.

"Monsters don't exist," he assured his brother sternly.

He felt Harry shrugging his small shoulders before the boy peered up at him. "They do in my dreams."

Then he winced and brought up a small hand to rub his forehead. Tom's gaze followed the motion and he frowned as he stared at the reddened scar on his brother's forehead.

"Does it still hurt every time you have the nightmare?" he murmured quietly.

Harry nodded and then seemed to think about it carefully before he answered in his piping voice, "It tingles. Like pricks of small needles." He then peered up at him uncertainly and said in a small voice, "You could do that - what you always do. It helps."

Tom shot him a little smirk and threaded his fingers through his brother's mop of hair before reaching the scar, tracing it with a feather-like touch. He frowned a little bit when he felt a sort of pleasant warmth suffusing his fingertips and trailing up his hand and arm, but he was used to it by now, so he simply allowed himself to enjoy it.

When Harry sighed placidly, Tom's touch evidently soothing away any lingering pain, he stopped the caress as his gaze focused on Harry's left eye.

"No – don't stop," complained Harry with a disgruntled moan.

"Hush, let me see something," said Tom shortly as he lifted his brother's chin up with a finger so that the candle's flame could fully illuminate the boy's face. He frowned down at Harry as he gently traced the boy's left eye with a fingertip. "It's not swollen anymore and the bruise has faded. What did you do?"

Harry blinked up at him. "Nothing. Alice said she didn't have more creams for bruises."

Tom's frown deepened but Harry didn't bother wondering what seemed to surprise his brother and made him look so pensive and bewildered.

Instead, he grabbed his brother's fingers with determination, pulling them from around his eye and onto his scar, as he said a little miffed, "Do it again. And don't stop this time."

Tom resumed the caress but he nevertheless scoffed, "Demanding little brat, you've become so spoiled."

"I'm not spoiled," grumbled Harry against his brother's chest. Then, with a snap of his head, he looked up and bit out fiercely, "And I'm not little!"

Shooting him a mocking smirk, Tom intoned superiorly, "You are. You're my little brother-"

"I'm your twin!" snapped Harry taking deep offense. "We have the same age-"

"But I'm a full head taller than you. So you _are_ my little brother," declared Tom solemnly. "Age makes no difference."

"Not true," piped Harry sourly, and with a huff, he burrowed his face against his brother's chest once more. He hated being the smallest and shortest boy in the orphanage and he hated his know-it-all brother who was taller than him and never let him forget it.

"One day I'll be taller than you," he started muttering darkly, "I'll be taller than... than a tree! And you'll be sorry, because you'll be all jealous of me and I'll laugh and rub it in and I won't play with you anymore -"

"Sure, as if that will ever happen," snorted Tom, then rolling his eyes at the idiocy of it. "Taller than a tree…"

Harry glared up at him and said with utter conviction, "Just you wait and see."

Tom scoffed dismissively and decided to ignore his stupid little brat of a brother. He opened his book once more and held it against the right side of his chest since Harry's mop of hair fully occupied the other.

"Not reading again," groaned Harry despondently. "You're always reading and it's boring." His expression darkened and he added accusingly, "And you promised you would keep touching my scar-"

"I promised nothing of the sort," hissed out Tom with angered annoyance, his gaze not leaving the page of the book. "Now shut up, I can't concentrate if you keep babbling. Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep with the candlelight," pointedly remarked Harry with a huff. "So there."

"Too bad for you," drawled Tom utterly unconcerned, as he flipped another page.

Little Harry scowled at his brother before he edged closer to the book, peering at it from a side. "What are you reading?"

Tom gathered what little patience he had left and snapped acidly, "Can't you read for yourself, you moron? Stop pestering me with imbecilic questions."

"I'm not a moron," gritted out Harry, his forehead then scrunching up, "and what's imbe – imbelic-"

"It's 'imbecilic'," bit out Tom shortly without looking at him as he kept reading. "And it's what you are. It means stupid."

Harry glowered at him but kept quiet as he squinted at the bookpage, now curious about what his brother was reading so avidly.

At the unexpected glorious silence, Tom shot him a glance and then frowned when he saw his brother pathetically squinting with a frustrated and confused expression on his face.

One of his eyebrows rose as he hummed calmly, "It seems you need eyeglasses."

Shooting him a wide-eyed glance, Harry scrunched up his nose. "I do?"

"Seems so," replied Tom dismissively. "I'll tell Alice. She'll surely buy ones for you next time we go out."

"I don't want Alice to buy me eyeglasses," whispered Harry in a soft voice, feeling bad and sad as he awkwardly shifted on their shared cot. "She's poor, like us-"

"If the woman is stupid enough to enjoy buying us stuff, then let her," said Tom crisply, glowering at his pestering brother, before his dark expression softened a bit - somewhat. "And no one is as poor as us, Harry. She earns a wage."

"But she has a younger brother and sister to take care of," mumbled Harry, playing with the hem of Tom's frayed pajama top.

"Fine, then remain blind for all I care!" snarled Tom, promptly turning to a side to face the wall as he stuck his book in front of his face.

There was a long silence as he heard his little brother shifting behind him on the cot. Then more rustling and more movement until Harry peeked his small face around Tom's shoulder to peer at him.

"If I have eyeglasses, I'll be called 'four-eyes'," he said with a little whine. "And Dennis will make fun of me-"

"Leave Dennis to me," Tom said briskly, but he couldn't refrain from casting a wholly self-satisfied and smug smirk at his brother.

Harry clammed his mouth shut and bit his pouty bottom lip, shooting Tom a glance and then looking away, and then repeating the action as he started scratching Tom's clothed shoulder with a short, bitten fingernail, nervously drawing little circles.

"What now?" bit out Tom impatiently as he observed his brother. "Just spit it out."

Harry glanced around as if expecting that some caregiver could be lurking in the shadows unbeknownst to them, and then took a deep breath before he pinned his brother with wide green eyes as he whispered, "What did you do today?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Tom shortly, turning his face back towards his book.

"Yes you do," said Harry stubbornly, still keeping his piping voice low and hushed as he insistently poked a finger into Tom's ribs. "What did you do to Dennis?"

After a moment of hesitation, Tom turned around to lie on his back once more, and he arched an eyebrow at his brother as he said nonchalantly, "What makes you think I did anything?"

Briefly nibbling on his bottom lip, Harry curled up against Tom and gazed up at him as he murmured quietly, "Because my scar hurt when you did that. You know that - you soothed it later."

"So what?" said Tom coolly. "I don't see the connection-"

"My scar always hurts when you're mad," interrupted Harry a little impatiently, shooting him a scowl.

Letting out a mocking snort, Tom drawled unfazed, "Scars don't do that. It's all in your imagination-"

"No, it's not!" snapped Harry, glaring daggers at him. "You know it's not. We don't know why, but it happens. And my scar hurts even more when you're mad and do something. Like today."

Tom shot him a cold look before his face shuttered down with a closed off expression as he inquired calmly, "When I do 'something'? How would you know if I do or not do anything. Today was the only day in which I-"

"Liar," breathed out Harry, his small short fingers jerkily tugging on the collar of Tom's pajama top as he pulled himself closer to his brother, his eyes widening as he continued in a hushed and secretive tone of voice. "You also did something a couple of months ago. When I was angry at you because you said I was retarded because I didn't understand Alice's math lesson and you said you didn't want a brother as stupid as me."

Tom's eyes narrowed before he scoffed. "I don't recall-"

"And you kept saying bad things about me and you made me cry," sniffed Harry, his bottom lip trembling before it stiffened as he glowered at him accusingly. "You made me so angry that I didn't speak to you for a whole day. And you got angry too because I didn't pay attention to you and played with Eric."

He brought his face closer to his brother's, almost nose-to-nose, their gazes sinking into each other's, as he continued breathlessly, "And when we were playing by the staircase, Eric tripped. There was nothing he could have tripped over. But he tripped. And you were there hiding in a corner. I saw you. And you smiled when Eric was about to fall down the staircase and my scar was hurting a lot then."

Harry's eyes grew large as he added in a low, uneasy whisper, "If I hadn't grabbed him he would have fallen. He would have died."

"People don't die from taking a tumble down a staircase," said Tom in a smooth tone of voice.

"They could," said Harry vehemently nodding his head. "Alice told us not to run down the stairs because it was dangerous and we could get hurt. So if someone falls down a staircase then they could die." His eyes grew large again, as he repeated with a sort of fearful awe, "Eric could have died."

Tom's jaw tightened as he regarded his little brother coolly, remaining silent as his expression turned blank.

Scowling, Harry eyed him closely as he said firmly, "You did that, I know it. And you did something to Dennis today." He bore his gaze into his brother's and breathed out, "What did you do?"

After a long pause of silence, which had Harry clinging on tenterhooks, Tom's face became a stoic mask as he said nonchalantly, "I made him hurt. He was hurting you, so I hurt him."

Then, Tom intensely pierced Harry with his eyes, making his face turn expressionless as he waited for his brother's reaction. A cry of dismay, a fearful gasp, a shudder of revulsion... He didn't know what to expect, but however his brother reacted, he wouldn't allow it to hurt or affect him. But still, he couldn't help how his heart thundered in his small chest and how his breath stuck in his throat.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he cocked his head to a side. "But how?"

Tom blinked at him. An amazed and joyous smile started to grow on his face before he caught himself in time, coughed, and then curved his lips into a superior smirk. "Because I wanted it so."

Harry's little forehead scrunched even further, the boy still looking baffled, confused, and clueless. But more importantly, curious – and Tom should have known. He shouldn't have been afraid of Harry's reaction. They were brothers! So of course Harry would understand and of course he wouldn't think Tom had done a bad thing. His little brother would see it as something astounding and magnificent, just as it truly was.

Tom perked up and he sat up straight on the cot, easily pulling his brother to his lap -since Harry hardly weighted anything- so that they were looking at each other with their faces inches apart. He grabbed his little brother's hands and rambled excitedly, "I can make things like that happen if I want to. I think really hard about it, I concentrate and I imagine what I want to happen and I repeat it in my head and then – it happens!" His dark blue eyes gleamed as he added gleefully, "And I've been practicing a lot when I'm alone in our room. If I concentrate really, really hard I can move things!"

Harry's almond-shaped, emerald eyes impossibly widened in awe and Tom felt as if he was soaring on high clouds. But in the next instant, he checked himself in time and pulled a composed expression on his face; he nevertheless smirked proudly.

"Show me!" piped Harry eagerly, his eyes still wide and fascinated, gazing at him as if there was no one cooler or greater in the whole wide world. "Move something, Tom!"

Tom nodded and turned his face to glance around the room. His eyes settled on Harry's pillow on the cot across from them and he intensely stared at it, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

Out of the blue, before Harry knew what happened, a pillow came volleying towards him, slammed on his face and knocked him over.

With his short legs flailing over his head, he yelped as he teetered over the edge of the cot and landed on the hard floor with a cry, more of surprise than pain.

A bout of amused, delighted laughter rang in the room, and Harry groaned as he crouched and rubbed his sore elbows and knees. Gazing down at him from the cot, Tom shot him a smug and taunting smirk. But Harry merely threw at him a mild scowl before all annoyance faded as he excitedly jumped to his feet.

"You're an idiot," he declared, before he flashed his brother with a wide beaming smile and laughed, and chuckled, and giggled happily, as he bounced up and down, rocking on his heels. "But that was awesome, Tom!"

"Of course it was," said Tom coolly, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

"What is it called what you do?" said Harry animatedly as he sat back on the cot facing Tom, squirming with giddiness.

"I don't know," replied Tom, his face now turning serious. "I've read that there's something called telekinesis-"

"What's that?" demanded Harry instantly, unable to contain himself from the bubbling excitement he was feeling.

"The power to move things with your mind, supposedly," said Tom scathingly, waving a hand dismissively. "But I think it's a load of rubbish. The book said that there was no evidence that it was true. And I don't think so either, because I know no one who can do what I can and I haven't heard about it either. And because I can move things but I can also hurt people and speak to-"

He abruptly closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a tight straight line, before he shifted on the cot and then placidly rested against his own pillow as if he had said nothing at all.

Harry stared at him in confusion. "Speak to who?"

Tom ignored him and merely gazed up at the stained ceiling. But Harry was having none of that, of course. With a spring to his legs, he leapt on top of Tom, making his brother gasp and wheeze painfully and then snarl at him in fury.

But as Tom's hands shot forward to brusquely shove him off, Harry plopped the entirety of his body on his brother's, as if he was a sack of potatoes. Tom was larger than him but Harry had the advantage of gravity on his side and he effectively pinned his brother down in place.

"Get off, you little twit!" hissed out Tom angrily, making Harry's scar flare faintly with pain.

Harry disregarded it and pressed his small nose against Tom's, boring his gaze into his brother's dark blue one, as he piped with extreme curiosity, "Speak to who, Tom?"

"I'm not telling," spat Tom acidly, his eyes glinting with fury, "and it has nothing to do with you, anyway."

Harry darkly scowled at him, before he sat up on Tom's midriff, stiffened his back and crossed his arms over his small chest, looking away as he bit out, "Fine, see if I care."

Not one to lose a good opportunity, Tom shot up as he forcefully shoved Harry away from him. Utterly caught off guard, Harry smashed against the wall, his head painfully slamming against it.

A loud cry of pain escaped from his lips as he then fell forward on the cot, clutching the back of his head which throbbed and felt like it was burning and as if knives were viciously plunging into it. Feeling his eyes watering and tearing from the hurt, he shot his brother a deeply wounded look.

His eyes widening slightly at his brother's expression, Tom reached out towards him, hesitated, and dropped his hand. He made his face contort with a contemptuous sneer, as he spat, "Dennis is right, you know? You cry an awful lot. It's pathetic."

At that, Harry's tears rolled down his cheeks and he tremulously said in a small voice, "I hate you."

Tom frowned, before he scoffed unconcernedly, "No you don't."

With his bottom lip trembling, Harry scrambled on his hands and knees and then swiftly turned his back to his brother. Facing the wall, he sat crossed legged on the cot, his spine and small shoulders stiff.

Tom stared at him in silence, seeing his little brother's small frame shaking as he heard the boy's breathing heaving amidst sniffs, hiccups, and muffled sobs.

"Harry…" he said quietly, trailing off.

Abruptly, Harry snapped his head around to mightily glower at him, no matter if his tears and heavings hadn't subsided, and spat, "What?"

Eyeing him insecurely for a brief moment, Tom shot out his arms and grabbed his little brother's shoulders, briskly pulling the smaller boy towards him.

He wrapped his fingers around Harry's small chin and lifted it up, clucking his tongue as he used one of his cuffs to wipe the boy's tear tracks, while he murmured, "You're a little fool."

Harry sniffled once and remained silent as he peered up at him, while Tom kept gently cleaning his face.

At his tender age, not a boy who dwelled long on insults and offenses perceived, he rubbed his nose, let out a last hiccup, and then swatted his brother's fingers away from his face with annoyance, his mind already jumping to more important and exciting matters.

He glanced at the pillow that Tom had made fly and then stared at his brother with wide, emerald eyes shining hopefully. "Do you think I can do what you do?"

Tom sat back on his haunches and regarded him consideringly if not a bit dubiously. Then he shrugged his shoulders and picked up the pillow, hurling it back to Harry's cot as he said calmly, "Perhaps. Try it."

Harry beamed before he turned to face the other cot, his green gaze zeroing in on the pillow and his whole face scrunching up, as he thought, 'Move, move, move.'

Nothing happened and he tried again harder. 'Move, move, move, move, move!'

Still, nothing.

Little Harry gritted his teeth, highly miffed, and thought again, as fast as he could; very, very, very fast, 'Movemovemovemovemovemovemove!'

"I can't!" groused out Harry, throwing up his arms in the air. He glared at Tom with all the power of his frustration and snapped angrily, "It's not fair!"

Tom's lips quirked but he took care not to let out an amused chuckle. Tom had a nasty temper, but he was able to curb it if he wanted to. And it was rare the occasion in which his temper got the better of him and made him lose his cool composure. But his little brother had a quicksilver and fiery temper and a very short fuse, and the small boy could throw such temper tantrums that could make Tom's ears ring and his head throb with mighty headaches. And he rather not experience that if he could.

"It doesn't matter. I can," said Tom in a mollifying tone of voice, pulling the boy back to lie down on the cot with him. "You've got me, so you don't need anything else."

"It's not the same thing," grumbled Harry, crushed with disappointment, as he wrapped a small arm around Tom and rested his head on the crook of his brother's neck.

Abruptly, he momentarily tightened his hold on Tom, and glanced up at him, as he said with a very serious expression on his small face, "I don't want you to kill Eric."

Tom's eyebrows shot upwards before he rearranged his expression and drawled coolly, "And Billy?"

Harry's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head.

Arching an eyebrow and suppressing a quirk of his lips, Tom asked in a low, grave voice, "And Dennis?"

A small frown crinkled Harry's forehead, before he said slowly, as if giving it considerable thought, "No, don't kill him. That's bad and it's bad if you get caught too." He quickly looked up at him, a panicky expression on his face. "They would take you away!"

He breathed in deeply and then calmed down and slowly relaxed, before he continued quietly, "But, well… if Dennis hurts me, then you can hurt him. It's only fair." He let out a huff. "He's older and taller than me, so it's alright if you help me."

Anxiously, Harry quickly peered up at him to see if he agreed, and Tom merely shot him a wide smirk and nodded, as he started carding his fingers through Harry's locks of black hair, petting him just how the boy enjoyed so much.

As his little brother started to sleepily drift away, Tom threw the blanket over them and picked up his book, managing to flip it open with one hand while he kept threading his fingers through Harry's hair with the other. After all, the faster the boy fell asleep, the faster he would be left in peace to read at his pleasure.

"What you can do is just like in Alice's stories, isn't it?" murmured Harry quietly, letting out a small yawn. "With people who can do strange and wonderful things-"

"It's not," said Tom firmly, briefly glancing away from the text to shoot him a stern look. "Those stories are fantasy. None of it is true, Harry."

Little Harry remained silent, not at all convinced, but he was starting to get too sleepy to argue with his brother who could be really pig-headed and exasperating sometimes.

Tom enjoyed only a few minutes of blessed silence before his brother's piping voice was heard again.

"Your feet are cold," Harry complained with a whine, squirming his toes away from Tom's and not at all happy about it.

"Get out if you don't like it," snapped Tom shortly, his jaw twitching with irritation as he once more lost the sentence he had been reading. "Now shut up and let me read."

Disgruntled, Harry shot the book a nasty look, but in the next second his emerald eyes gleamed as his gaze flickered towards the candle. Faster than any little animal of the forest could move, Harry pushed himself up and forward and blew out the candle, and then quickly scampered back under the blankets, eeping as he ducked his head and hid under the covers.

"You little twerp!" roared Tom furiously, blindly flailing a hand around to grab whatever he could; if it was his brother's mop of hair, all the better - he would yank and pull and render him bald!

"I want to sleep!" chimed Harry, and with that, he quickly draped himself all over his brother like a determined octopus, clutched him tightly with all his might in case Tom made more attempts to move, and tightly closed his eyes, as a little smile curved his pouty lips.

Feeling effectively bound and shackled to his bed, Tom's lips thinned with dark annoyance, but as soon as he heard soft, placid snores, he stopped attempting to break free and he glanced down at his little brother.

The moonlight which speared through the frayed curtains of their small window dimly allowed him to see that Harry was already fast asleep, or better said, pretending to; but he couldn't make himself disrupt him.

The mischievous little smile on the brat's face didn't escape his notice, but the smaller boy looked so awfully… Tom's lips twisted with disgust though his eyes softened - a smidgen. Yes, Harry looked so awfully 'cute' and 'adorable' -just like all the adults pathetically cooed about- that he ended up resigning himself to his fate.

He finally set his book beside the flameless candle on the tiny ratty nightstand, and closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. It was just his luck to have an impish little urchin for a brother.

Tom dozed off with his arms snuggly wrapped around Harry and with an upward curl on his lips, his sleeping sly mind already plotting his revenge.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This chapter has a very long 'Alice part', but it's needed to set the background for things that will affect Tom and Harry, so it was necessary.

The last, very short part will be a full scene in the next chapter. I just had to do it like this or the chapter would have been way too long.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thanks for the reviews - they always keep me motivated!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 3**

The wide commercial London street was bustling with activity, motorcars rolling by at a sedate pace among delivery wagons pulled by horses, as matrons went around doing their shopping, maids carried out their task of buying supplies and food from butchers, bakers and grocery stores, and young couples and families strolled about eyeing window displays.

In the midst of it, Alice was herding the children of St. Jerome's Orphanage in their monthly expedition into commercial London. As she gazed at the passers-by with their bags of purchases, she felt a bout of cheerfulness.

England's economy had began a slow recovery; there had been a rise in employment levels in recent years, mostly in the South, where lower interest rates had spurred a house building boom, which in turn spurred a recovery in domestic industry. Apparently, the Great Depression had ended.

Alice didn't understand much about Economics, so the explanations in newspaper articles had flown over her head. But she did know that England was starting to do well, since her own sister had found employment as a maid for a well-to-do family and her brother was working in a shoe factory at the outskirts of London. And it was evident too, since people were now on the streets, spending again.

"King George V inaugurates the opening of the Queensway Tunnel beneath the River Mersey, Forty-one squadrons are added to the Royal Air Force as part of a new air defense program," was shouting out a boy, standing at the corner of the intersection of the bustling streets, waving newspapers in his hands and with a stack of them by his side. "Prime Minister Ramsey MacDonald assures that the Four-Power Pact signed last year by Britain, France, Germany and Italy still holds and ensures peace and stability in Europe… Read it all in The Daily Herald!"

Alice stopped for a moment by the boy's side, plucking out a couple of shillings from her apron's pocket and counting the necessary amount before handing them over to the boy.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the boy politely, giving her one of the newspapers, before he started reciting the same news in a loud booming voice, once again.

As the children animatedly chattered, laughed and giggled around her, Alice quickly opened the newspaper to the section of International News and found the article she had been looking for.

It wasn't often that information regarding Germany could be found, and the articles that did focus on the subject were usually short and hidden away among other more cheerful matters of international politics and trade.

The British Government didn't seem to be particularly concerned about what was happening in Germany – at least, they didn't appear to be in front of their citizens.

However, Alice had her misgivings. She had been following news regarding Germany, and what she read had increasingly alarmed her for the last couple of years.

Two years ago, in 1932, the National Socialist party –or Nazi for short, and a right-wing party from what Alice understood - had gained almost forty percent of the votes in the German Parliament, called Reichstag or something of the sort. Then the party's leader, a chap called Hitler, had been appointed as Chancellor by the German President Hinderburg.

Not long after, the Chancellor Hitler had announced that his party's prime goal in foreign policy was to secure living space for the German race – that had perplexed Alice a bit, making her wonder just what that entailed.

Then, a fire had broken out at the Reichstag, supposedly caused by the Communist Party. As a result, that party, which was the second largest one in Germany, had been banned, giving the Nazis a clear majority in government in the following elections.

After this, matters seemed to worsen.

An Enabling Act had given Hitler power to make laws without consulting the Reichstag for a period of four years, Trade Unions were banned –which wasn't a good thing in Alice's opinion; England had its problems with Unions but Alice's brother had told her that if it wasn't for his Union leader at the factory, his salary wouldn't be enough to feed him- and they had started burning books which were considered to be 'un-German'. This latter seemed most atrocious to Alice, who loved books so much when she could afford them.

Moreover, later, all political parties except the Nazis were banned, Germany withdrew from the League of Nations –this had caused some anxious stirrings in England's political circles- and shops owned by Jews were vandalized, apparently because Jews were un-German and sought the ruination of non-Jews and the country as a whole.

Alice had been flummoxed by the latter. She knew several store owners and shopkeepers who were Jewish and she found nothing wrong with them. They stuck with their own, but they were smart merchants and friendly, and didn't overprice their wares and were honest and fair in all their dealings – they even gave credit.

Up until all these news, Alice had felt indignant or angered but not overly concerned. After all, the Prime Minister said that nothing was wrong and that the Germans didn't have intentions of causing any conflicts.

Her uneasiness had started three months ago, when she had been out buying supplies for the orphanage.

She had taken little Harry with her, who liked to accompany her while she went around the neighborhood's shops. The boy simply loved being outdoors and in the streets, where the children playing outside their homes cheerfully waved at him and invited him to play with them, or the passing-by women cooed at him and petted his hair.

Most of the orphanage's children were looked down upon by the people in their neighborhood –most thought that orphans would end up being thieves or something of the sort- but little Harry was always the exception. He had charmed everyone since the first day Alice had taken him out.

That day, she had visited Mr. Hutchins' small convenience store, which sold groceries and all other sort of things.

Robert Hutchins, or Bob Three Fingers as he was called since his pinky and ring finger were missing from his left hand, was an amiable man in his mid-thirties, nearly ten years her senior. And Alice had to admit, she had been secretly fascinated with him since the moment the man had moved to their neighborhood and opened up a shop.

He was very handsome in a roguish way, with his dark curls and sky blue eyes, but also very intriguing.

From what she knew, he had worked up North in a coal mine when he had been a mere boy and then he had taught himself how to read and write –something she admired greatly. When he was in his early twenties, he worked in a factory, not only becoming a supervisor but also a Union leader. But for some reason, he had left the North and had come to live in their neighborhood five years ago.

Rumors said that he had opened his shop with money he had stolen from the owner of the factory he had worked in; that his employer had caught him red-handed and that they had fought, with the employer somehow cutting Mr. Hutchins' two fingers before Mr. Hutchins managed to escape.

Others said that Mr. Hutchins had led a Union revolt in the factory and that in the fight between workers, armed policemen and the employers, he had killed the owner of the factory and thus had needed to flee down South, to London and the orphanage's neighborhood.

Even more vicious tongues said that Mr. Hutchins had seduced his employer's wife, that the husband had found out about the illicit affair, finding them in bed, and that he had taken a shot at them, but Mr. Hutchins had moved quickly to take the pistol from the man's hand though the shot had nevertheless blown out two of his fingers.

And some, those who didn't like him at all, mostly some men of the neighborhood who saw how their wives longingly sighed at the mere sight of Mr. Hutchins, said that he was a Communist. The man did disappear several days a month, going who knew where – they said that it was to secret Red meetings in central London.

Nevertheless, Alice didn't pay attention to such rumors. What mattered was that Mr. Hutchins was a good man; his prices were fair and his wares of good quality, he never tried to cheat any of his customers, and he always went around giving children candies or bread for free.

They had become friends of sorts, as much as an unmarried young man and woman could be friends without causing scandal. The man apparently had a well stocked library at his house behind the shop, because he constantly lent Alice books and novels whenever she went to his store.

"Are you here for Mrs. Agatha Christie's latest novel, Alice?" had said Mr. Hutchins that day, smiling at her the moment she and little Harry stepped inside his shop.

Alice had felt herself blush faintly at that, but she had soon shaken her head. "Not today, Mr. Hutchins, I still haven't finished the last one I borrowed from you." She awkwardly cleared her throat, as she continued, "I'm needing a sack of beans and wheat, and two pounds of potatoes."

Mr. Hutchins smiled at her again, in that gentle way that always made her heart beat faster and something flutter in the pit of her stomach, before he went about gathering what she had asked for.

Alice had to chide Harry when the boy started playing around with some pans on a shelf.

"Oh, let the little fellow have his fun. He does no harm," had said Mr. Hutchins as he settled the sacks on top of the counter, making little Harry beam at him.

Mr. Hutchins had shot him a grin of camaraderie, as if he was a playmate and little boy himself, and added as he pointed a finger at one corner of the store, "I've just received some new toys. You can have your pick, Harry. I'll lend the toy to you for some months if you take good care of it."

"Really?" breathed out little Harry, his emerald eyes going wide as he gazed at the man worshipfully.

"Really," said Mr. Hutchins, his grin widening in a sort of fond and conspiratorial way.

"Thank you, Bob!" piped in Harry, before he dashed to the corner and started tinkering about with wood blocks, tin soldiers, toy motorcars and the like.

"Mr. Hutchins, you're too generous," started saying Alice, "You really shouldn't-"

"The child has no problem adressing me by my first name," interrupted Mr. Hutchins softly, waving a hand, good-naturedly dismissing her comment, as he pierced his kind blue eyes into hers. "When will you start doing the same, Alice? We've known each other for five years, after all."

Alice felt herself blushing from her cheeks to the tip of her ears as she stammered in an abashed, meek murmur, "It's – it's not proper-"

"Who would know? There's no one around," he said, gesturing at the shop, before he gently smiled at her. "And it would please me, Alice."

She felt herself flushing even more. And she hated that she couldn't stop doing that in his presence; she was twenty-four years old and she had to look like a silly little girl to him when it happened.

So Alice managed to raise her head and meet his gaze, and she nodded jerkily. "Alright – Robert."

Mr. Hutchins shot her a wide, gorgeous smile, his eyes glinting with… was it affection? Alice didn't dare hope, she knew that he could have any woman he wanted and most men weren't interested in girls like her.

She was well educated, far above most in the same station in life as hers, and she didn't have any money, she was just a caregiver in a run-down orphanage. She was pretty enough, she supposed; she had seen men eyeing her with interest, but they didn't want a young woman who read books and had her own opinions and who didn't wear nice dresses.

Some of it must have shown on her face because Mr. Hutchins then said quietly, as he intently gazed at her, looking uncertain and a bit nervous which puzzled her, "Say Alice... I know you're a smart lass, and I've recently seen you buying newspapers… Are you interested in what's happening?"

Alice stared at him in befuddlement. "With Germany, you mean?"

He nodded, his expression turning grave as he said in a low, hushed voice, "Would you like to know more? About things most people aren't aware of? If I showed you, would you keep it a secret?"

Now mystified, Alice vehemently nodded, wondering what the 'secret' was. Well, whatever it was she would take it to the grave with her. Even if Mr. Hutchins suddenly burst out that he had indeed killed his employer in the factory, she didn't think she would tell a soul.

Mr. Hutchins eyed her closely once more, and then seemed to decide that she could be trusted. In a few seconds, he had locked the door of the shop, turning around the sign hanging on the window so that it displayed 'Closed' and then grabbed her hand and pulled her around the counter, opening a door which led to the backroom of the store.

Once they made their way through piles of boxes and rows of shelves, he led her through another door which made them enter a small sitting room. Alice's eyes widened since they were now evidently in his house, and she began feeling a bit uneasy. She didn't think Mr. Hutchins would assault her, but still, it wasn't right to be alone in a young man's house. If anyone found out, she would be ruined.

But she didn't have time to protest before Mr. Hutchins had already led her into another room, and all thoughts about silly propriety rules fled from her mind as she caught sight of all the things in there. And she stood frozen, gaping.

There was a small printing press and piles and piles of pamphlets, and numerous posters on the walls, and shelves filled with books, the names of some authors ringing a bell: Marx, Lenin, Engels, Trotsky… and other names she had never heard of before.

She swirled around to stare at him, with both uneasiness and a bit of fearful anxiousness, and stammered, "You're a – a –"

"A Communist?" said Mr. Hutchins, looking at her with a bit of amusement. "Yes, I am. You've certainly heard the rumors." He chuckled at her expression and added amiably, "But fear not, I'm not about to launch a world-wide bolshevist revolution and 'steal people's private properties', as some say about us. We don't want that, you know. Well, perhaps some do want an armed, global revolution, but I'm not that kind. I'm a Marxist and a Leninist, I just dream about a better and fairer society."

He turned around to point at one of the walls, and Alice, still fretful and apprehensive, followed it with her eyes to see a poster of a man with a bushy mustache and a stern face, looking quite intimidating. There were words in some strange language written on top and a big X crossing the man's face – a face she now remembered having seen in some newspaper article.

"And I'm certainly not a Stalinist," continued Mr. Hutchins, his voice now grave. "Sergei Kirov has been assassinated, you know? He was popular, he was a threat. Stalin has launched massive purges against political dissidents, conducting rigged show trials and then having them executed or imprisoned in Siberian gulag labor camps. Bukharin, Rykov, Kamenev, Zinoviev... all gone."

Alice hadn't the foggiest idea about what he was saying. She had read a few things about Russia in newspapers articles, but not much. She had never taken a particular interest in it. And certainly none of those names rang a bell, except Stalin's.

He turned around to gaze at her, a sad tone in his voice while his face looked angered. "He's disposed of the top political tier of Lenin's times. Trotsky was exiled, he's fled to Mexico, some rumors say. If only he could go back to Russia… He was meant to be Lenin's successor. He's an intellectual, you know, not a blood-thirsty butcher like Stalin…"

He shook his head and trailed off until he remained silent. Alice nibbled on her bottom lip, before she armed herself with courage.

Mr. Hutchins had indeed revealed a great secret to her; something that could easily ruin him if she spread word around about what the man had in his house.

She had never heard good things about Communists, they were widely feared, but she trusted that she had not been wrong in her opinion of Mr. Hutchins and she couldn't censure someone for his ideals when she actually knew so little about them.

And even if they were wrong ideals, as long as they didn't hurt anyone, then she wouldn't judge. She liked to believe that she was an advocate of the freedom of thought and speech, after all.

And to repay Mr. Hutchins' trust in her, she could at least show some interest. And indeed, she was quite curious about a small picture of an Asian man in his mid-thirties that hang near the poster of Stalin. She had never seen an Asian man before, it was quite a novelty.

"And who's he?" she whispered, taking a few steps to look at it more closely.

"That's Mao Tse-Tung," replied Mr. Hutchins, as he eyed the picture with a critical and pensive expression on his handsome face. "He's a young Communist leader in China, not very well known outside of it except in Communist circles. We've been hearing many things about him lately. He helped establish the Soviet Republic of China in the mountainous areas in Jiangxi, he's created an army called the Workers' and Peasants' Red Army of China. A modest but effective army, guerilla-like. And he's undertaken experiments in rural reform and government, and provided refuge for Communists fleeing the rightist purges in the cities."

He shot her a glance as he continued in a secretive, hushed murmur, "From what we've heard, Chiang Kai-shek, the Chairman of the Kuomintang government, surrounded them with his army, and they've been forced to retreat from Jiangxi. They intend to march to Shaanxi in the northwest of China, if rumors are to be believed. It's nearly a six thousand mile journey - it will take them a year at the very least. But Tse-Tung is gaining adherents, some of the Politburo of the Communist Party of China are defecting to his side. I've read some translations of his writings… Some say he's a young promise, others that he's ruthless and unscrupulous. It remains to be seen whether he'll be another Lenin or a Stalin, or if he'll succeed and have any impact at all."

Alice blinked at him. He might as well be speaking Chinese to her. Not only did China seem to her like another planet, but the names of the places and the terms he used were utterly foreign to her. She had only grasped a few things. A Lenin or a Stalin, that was basically it.

Nevertheless, even though she had always known that Mr. Hutchins was her superior intellectually, she did feel ashamed for knowing so little. She had only been interested about Germany, because it concerned her. Now she realized that much more was going on in the world, and she vouched to take an interest and start reading more about those matters in the newspapers.

Mr. Hutchins saw her confused expression, and chuckled. "Well, I didn't bring you here to bore you with my ramblings. This-" he approached the small printing press and started gathering pamphlets "- is actually what I wanted to show you."

"My fellows and I believe it's our duty to divulge the information that we've been receiving. We correspond with Communists in other countries, even with some who're German and have been hiding whilst trying to do something from within, and with left-wing Jew intellectuals in America – some of them received letters from relatives or acquaintances in Germany who somehow managed to get the letters across the border."

Mr. Hutchins paused to shoot her a grave and apprehensive glance, as he murmured, "And Alice, it's much worse than what the newspapers say or what is known by the politicians here. In Germany, they're not simply vandalizing shops owned by Jews, they are outright persecuting them. And not only them, but Poles and other Slavs that live in Germany, gypsies and political dissidents as well as the clergy, and people with physical or mental disabilities, and homosexuals-"

A strangled, sort of shocked cough stuck in her throat, and Alice flushed to the tips of her ears in embarrassment.

Mr. Hutchins eyed her weirdly, before a look of understanding crossed his handsome face as he said gently, "You do know what a homosexual is, right? Men who love men-"

"I know," mumbled Alice, still feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

She did know, she had heard rumors about people like that, but no one had openly spoken about it in her presence. It wasn't polite conversation, and much less something which was discussed with young women.

It seemed unnatural to her that men would like other men. Men were made to be with women. But then, as she usually did when she analyzed an issue, she placed herself in those people's shoes and admitted that if someone had the audacity to tell her who she could or couldn't love, she would tell them just where they could shove it.

And one of her favorite playwrights was Oscar Wilde. She had read about him, how he had died a decade ago, in poverty and rejected by society, after he had been tried as a sodomite and sentenced to two years of imprisonment and forced labor, a term which he had served before exiling himself to France.

She couldn't afford to go to the theatre but she had certainly bought his published plays whenever she managed to save some money. The man had been a genius, and if someone like him had been a homosexual, well, then it couldn't be that bad.

His plays were all the rage now. People still had an ill opinion of him -not enough years had passed to make them forgive or forget that Wilde had been a homosexual- but that didn't prevent them from enjoying his work. And Alice had always thought that was quite hypocritical and also very unfair.

Nevertheless, discussing such matters still made her feel discomfited and embarrassed.

Mr. Hutchins cleared his throat, now looking uneasy given her reaction. Seeing this, Alice damned her own foolishness. She didn't want to seem less in his eyes.

And truly, if such an extraordinary man as Mr. Hutchins could be so liberal thinking and open minded, and actually treated her like an equal by openly talking about such matters with her, then she would at the very least rise up to the occasion and behave like a mature young woman.

With determination to prove her worth, she pulled a self-assured and composed expression on her face, giving him a tentative smile as she said quietly, "I apologize, I didn't mean… I appreciate that you speak freely with me. Please continue."

Mr. Hutchins shot her a pleased smile and nodded, before his expression turned grave once again. "As I was saying, those people are being persecuted. Some are taken for 'interrogation' by the Gestapo and are never seen again, while most have been forced to leave their homes and are being reallocated to the poorest areas of some cities, all bunched together in small quarters. And the areas are being closed off from the rest of the city in question, by walls and barb wire – they're… well, like areas turned into prisons, with horrible living conditions and little to eat. Ghettos. And..."

He trailed off, before he suddenly took her hands into his, his expression turning into one of sorrow and pained impotence, as he murmured, "And we've recently heard that trucks have been seen leaving the ghettos. Trucks with people in them, Alice - to transport them to other cities or the countryside, supposedly. But they're never seen or heard from again. We wonder… We wonder where they're being taken and what's happening to them."

Alice's eyes grew large and she breathed out anxiously, "What do you think _is_ happening?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Hutchins, deeply frowning as if angered with himself for not having more reliable information, dropping her hands. "I truly don't know. No one seems to know."

He shot her a glance, as he added in a mutter, "But I fear the worse. Stalin uses labor camps, so it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to think that Hitler might be doing the same. Yet… even from labor camps one hears news once in a while about the prisoners there. In this case, we hear nothing."

Alice frowned, confused and perplexed, but she was yanked away from her puzzled inner thoughts when Mr. Hutchins suddenly dropped on her hands a bunch of pamphlets, as he said, "It's all there. Read it but make sure to burn them after you're done with them. I don't want you to get into any trouble because of me."

He paused, before he shot her a piercing glance as he added, "And believe what Winston Churchill is saying."

Alice nearly gaped at him. No one paid attention to Churchill nowadays.

She remembered that he had been deeply involved in politics when she had been a young girl, serving in several posts in the government.

However, the man had started in the Conservative Party, then his own constituency had effectively deselected him, and so he became a member of the Liberal Party, and then he jumped back to the Conservative one. Later, he had created an independent one for himself before going back with the Conservatives once more. Afterwards, he had been given the cold shoulder by the members of his party and he had exiled himself from politics for several years.

A man like that was clearly unreliable, and only loyal to himself. And they said he was an alcoholic and an ill-humored, cantankerous man with barely any manners at all. Moreover, he was accused of being a war-monger.

Churchill had just returned to the political sphere last year, giving only one public speech regarding Germany that no one had taken seriously.

Mr. Hutchins wryly smiled at her expression. "Oh, I don't like him, personally. I think he's an Imperialist Fascist in many of his views, especially regarding India and Gandhi..."

Alice blinked at him with a smigden of confused wonder. Gandhi? Wasn't that the tiny man going around starkers preaching about having a nonviolent revolt to gain his country's independence? And it was most improper for a man to present himself nearly naked, and India was the crown jewel of the British Empire, after all. Everyone was mighty proud of that. In the newspapers articles she had glanced at regarding the matter, the journalists always seemed to treat Mr. Gandhi with condenscension, ridicule, and scorn. Though it seemed Mr. Hutchins had an all together opposite opinion regarding the issue.

She was yanked away from her puzzled musings as Mr. Hutchins continued.

"...But we have a fellow who works in the Ministry of Defense and he believes that someone there is passing Churchill top secret information, and that some others in high positions in the government are too. So when Churchill said last year that Germany is rearming, contravening the Treaty of Versailles, then I believe he's right." Mr. Hutchins paused and pierced her with his sky blue eyes, his expression grave as his voice turned firm, "I don't believe it because he's the one who says it, but because his informers clearly have some evidence of it. And they're troubled enough, and courageous enough, to leak the information to Churchill even if it means losing their jobs. People like that, I trust."

Alice had left the shop feeling very perturbed, with sacks of beans, wheat and potatoes under her arms, the pamphlets stuck in her apron's pocket, and with little Harry trotting by her side, bubbling with excitement over his new toy.

And now, as she perused the articles in the International section of the newspaper in her hands, she found out that the German President Hindenburg had died and that Chancellor Hitler had combined his own post with that of the President, and was calling himself a Führer – whatever the word meant.

Well, according to a tiny article, it seemed to mean that the man had given himself totalitarian, absolute power. The man had become a true dictator, there was no doubt about it this time.

None of it bode well.

But, another article said that Prime Minister MacDonald insisted that the Four-Power Pact held true, and that there would be no armed conflicts in Europe.

It was all very confusing, with politicians reassuring the public, saying all was well, and some dissenting voices like Churchill's arguing against, and then what she had read in Mr. Hutchins' pamphlets...

However, surely things couldn't worsen even further. No one wanted another conflict after the Great War. It had been a carnage; so many millions had died and it had left them all sinking in an economic depression.

If Germany tried anything, surely the other European countries would stop them. And she had faith in her own government - she had to.

And thus, she inwardly reassured herself once more, as she had been doing lately quite frequently, and she folded the newspaper.

Glancing at the children, she didn't miss Tom's gaze fixing on the newspaper before he quickly looked away, and Alice had to conceal a smile.

The boy was now seven years old, but he had taken an interest in matters outside of the orphanage for the last couple of years. The boy had been barely five when Alice had one day seen him eyeing the newspaper she had been reading while she watched the children play.

Of course, Tom had simply given it a look of covetousness -and almost hunger, she would say- and then glanced away with an expressionless mask on his face before anyone could notice. But Alice had noticed, and she had felt extremely proud.

Nevertheless, she knew him well so she hadn't openly offered the newspaper to him. Instead, after she was done reading it, she had left it lying at the small table in the kitchen before going about with her daily duties in the orphanage. An hour later, when she returned to the kitchen, the newspaper was gone.

And thus, she had been 'lending' newspapers to Tom for the past two years, never seeing them again but knowing that the boy read them at night in the room he shared with his brother. For a boy so young to take an interest in world-wide matters and to even be able to understand newspaper articles, it was a wonder and a prodigious feat.

Ever since then, she had started giving him private tutoring classes after her usual lessons with all the children, teaching him subjects in levels well advanced for his age. Tom had never thanked her for it, and he was always quiet during their lessons; attentive but curtly polite, speaking spare few words to her.

But Alice was rewarded in her own ways when she saw how Tom further improved by leaps and bounds. And to her great satisfaction, it trickled down to Harry.

Harry was by no means dumb, he could be quite smart when he applied himself, but the problem was that the small boy could barely sit down for two minutes straight when she taught the children.

He was so full of energy and playful eagerness, that one minute he sat still, intently listening to her words, and in the next second he was fretfully squirming on his seat, eyeing some toy left on the floor or gently pulling on Amy's pig tails to make the girl giggle or doing some other mischief.

One day, it had all changed.

Alice and the children had been in the orphanage's small playroom; she had been reading a fairytale to the children, but that day Harry had barely left his brother's side. While Tom was seated crossed legged at a corner reading a book, as usual, Harry was next to him, playing by himself with the tin soldiers with missing arms or legs that Alice had found in a dumpster in the streets.

Then, a roaring sound was heard coming from outside. And as frequently happened, Harry instantly leapt to his small feet and dashed to the window, pressing up his nose against the glass, staring with wide, fascinated eyes at the motorcar which rolled by.

"I want to be a mechanic!" he excitedly announced to the whole room as he turned around to face them, his green eyes especially focused on Tom, as if wanting to see if his words met with his brother's approval. "I'll make lots and lots of motorcars and I'll-"

"Mechanics only repair motorcars," interrupted Tom curtly, briefly lying down his book on his lap to give his brother a stern look, "they don't make them, you idiot."

Scrunching up his face in pensiveness, Harry cocked his head to a side. "Who do, then?"

"Engineers," said Tom shortly, picking up his book again with the clear intention of ignoring his brother and resume his reading.

"Then I'll be an ingini!" chimed Harry cheerfully, as if that settled the matter and it was already an accomplished feat.

Tom shot him an irritated look and clearly enunciated, "En-gi-neer."

"Yes, that," chirped Harry with a wide grin, nodding his head.

Tom rolled his eyes, before he settled his book on the floor and rose up, taking a few strides to reach his brother, towering over him as he said in a contemptuous and mocking tone of voice, "Don't make me laugh. You, an engineer? You're a halfwit. You could never be one-"

"I'm not a halfwit!" burst out Harry in indignation, glowering up at his brother, puffing out his chest and standing straight, as if attempting stretch himself up to be taller and be able to match his brother's height. In the next second, he seemed to realize it wasn't enough and apparently decided to cheat by standing on his tip toes, glaring up at the still taller boy.

"Yes you are," sneered Tom scathingly, ignoring his brother's antics - who had began precariously swaying as he lost his balance and ended up on his flat heels again, pouting. "During lessons you barely-"

"Harry has a short attention span, that's all," interjected Alice from across the room, not liking when Tom undermined the little boy in such ways. Harry worshipped his brother and Tom could be so vicious and mean to the smaller boy sometimes.

She soon shot Kathy a glance, who was mending a pair of children socks by her side, and gave her the book she had been reading from. As Kathy continued reading the story out loud for the other children, Alice approached the two boys standing by the window.

Shooting her a narrow-eyed, annoyed dark look, Tom rounded on her as he drawled in a bored tone of voice, "Exactly, he has the attention span of a gnat. So how do you propose he studies to become an engineer?" He arched a sarcastic eyebrow at her. "Would we be tying him down on a chair and gagging him, so that he actually _listens _and pays attention instead of jumping around, babbling constantly?"

Alice chuckled and savored the feeling of having Tom speak more than three words together to her. Oh, she didn't delude herself. Tom only conversed with her when they were with Harry – he tolerated her for Harry's sake, because Harry liked her, and nothing else.

But she treasured these moments all the same.

"He'll be more mature in a couple of years," she said gently, shooting little Harry an encouraging smile, "and I'm sure he'll be able to be quite studious then, if he wants to."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," muttered Tom, casting his brother a disparaging look.

"But I want to make motorcars!" piped in Harry, with a mutinous and stubborn expression on his small face, his lips pouting out. "And I will, you'll see! And I'll drive all around the world and –"

"Do you?" said Tom slowly, his voice low, as he eyed his brother with a thoughtful and calculating glint in his dark blue eyes. Alice didn't know what crossed the boy's mind, but in the next second he seemed to come to a decision, and he added coolly, "I'm going to start teaching you, then."

At that, Alice's eyebrows shot to her hairline and little Harry gawked at his brother. Tom merely gave them a self-satisfied smirk and returned to his corner, with Harry silently trailing after him in the next second, still looking bewildered and shocked by his brother's unexpected generosity. Though, in the next moment, little Harry was already biting down on his bottom lip with dread, no doubt realizing that his brother would be a tough teacher and that it would actually be no fun at all for him.

That night, brimming with curiosity, Alice couldn't help spying on the boys when she was making her nightly rounds and heard their voices coming out from the parted door of their room. She covertly peeked a glance inside, seeing the two boys sitting crossed legged on Tom's cot, facing each other and with a book between them.

"I won't have a fool for a brother," Tom was saying sternly, giving Harry a harsh look, as he trailed a finger over the opened book. "It's embarrassing. You can barely read and your writing is atrocious."

Alice had felt a little bad for Harry at that. The boy had been only six years old then and at that age couldn't be expected to read and write well; the other children who were one or two years older than Harry didn't either. But it seemed that Tom had decided to apply the same high standards he set for himself, now on his brother.

Harry was biting on his lower lip, an indecisive expression on his face, as if battling between saying something to defend himself or to admit Tom's words as the truth. In the end, he hung his head low and peered at his brother through his eyelashes, and then simply nodded.

"I'll be teaching you the same Alice has been attempting to get through your thick skull during all these years, and much more," continued Tom in the same tone of voice. "This time, you'll pay attention and you'll learn." He shot Harry a most ominous look at this, his gaze fixing on Harry's forehead. "If not, you know what will happen."

Alice frowned when little Harry winced and rubbed his scar, but she put it out of her mind as they continued.

"From now on, you'll not be allowed to play until I'm satisfied that you've fully learned the lessons of the day," said Tom sternly, though at Harry's horrified expression he mellowed his tone of voice as he grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Listen, I don't expect you to become an engineer. I don't expect you to have to work at all-"

"What do you mean?" piped in Harry, looking thoroughly confused. He played with the hem of his tattered shirt, giving his brother an uncertain glance as he said in a small voice, "We're poor, both of us will have to work-"

"Not you," interrupted Tom curtly, before a gleam sparkled in his dark blue eyes and he jumped from the cot and onto his feet, looking at some point in the distance as if envisioning a glorious future for them, his voice turning excited. "I have it all figured out. We'll leave as soon as we turn fifteen-"

"Leave here?" gasped out Harry, his emerald eyes wide. "But it's our home!"

"Home?" spat Tom, his lips twisting as he rounded on Harry, fury crossing his expression and making his face turn dark. "What, you enjoy wearing second-hand clothes and barely having anything to eat and being looked down for being in an orphanage-"

"No," snapped Harry, setting his jaw in a stubborn expression. "But I don't mind it." He bit on his bottom lip and added in soft voice as he peered at his brother, "And I like Amy, Eric and Billy. And I like Alice very much. I would miss her. She's like our mother-"

"She's not our mother, or a sister, or anything to us!" snarled Tom, his handsome face contorting with anger as he glared down at Harry. "And do you like Jenkins too, eh?"

Harry hunched his small shoulders and murmured in a tiny voice, "No."

Alice, still eavesdropping on them, had winced, feeling her heart ache. Besides Kathy and her, there had been two other caregivers: two widowed, sour old women who had little patience with the children and yelled at them rather than take the time to improve the children's manners in a gentle and sympathetic way.

Nevertheless, the two women hadn't been that bad; one had ended up doting on Harry and the other was merely indifferent to all children. Regrettably, one of them had suddenly died of a stroke and soon after, the other had retired to live with some niece in the countryside.

Given the orphanage's increasingly limited funds, only one person had been hired to cover for their absences. An old acquaintance of Mrs. Sharpe's: Tom Jenkins, a bitter cantankerous old man who hardly lifted a finger if it wasn't to box some ears, slap some heads, or roughly manhandle any child, for reasons so petty like the children being too loud.

Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Sharpe were as thick as thieves and often spent their days sharing cups of gin in Mrs. Sharpe's office. The matron's vice had worsened with the years, and so had her temper. Moreover, the two of them were of a similar frame of mind when it came to the children, and corporal punishment had started being used, with Mrs. Sharpe's permission and encouragement and executed by Mr. Jenkins' vicious hands.

Since then, Alice had often found bruises in the shape of meaty fingers on some of the boys' arms and shoulders, especially on Harry and Tom. Mr. Jenkins seemed to have developed a hatred for them in particular.

But there was little Alice could do about it; Mr. Jenkins didn't use a belt on any of the children or punched them or caused serious injuries like cracked bones. The corporal punishment he doled out was permissible by English law and was applied by most schools, public and private both. It was brutal and savage in her opinion, but not many thought the same as her.

"Exactly," bit out Tom, still glowering at his brother, "so we'll leave when we turn fifteen. At that age I can find employment as a bookkeeper in a shop. They won't mind that I'm not of age when they see that I'll accept lower wages and when I prove that I surpass everyone in intelligence."

He pulled himself to his full height and continued fiercely, "Why do you think I study so hard? I can already write, read, and do numbers better than any adult, and by the time I'm fifteen I will already have learned as much as I can about accounting and trade. That ought to suffice, in the beginning. With a job, I'll be able to afford a small room for us in some cheap residence while I save as much as I can."

Harry gaped at him, his green eyes large and startled. A small frown crinkled his forehead when he whispered quietly, "And what will I do?"

"Cook and clean, and house-keeping stuff," replied Tom nonchalantly, before he shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "With the rest of your time you can do whatever you please."

"Clean? Cook?" said Harry, scrunching his nose with dislike. He then glowered at him and groused out, highly miffed, "Why do I get to do those things and you get to be the grownup?"

Tom scoffed and irreverently poked Harry's forehead with a finger. "Because I'm brilliant and you're not, you little twit. And you're too small and will probably still look small when you're fifteen. " He shot him a large, smug smirk, and added, "I bet that when I'm fifteen, I'll look like eighteen."

Harry shot him a dirty look, crossing his arms over his small chest and huffed, making the unruly locks of hair of his fringe stick up. "Fine, and then what?"

"Then, when I've saved enough money, in a year or two of work by my estimates," replied Tom solemnly, like an emperor ruling over his subjects' fate in life, "we'll go to America."

Gawking at him and wide-eyed, little Harry breathed out, "America?", as if someone was telling him he would be going to the moon and beyond.

"Oh, I know they're going through a rough patch at present," Tom said calmly, shooting him a superior smirk, "but it's said to be the land of opportunity, isn't it?"

Then he clicked his tongue with irritated exasperation when his little brother looked nonplussed and clueless. "Well, it is. And as soon as I'm there, I'll know what to do." His smirk widened as he continued with supreme self-confidence, "I'll easily make a fortune, I know it."

Clearly jittery and worried, Harry played with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his bottom lip, glancing at his brother anxiously. "I'm not sure, Tom-"

Tom instantly narrowed his eyes at him, and demanded harshly, "Do you trust me?"

It didn't even take a second for little Harry to adamantly nod his head repeatedly, though he still looked fretful and uncertain about his brother's plans.

Tom seemed to relax and his lips quirked upwards, his expression content and satisfied as he sat down on the cot by his brother's side. He wrapped an arm around Harry's small shoulders and murmured quietly, "You'll see. I'll make a fortune, and I'll buy for us a great house and you'll have all the food and toys you could ever hope for, and we'll travel."

He shot his little brother a knowing smirk when Harry's eyes brightened at that. "Oh yes, I promise that we'll travel the whole world and we'll have all the adventures you want, and we'll see lots of strange places. And I'll keep studying and making more money, and I'll take care of you and we'll never have to worry about money or food or anything else again."

"Alright," said little Harry, beaming a wide joyous smile, as if the mere mention of faraway places and exciting dangerous adventures had clinched the deal for him.

As she saw the two boys curling up together on the cot to have their night of sleep, Alice had left, feeling highly perturbed.

She couldn't, in all consciousness, allow the boys to leave before they turned eighteen - the age in which they would be forced to leave the orphanage anyway. God knew what would happen to them if they left when they weren't legally adults, especially Harry who had such beautiful features and was still small for his age.

She shuddered when she thought what vicious and malevolent men could do to a boy like him. She wasn't ignorant about the cruelties of men and especially about what happened to boys and girls in reduced circumstances who had no adult to protect them.

At best, Harry would be abducted to become one of the many small-framed chimneysweeper boys who usually died at a young age due to starvation, since their 'owners' kept all the money they earned, rarely fed them and had them living in appalling conditions. And at worst, he would be nightly sold out for wealthy men's pleasures. And Tom wouldn't possibly be able to prevent any of that, as much as he tried; he was still a boy himself.

Yes, she would have a word with Tom and show him that there were other paths he could take. The boy was very independent and also very suspicious and scornful of adults and any form of authority, but with a mind like his he could easily win a scholarship for a good university.

Indeed, Alice thought that the boy could easily end up in Oxford itself. It might not be the straightest road to assured fortune and success but at least it was a relatively safe one. America! So much could go wrong for the boys there…

Nevertheless, the immediate consequences of that day of a year ago were that Harry diligently spent three hours of every day in his room with Tom, learning everything his brother decided to teach him. And in her lessons with the children, Alice had noticed the vast improvement Harry had made in reading, writing, and his numbers. It was evident to her that Tom managed to get through his brother much better than she could ever hope to.

She knew Harry would never be as brilliant as Tom -Tom was a prodigy after all- but the child would be well prepared when the time came for the boys to attend the public school in their neighborhood.

As all of St. Jerome's orphans, they would be attending as soon as they turned twelve. Though Alice had already decided that she would visit the headmaster of the school to have Tom skip several grades.

It would separate the two brothers but they would still be together at the orphanage, so she thought it was best since she would be doing Tom a great disservice if she didn't.

Furthermore, after what she had heard that night, she was already looking into scholarships that Tom could apply to – she would do everything in her power to see him go through good schools and university, and none of that risky America nonsense.

Pulling out of her musings, Alice glanced at the children now with her.

Billy Stubbs still looked sullen because he had to leave his rabbit behind. Puffy the Bunny had been the orphanage's pet for three years and was much loved by all the children, with the exception of Tom who looked irritated whenever his brother played with Billy and the rabbit. But all children adored it, especially when the little animal made its frequent bids for escape and hopped all around the orphanage, the children shrieking with laughter and giggles as they gave chase to the poor bunny.

Her gaze soon zeroed in on Tom and Harry, the latter who was now eyeing the window display of a nearby pastry shop with large, longing eyes.

Suddenly, when Tom shot her a covert, calculating glance, Alice winced. The boy had been doing that for the past three months, and she knew why. It had been her own fault, her own careless absentmindedness.

That day when she had returned from Mr. Hutchins' store, she had instantly read the pamphlets in the orphanage's kitchen while Kathy was in the backyard with the children.

Abruptly, Kathy had called out for her, asking her to bring iodine and some bandages from the house, since Eric Whalley had scraped his knees whilst playing. Hurriedly, Alice had stuck the pamphlets inside the newspaper, hiding them and with every intention of burning them when she returned.

Alas, after tending to Eric, when she got back to the kitchen, the newspaper was gone.

Tom hadn't said a word to her about it, but she knew that he had found and read the pamphlets, and she was aware of the troubles he could cause for her. He had since then been shooting her brief, sly glances that sometimes chilled her spine. As if he was indolently holding a scythe with which he could behead her if the whim struck him.

She glanced away from the boy, reassuring herself that there had to be an ounce of regard that Tom held for her, and then gazed at Harry who was by the taller boy's side.

Alice had to hide an amused smile when Harry's eyeglasses slipped to the tip of his small nose, before the boy pushed it up again.

The eyeglasses still looked as enormous on his face small as the day when she had bought them for him, three years ago. They were large, made for an adult not a boy, since she couldn't afford to buy new frames every year. She had to save money just to have the lenses changed every once in a while.

Thus, the eyeglasses covered the upper half of Harry's cheeks up to well pass his eyebrows, making him look even more adorable than ever before, not only because they were huge but also completely round.

"I want glasses like the funny man's!" Harry had chimed that day at the store.

Alice had chuckled at that.

In their neighborhood, there was an old man who had been an operator of the reel projector in a movie theater in London. He had retired, taking with him several reels of black-and-white silent movies which the cinema had no use for, along with a broken projector which he had later repaired himself.

The old man gladly invited the neighborhood's children, along with those of the orphanage, to his house a couple of times a year, putting his reels and projector to good use. More often than not, they all watched Charles Chaplin films.

But that day when they had gone to buy the eyeglasses, the children of the orphanage had watched a movie which had been released in the cinemas three years earlier, a Marx Brother's motion picture called Monkey Business. And Harry had laughed and giggled and clapped his hands the most. The 'funny man' was Groucho Marx.

Tom hadn't been happy about it, but as much as he told his brother that he looked ridiculous and stupid, Harry had mulishly refused to have any other eyeglasses but those. It was thus that Alice still chuckled from time to time when she gazed at Harry wearing his funny man's eyeglasses.

Finally, Alice clapped her hands twice, making all the children immediately surround her, looking up at her eagerly, knowing what was about to come.

"You have fifteen minutes of free time to look at the shops you like." She brought up a finger and gave them her best stern look. "Remember, you cannot cross the street or go beyond this block. Now go have fun and be polite."

The children happily cheered, earning some looks from passers-by, not all the glances friendly or sympathetic. And in the next second they were scampering away, already entering their favorite stores.

Alice could only give them a couple of pennies each from her own earnings, so there wasn't much they could buy except a candy or two, but most of them were simply content by admiring toys or, in the girls' case, dresses and hair ribbons.

* * *

Little Harry had instantly grabbed his brother's hand and was pulling him towards the pastries and candy shop he had been eyeing previously, before he gave Tom any chance to complain.

When they reached the window display, Harry felt his mouth watering as he stared at all the wonderful cakes, sweets, cookies and piles of chocolates of all sorts with pieces of almonds, strawberries, cherries and other confections, amidst colorful little boxes and ribbons and laces and similar decorations.

"You're such a glutton," said Tom contemptuously by his side.

Harry peeled his gaze away from the heavenly sight and shot him a glance. Utterly befuddled, he cocked his head to a side. "A what?"

"You like to eat too much," explained Tom barely restraining his irritation and already making a mental note to start forcing Harry to read a dictionary from front to back. The extent of his little brother's vocabulary still left much to be desired.

Harry blinked at him, wondering what could possibly be wrong with that. He was so hungry most of times that there could be no such thing as having too much food, in his opinion. And he rarely felt full with what they were given at the orphanage.

"You're getting fat," sneered Tom, his lips nastily twisting upwards, "and everyone will stop liking you because of it."

Harry's small brows furrowed as he glanced down at himself. He saw nothing but his too big shirt which hung low over one of his small shoulders, baring it, and his pants which he had to tie with a rope. He poked at his sunken belly and then huffed as he shot his brother a glower.

"I'm not fat. Besides, I'm-" To his mortification his stomach decided then to let out a loud grumble and he felt the tip of his ears turning pink as Tom shot him a mocking look.

But then he decided that it actually proved his point, and his eyes became large as he pleadingly peered up at his brother, as he said with a little whine, "I'm hungry, Tom."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave him a cold, uninterested look. "What does that have to do with me?"

Little Harry shuffled his shoes on the ground, glancing at the small white cards around the assortment of sweets and chocolates which had a list of prices, and then glanced at Tom, and back, as he opened the palm of his hand to count the few pennies he had there.

"I don't have enough to buy anything," he started in a small, cajoling voice, shooting his brother another plaintive glance, "but if you lend me some of your money-"

Tom let out a loud disparaging scoff, looking down at him as if he was dealing with a brain-damaged idiot. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm giving you my allowance so that you can stuff candies down your gullet-"

"I just want a chocolate bar," said Harry softly, doing his best to look utterly miserable and despondent. "I've never tasted chocolate-"

"Neither have I-"

"And I've heard it's very, very good," continued Harry quickly, his green eyes widening with hope and helpless need – he had discovered that his brother sometimes liked when he peered at him like that, as if Tom was the only person in the whole world who could provide things for him and he had no one else to turn to or who could possibly care for him. He made his eyes grow even larger for that very same purpose, as he added in a tiny, mournful voice, "And I just want to taste it once. Just once, Tom. I'll even share half with you-"

"I'm not interested in tasting chocolate," sneered Tom scathingly, giving him a suspicious, narrowed-eyed look. "Besides, chocolate bars are a luxury, they are expensive. I would have to give you all my pennies for that-"

"But I'll pay it back next time Alice gives us some!" said Harry vehemently, rocking on the holed heels of his worn down shoes as he tugged on the hem of his brother's shirt. "Please, Tom, please…"

Tom clenched his jaw, clearly another refusal about to come out, but then his expression changed as he gave Harry a calculating and assessing glance.

His dark blue gaze trailed from the tip of his brother's small tattered shoes, up the skinny legs and grey knee-length pants, to the small hips, waist and chest, passing over the exposed bony left shoulder, to the thin neck, and then the face, with the delicate jaw line, the plush, pouty pink lips, the small button nose, the delicate rosy cheeks, the long black eyelashes framing those almond-shaped, large emerald eyes, and those ludicrous humongous glasses, to the tip of his wild messy hair – even the latter, made adults smile fondly.

And the whole picture always caused admiration and bedazzlement in strangers' expressions, and marveled sighs and soft, gentle cooings, making them look as if they had been enchanted by some forest sprite, if such things existed. Which didn't, thankfully; with his little brother he had enough. Gratefully, the world was a rational place.

The corner of Tom's lips curved into a large smirk, his eyes gleaming darkly. "If I do you the favor of getting you a chocolate bar, then you'll have to do me a similar favor in return."

Immediately, Harry became alert, straightening out his back as he skewered his brother with a suspicious gaze. Nothing bode well when his brother had that look in his eyes. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Just that," said Tom coolly, shooting him a superior look. "Those are my terms. Do you agree?"

Harry shot him another glance, nibbled on his bottom lip, and then glanced at him again. He would regret it, he knew, but he was just _so_ hungry and he so longed to taste chocolate once and for all. Eric had tasted chocolate once and he wouldn't stop yapping about it and he really wanted to know if it was as good as his friend boasted about.

"Fine," he grumbled at last, giving his brother a dirty look before he extended an open hand. "Gimme your pennies."

"Oh no, you won't be needing them," drawled Tom arrogantly, looking entirely too pleased with himself, with a sly expression on his face which Harry didn't like one bit. Tom spread out his own hand, as he added commandingly, "Hand over your glasses."

"What for?" burst out Harry in alarm, his eyes widening as he instinctually grabbed the sides of his glasses with his small hands.

They were his most precious possession, and he greatly took care of them since he knew Alice couldn't afford to buy him new ones; he always took them off and put them someplace safe before he played around with the other children of the orphanage.

"Do you want a chocolate bar or don't you?" bit out Tom impatiently, his expression growing angered.

"If you break them, I'll make you feel sorry," Harry promised darkly, glaring at his brother with all his might as he carefully withdrew them from his face and gently placed them in Tom's hand.

"You're more liable to break them than I am, little twerp," shot out Tom with a sneer, sliding the glasses into the front pocket of his pants. Then he unceremoniously shoved his brother forward, pushing him towards the shop's door. "Get going, we don't have much time left and you still have to repay the favor after this."

Without his eyeglasses, Harry could still see things; they were blurry but it wasn't that bad, and if he squinted really hard he could even read words. So it wasn't any trouble to yank open the door and trot inside. And soon, he stopped wondering and worrying about what his brother was up to, as his gaze travelled over all the shelves loaded with boxes of all kinds of sweets and confections. It was paradise; even the tingle of the doorbell sounded like angels chiming, to his ears.

He barely paid attention to the matronly woman who was behind the counter, who simply gave them a distracted, cursory glance as she continued stacking some cookie jars on the shelves behind her, evidently having deemed them harmless and as just some little boys wanting to buy a couple of candies.

Meanwhile, Harry was utterly enthralled by everything in sight, to such point that he was caught off guard and unprepared to react in time. Utterly unexpected to him, a foot shot forward from behind him, tangling with his own, and with a cry of surprise and alarm, little Harry went crashing forward, flailing his small arms.

He hit the floor hard and slid forward a few feet; clothed bum sticking in the air, his knees scraped, his elbows aching under the weight of his body, with his jaw throbbing and his tongue hurting awfully – his teeth had bit down on it with the force of the crash.

"Oh my God, little brother!" cried out Tom looking dismayed and terribly concerned as he rushed to Harry's side. "Are you well? Are you hurt?"

The shopkeeper by then had swiftly turned around, gasping when she saw a small, skinny boy sprawled on the floor, the boy's brother, apparently, panicking. The woman instantly went around the counter in order to reach them, as she murmured worriedly, her gaze fixed on Harry, "Oh my, oh my, poor child…"

Tom crouched by Harry's side, with his back turned towards the woman as he tucked a hand under his brother's belly. He pinched the skin there and twisted, hard, as he hissed out into Harry's ear, "Cry, you idiot."

Little Harry didn't need any encouragement; everything hurt, and his brother kept twisting with his pinching fingers, and it seemed to burn there, and his eyes were already watery and tears soon started to roll down his cheeks.

In the midst of the pain, he felt confused and dizzy, and he glanced at Tom with an extremely betrayed and hurt look in his eyes, but he could barely speak, his tongue felt swollen and thick. His brother twisted again, and Harry gasped and let out a sob, wanting nothing more than to kick his tormentor away, but he couldn't move, his knees hurt so much.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," babbled Tom, ignoring any looks his brother shot at him, as the shopkeeper knelt by their side looking flustered. "He's so clumsy, he never looks where he's going and he constantly trips and-"

"Oh no, no, the floor must have been slippery," said the woman, as she gently and very carefully turned Harry face up, her eyes widening when she saw lovely emerald eyes filled with tears, the boy's beautiful face in pain, as little sobs escaped the pouty lips. Her heart ached in her bosom at the mere sight of it. "Oh you poor sweet boy, Rose will make it all well, you'll see…"

She started crooning softly as she plucked out a handkerchief from her apron and started dabbing it on Harry's small face. "Do you hurt anywhere, child? Just nod or shake your head if you can…"

As the woman fussed and kept rambling and tending to Harry, completely focused on him, Tom stood up and backed away against the shelves, one of his hands hiding back, while his other clenched and unclenched at his side as if with apprehension, his face the picture of concerned anxiousness and helplessness, as if he could do nothing but watch the woman take care of his little brother, he himself hoping for the best.

A couple of minutes passed by, Harry merely answering to the woman's gentle solicitousness as best as he could, feeling some of his aches slowly fading away while his tears subsided and his head began to clear.

The woman helped him to stand up, still looking terribly concerned and Harry finally spoke, his cut, heavy tongue making him stumble with the words, "I'm gud, thak yo. Relly, I'm ph'ine."

The shopkeeper tenderly patted his head as she said softly, "What did you want to buy, dear child?"

"Oh, nothing, ma'am," interjected Tom then, his tone sweet and polite, reaching them and shooting Harry a very worried look as he wrapped an arm over his shoulders, protectively. Harry twitched but remained silent and still. "We only wished to look around." He hung his head low and added in an abashed mumble, "We have no money, you see. We're from an orphanage. Forgive us for-"

"An orphanage!" cried out the woman, bringing a hand to her ample bosom as she looked at them pityingly but also with a warm-hearted expression on her face. "Oh you poor boys... And there's nothing to forgive, nothing at all!"

She instantly swirled around and made her way towards her side of the counter, clattering with jars and boxes until she fixed two small paper cones with a few candies in each, handing them over to Tom with a gentle smile on her face. "Here, for you and your brother."

Tom widened his dark blues eyes as he held the cones, gazing at them in awe, as he whispered reverently, "Thank you, and for helping my younger brother-"

"Hush, hush, I did nothing," said the shopkeeper, shooting Harry a tender look. "I hope you come into the shop next time you're around these parts."

"We certainly will, ma'am," said Tom, beaming a gorgeous smile at her. "Thank you again."

The woman looked thoroughly entranced by them, delighted and pleased as she watched the two boys leave her shop; such polite and breath-taking handsome boys – the younger one in particular, such sweet beauty- and they were orphans at that. If not for their clothes, who would have guessed given their manners and comeliness.

Tom dropped his arm from Harry's shoulders the second they left the store and couldn't been seen by the shopkeeper any longer, pulling his brother's glasses from his pocket and distractedly offering them back, not sparing his brother a glance as he gazed at the people in the street.

The glasses were swiftly taken from his hand, and Tom clicked his tongue when he saw that many of the children were already back with Alice. "We have no time left. You'll have to repay me next month-"

Abruptly, he was forcefully yanked by a small hand fisting his shirt, and before he could gather his wits, he was aggressively pulled into the small alley at one side of the street.

His eyebrows shot upwards as he stared at his little brother, who was shaking with fury, his emerald eyes flashing, his teeth gritting. Promptly, Tom pulled a nonchalant expression on his face and arched an eyebrow at him.

"You z'ithead!" spat Harry furiously, seeing red as he shoved Tom against the wall with all the strength he could muster. "I cou'd haff brok'n a bon'!"

Tom snarled when his back hit the wall and he took a steadying step forward, but then he was pushed again, and again, every time he tried to steady himself.

By the fourth time, when a flying small fist came towards his face accompanying the shove, he pushed his little brother back in return, as he snapped angrily, his eyes narrowing, "Do you really want to come to blows with me? You'll be left in much more pain than you were before, that I promise."

Harry had stumbled a step back, still glowering at him with a hateful look in his eyes, and Tom pulled himself up to his full height and added coolly, "Besides, you wouldn't have broken any bones when I made you trip. You're resilient and you heal abnormally fast."

Shooting him his darkest glare, Harry then sniffled and rubbed his small nose with the cuff of his sleeves. The place where his brother had pinched him and squeezed and twisted still ached painfully and he pulled up his shirt, seeing a dark violet and blue bruise already forming. He purposely exposed it to his brother's sight, throwing at him a poisonous and accusing look.

"It will be gone in a few hours," said Tom utterly unfazed. "As I said, you heal quickly."

Harry spoke at last, when his tongue had stopped throbbing and no longer felt like an impediment for his speech, "So what? It doesn't mean you can hurt me when you like!" He glared up at his brother. "You should've told me what you wanted to do, you should've asked-"

"Your nattering is getting tedious, little brother," interrupted Tom in a bored tone of voice, before he shot him a wide smirk and dangled the two paper cones in front of his nose. "Here, your reward, brat."

Fuming, Harry shot out his hands and yanked the cones away from his brother's hands, promptly unraveling the papers and sticking the four candies in his pocket, as he groused out darkly, "Candies wasn't what I wanted-"

"And this," interrupted Tom smugly, plucking out a large chocolate bar from his pants' pocket.

Little Harry's eyes widened and he froze, staring hungrily at the bar as he breathed out, "You filched it… From the shelves? While-"

"While 'Rose'," said Tom scathingly, his lips twisting with disgust, "was tending to you like a flustered mother hen." He shot him an arrogant smirk as he taunting waved the chocolate bar in the air, way above his little brother's reach. "Do you want this, eh? Do you?"

With flash-like reflexes, Harry leapt in the air and instantly grabbed the chocolate bar, giving his brother a little push – just because he was still highly miffed- as he then proceeded to ravenously peel the wrap away.

He broke the bar in half and stuffed the largest piece into his awaiting mouth, very quickly, just in case his brother attempted to steal it from him. Then his eyes fluttered shut, as he savored the explosion of sugary sweetness that burst in his palate, letting out a joyful sigh – it was all that Eric had said and much, much more. He had died and gone to Heaven, little Harry thought happily.

He slowly opened his eyes and worshipfully gazed at the other half left, as he carefully broke it into smaller pieces, soon sticking one of the small squares into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it. As soon as he swallowed, he frowned, looking from the chocolate squares in his sticky palm to his brother, and back.

Finally, he shot his brother a stern and accusing glance as he piped, "You stole. You shouldn't have, it's wrong. Alice says so-"

"When will you stop parroting what that stupid woman says," bit out Tom acidly, narrowing angered dark blue eyes at him, "and start thinking for yourself?"

"I do think for myself," snapped little Harry, squaring his small shoulders as he glared up at him. "I know – I know that stealing is against the Law too, so there!"

"Do you actually think I care two straws about that?" sneered Tom contemptuously, looking down at his brother as he towered over him. "I'm not stupid enough to get caught. I don't care about laws or Alice's or anyone else's rules of conduct, understand?"

Harry shot him a glower. He understood but he didn't agree. Nevertheless, he had more important matters on his mind – namely, to satisfy his sweet tooth. With a wide toothy grin, he munched down the remaining couple of small chocolate squares, his pink tongue flicking out to lick the traces of it left on his lips.

"You're such a little hypocrite," hissed out Tom as he watched what his little brother was doing with a mix of abhorrence and wry disgust, "you have no compunction in gobbling down the chocolate and you go preaching about the wrongness of stealing-"

"You stole it, not I," pointed out Harry sensibly, as he began licking the smudges of chocolate left in his sticky palm and fingers, very much like a little kitten contently licking its paws, purring with satisfaction.

Tom scoffed, but before he could continue saying anything nasty, Harry dropped his hand from his mouth and shot him a grave frown, as he intoned, "And I know you've stolen other stuff. Eric's mouth organ, Billy's yo-yo, Alice's sowing thimble…"

He trailed off as he remembered the day he had discovered his brother's 'treasure box'. A week before, he had gone into their room and he had seen Tom sitting crossed legged on his cot, a cardboard box on his lap as his fingers caressed whatever was inside, his expression one of glee and self-satisfaction. The moment Tom had noticed Harry's presence, the boy had swiftly closed the box, rolling on the cot to give Harry his back as he pulled the sheets over himself and the box he hid.

Naturally, after that, little Harry had used all available time in which he was alone in the room to search for the mysterious box. He had finally found it in the depths of their wardrobe, in a corner under piles of hidden newspapers which had been mutilated with scissors, apparently articles being clipped off from them – those newspapers were another thing.

Harry had wasted no time in opening the box and he had been dumbstruck by what he found inside; mostly, presents that the other children had received for some of their birthdays one year or other, and which had promptly disappeared, none in the orphanage having any clue of who was the perpetrator of the crimes. Though Kathy did shoot Tom suspicious dark looks once in a while, Harry wasn't blind to that.

But he still didn't understand why Tom did it. His brother couldn't possibly be interested or value any of the things he had nicked. And Harry didn't like that his brother was stealing; all the children had cried when their things had gone missing and Harry didn't like to see his friends cry. And he especially hadn't been happy when he had seen Alice's thimble inside the box.

"You dared…" snarled Tom, his expression ominously darkening with mounting fury as he took a threatening step towards him. "…you went through my things?"

"We share the same wardrobe and your cardboard box was there," snapped Harry as he squared his shoulders, his expression utterly unrepentant. "It's not my fault if you left it lying around. I was curious so I peeked inside." He pierced him with his emerald eyes and demanded sternly, "Why do you do it?"

"It's none of your business," spat Tom glaring down at him, his spine and shoulders stiff.

Little Harry cocked his head to a side, eyeing him with puzzlement, his brows furrowing. Truly, there were many times in which he didn't understand his brother at all. "You steal Alice's newspapers too-"

Tom swiftly interrupted him, sneering at him scornfully, "She thinks she's being so smart. She leaves them behind on purpose, you dolt." And without pause, he loomed over his little brother, skewering him with eyes narrowed to slits, as he hissed out in a low, menacing tone of voice, "You better not be thinking about telling anyone about my box-"

"I'm no tattle-tale!" piped Harry with indignation, feeling deeply insulted as he pulled himself up to his full, yet still short, height. And then he added simply, as if it was self-explanatory, "Besides, you're my brother."

Momentarily stumped, Tom stared at him; clearly Harry's sentiments of implicit and unwavering loyalty to a brother something unexpected and foreign to him. Then his lips slowly curved upwards into a wide smirk, his dark blue eyes gleaming with pleased satisfaction.

However, all positive feelings he was holding for Harry at that very moment soon vanished when his little brother flapped his gums again.

"I want you to give them back," said Harry with a stubborn expression on his face, his small jaw tightening. He nibbled on his bottom lip pensively, as he added, "You can leave them under the old couch in the playroom. It could look as if Puffy had been stealing them to make a nest or something." He then shot his brother an uncertain look. "Rabbits do that, don't they?"

"I'm not returning them," snarled Tom venomously. "They're mine now-"

"You don't use them, you just stare at them!" bit out Harry accusingly. "And it's not right. Alice was so sad when she 'lost' her thimble, you know. It's made of silver and it's expensive." He shot his brother a mighty glower. "It was her mother's, one of the few things she has left of her."

Tom scoffed loudly, shooting him a bored look as he said coolly, "Do I look like I care?"

Harry glared daggers at him, before he thought quickly and then shot his brother a nasty grin. "Fine, then see if I return the 'favor', as you called it. I've had my chocolate already, after all."

And with that, he spun on his heels with every intention of leaving the alley and go back to the street to join Alice and the other children.

Instantly, a hand landed on his small shoulder, squeezing hard, and he was forcefully swirled around to be confronted with Tom's furious face, the taller boy hissing out, "We had a deal, you little urchin, so you must uphold your end of the bargain-"

"Says who?" chirped Harry, toothily grinning at him.

"Me!" snarled Tom, his rage mounting when Harry shot him an utterly unimpressed glance. He forced himself to rein in his temper and then superiorly smirked at him, as he added pointedly, "And surely Alice says that deals can't be broken, right? It's a matter of honor or some such thing-"

"She does," interrupted little Harry, his grin widening vindictively. "But I must 'think for myself', don't I? And I'm thinking…" He made a show of humming pensively, tapping one finger on his chin. Then he shot his brother a glower and snapped, "That you can stuff it!"

Tom's fingers sunk into Harry's shoulders, making the smaller boy wince even as he was already rubbing his scar which had started to throb painfully.

"I'll return the thimble," gritted out Tom as he if he had to make an unimaginable effort to push those words through his teeth.

Feeling quite cheerful and pleased with himself, Harry beamed and said eagerly, "And the other things too-"

"Just the thimble - take it or leave it!" spat Tom harshly, his tight jaw clenching with infuriated vexation.

A mutinous expression crossed over Harry's small face for a moment, before he deflated and grumbled, "Fine." He shot his brother a look full of apprehension, and added, "What do I have to do to return the favor?"

Tom dropped his hands from his little brother's shoulders and gave him a smug smirk, as he said smoothly, "It worked quite well, didn't it? You 'tripping' and crashing on the floor, averting attention from me as I nicked the chocolate bar." His smirk grew larger as his dark blue eyes gleamed. "I want us to do the same thing, only in a bookstore next time. I won't trip you, you can just stumble on some shelf or something like that – I don't want you whining to me about how I 'hurt' you."

He shot Harry a sneer at this, before he continued, his voice now turning eager and excited, "I'll be able to tuck a book behind my back, under the waistline of my pants, if it's small enough. And we can take turns. One month you decide what you want and which store to hit, then next time I choose, and so on. Alice takes us to different commercial areas often so we won't be caught and no one will suspect."

Gaping at him, Harry stared with wide eyes, before he swallowed thickly, finding his voice as he whispered, still shocked, "You're talking about stealing again. Stealing every time Alice takes us out." He frantically shook his head. "I won't steal, Tom!"

"Ah, but as you pointed out before," interjected Tom, giving him a superior look as his lips twisted upwards, "you won't be stealing, only I will."

Furrowing his brow, Harry shot him a dubious glance. "But I'll still be your accop- accomp-"

"Accomplice," bit out Tom impatiently. "Yes, you will." He then pierced his little brother with livid, smoldering, narrowed eyes, and spat, "You can't refuse. You had no scruples about eating your chocolate so you can't refuse now. It's the same thing."

"I dunno…" trailed off Harry uncertainly, shifting from one foot to the other as he fretfully played with the hem of his tattered shirt. He bit on his bottom lip and peered up at his brother anxiously. "What if we get caught, what if the shopkeeper doesn't care when I fall, what if-"

"They will care, because of your face, and your eyes," snapped Tom briskly, glaring at him with annoyance. "They are…" His lips twisted with disgust and he spat harshly, "Pretty. And when your eyes are all watery and teary they make the adults' pathetic little hearts melt. Get it?"

Harry stared at him. And ever so slowly, his pouty lips curved until he was toothily grinning. "I know."

Momentarily dumbstruck, Tom stared back at him. Then his eyes dangerously narrowed, piercing the small boy, as if wishing to painfully dissect him to see his insides and all his inner thoughts.

Utterly unfazed, Harry merely broadened his grin roguishly. Really, what did his brother think? He wasn't that thick. Over the years he had seen how the grownups reacted to him; he would have to be blind and stupid not to notice.

And he had learned stuff being around Tom; like how Tom became all polite towards Alice when she was giving him private lessons, and how he sweet-talked to strangers to get things he wanted when they went out, just like what had happened a few moments ago with the shopkeeper, Tom being all nice and innocent…

Well, little Harry had come to understand that what his brother did was acting and that he manipulated people like that. And thus he had known that his own weapons were his so-called adorable good looks and, particularly, his eyes.

He didn't use the tactic often, only sometimes, and it always worked, especially if he cried and looked helpless and vulnerable. Why, it even worked on Tom and his brother never seemed to be aware when he purposely used it with him.

Little Harry inwardly grinned devilishly at that thought.

"So you knew…" muttered Tom trailing off, still skewering him with his gaze. Then he scoffed loudly. "You little imp."

"But it doesn't mean that I want to do it," snapped Harry instantly, crossing his arms over his chest, then huffing. "And why should I be the one who falls? That hurts. We should take turns-"

"It won't work if I fall," hissed out Tom, looking just as stubborn as his little brother. "I'm not 'cute'-" he said this with evident stoic pride "-only you are. So you have to be the one who falls."

Harry scrunched his nose, not at all pleased, before he mumbled, "Fine, I'll think about it, then."

"No," bit out Tom angrily, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "You must agree _now_, and commit to it and-"

"HARRY - TOM? HARRY?" Alice's panicked shouts reached their ears at that moment, the woman evidently having been searching for them for some time.

Harry shot his brother a toothy grin and made his bid for escape, trotting out of the alley with a cheerful skip to his steps.

His brother soon followed after him with a darkly vexed expression on his face – but that was just fine, Harry wanted Tom to seethe and simmer for a while, it was only fair since his brother had been so mean to him that day.

Eventually, little Harry did cave in to Tom's relentless insistence, and cajoling, and threats. And the Riddle brothers soon perfected their act.

For the following four years, shopkeepers and owners all around London would be puzzled when they discovered that one or two of their wares had gone missing. They would ponder about bad management or thieving customers or even shop attendants who filched at their workplace.

But they would never think about the two orphan boys who had visited their shop except to remember lovely tearful emerald eyes amidst beautiful features which mesmerized and captured their hearts and dark blue eyes in an elegantly handsome face which made them let out a fluttery sigh.

* * *

That night, as Tom reread his collection of newspapers clippings about Germany and the Nazi ideology, as he pondered about the happenings in the world, as he darkly smirked when he eyed Alice's Communist pamphlets, and as he gazed down at his little brother who was sleeping curled up beside him, he came to many conclusions and some decisions.

Many of them were based on what he knew about his little brother, who had proven to be just as special as he himself was. Indeed, three years ago, and a couple of months after Tom had hurt Dennis, Harry's special abilities had burst forth. The boy had been five years old.

Musing about this, and about what he knew loomed in the near future for England and Europe, Tom felt too restless and excited to be able to sleep. And he decided to take a stroll around the corridors of the orphanage. It would help him clear his mind before attempting to rest again.

That night, in his wanderings around the orphanage, what he would overhear and then would be told, would shake him to the core, the consequences of it being many and profound throughout the years.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This chapter is a slow one, mainly laying foundations for things that will pop up later.

In the next chapter there will be a time-skip, to get things rolling.

And the last scene in this chapter will be continued on the next one – I'm trying to make the chapters shorter so that they can be more easily digested. I failed with this one, though. It ended up being rather long *grimaces*

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and constructive criticism is always welcomed!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 4**

* * *

As Tom silently strode along one of the dark corridors of the orphanage, hearing the distant sounds of the caregivers bustling about as they finished their nightly duties, his mind swirled with tumultuous thoughts which refused to be abated from everything he had been reading lately.

He mused, most particularly, about the Nazi's ideals. Aryan race, they called themselves, and some journalist said the distinction of this assumed ethnic superiority was based primarily on coloring – blue eyes and blonde hair which denoted pure German ancestry.

Yet Tom thought this was a flimsy notion at best; at least a third of the German population were dark haired or dark eyed - their leader, Hitler, most conspicuously. However, the Nazis declared that not only such coloring indicated who belonged to their master race, but they also gave importance to handsomeness, to symmetric and pleasing facial features and to physical perfection, such as height, and strong and sturdy limbs, which gave way to excellence in sports.

Moreover, and most importantly, they attributed to themselves an unparalleled acuity and sharpness of mind. They even said that their superior intelligence could be evidenced in the shape of their heads.

This too was utter folly in Tom's opinion. Indeed, he knew himself to be a prodigal genius, probably the greatest one in the whole world, and yet the shape of his skull was as normal as could be.

There was nothing particular about it, he mused as he pensively touched his temples and then the back of his head, while he continued with his distracted amblings around the orphanage, taking the flight of stairs to reach the ground floor.

And if intelligence and physical perfection were the parameters on which the Germans based their superiority, then Tom thought that if there was anyone who could be hailed as 'superior', it was only him.

Well, and his brother as well, he supposed - not only because of their breath-taking handsomeness, as it was called by others, but due to their 'special abilities'. As far as he knew, they were the only ones in existence who wielded such strange and unexplainable 'powers' – to call them something. That alone already marked them as unique and vastly superior to everyone else in the world. This idea deeply pleased and satisfied him, since it made sense and seemed logical and rational.

However, not for the first time, he wondered if there could possibly be others like him and his brother. Ever since he had discovered that Harry was special too, he had pondered about it, his feelings warring and clashing, still making him indecisive on whether he wanted them to be the only ones or if it would be best if there were others like them.

Nearly three years had passed since Harry's 'powers' had manifested, and Tom still hadn't reached a conclusion regarding the matter. He remembered the incident clearly, it had happened a few months after he had hurt Dennis and had explained it to Harry.

They had been five years old then, and since it had been summer, all the children had been playing in the orphanage's backyard.

Ever since he had hurt Dennis, the older boy had stayed far away from him. The other children also gave him a wide berth given that they had become even more fearful of him since the 'incident'. Tom had been quite satisfied with this outcome.

That day, Tom had gone back inside the house to pick up one of his books, leaving Harry playing with his friends.

Later, Tom had heard his brother's own account of what had happened.

Harry hadn't paid much attention when Tom had left, since Dennis had so far avoided him. But it seemed that the bully instantly noticed when Tom was missing, because Harry had been cheerfully giggling one second as he played with Eric and Billy, and in the next second, stones started to pelt down on him.

It was Dennis, who had taken the opportunity to start hurling at him the stones he had been playing with. It had hurt a lot, and as much as Harry tried to cover his face and body with his arms, it wasn't enough.

The other children who were also scared of Dennis, as usual, didn't do anything. So little Harry had been forced to run for cover, but that seemed to incite the bully even further, since Dennis started hurling at him even larger stones as he gave chase, shrieking with laughter and spewing mocking insults.

And then, suddenly, as Harry continued running and he cried because his whole body seemed to ache from the hits, as he wished and wished that everything could stop and that he was somewhere safe, then, one second he was there and in the next moment, he landed somewhere else. Harry had gawked when he had abruptly found himself in the middle of his room.

Tom had seen it, of course. With book in hand, he had been going back, taking a step to cross the threshold between house and backyard, when he saw his little brother running away from Dennis, flailing his small arms to attempt shield himself from the hurled stones.

He had felt an instant bout of tremendous fury and was about to unleash it on his brother's tormentor once again -and this time to make Dennis hurt beyond all endurance of pain, so that the bully would be left as nothing but a mindless, empty-eyed shell – when the most extraordinary thing happened.

His little brother simply disappeared, right in front of all the children's eyes. Tom had gaped.

He had wasted no time in swiftly looking around for Harry, his mind spinning with clashing thoughts and emotions. At last, he found his little brother standing in the middle of their room, his shoulders shaking.

When Tom had thought that Harry was crying and trembling with fear, his expression softened and his mind cleared, leaving him simply feeling jubilant that his brother was special, just like him. He had been exceedingly proud then, and even excited.

But soon, he had seen that Harry wasn't fearful.

The moment Harry glanced up and saw him, he jumped up and down as he rambled eagerly and joyously, "I disappeared, Tom! I was running and then I was wishing to be somewhere else, and then I felt as if I was squeezed through a rubber tube, and then I was here!"

And just at that very moment, Tom's emotions had drastically changed. He had felt rage and contempt and envy; he had been unique up until then, only he could do extraordinary things, and now his little brat of a brother had suddenly done something he hadn't.

Tom had never vanished from one spot to another, and it galled him that Harry had accomplished something so amazing first, before it even crossed his mind that such thing could be possible. Harry had bested him in that regard and it was not something he could stand.

And his little brother had kept yapping about it as if it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and it had only made him feel even more furious.

Tom had shot him his most withering and scornful sneer and had turned around on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him.

For the following three months he had utterly disregarded his little brother, he hadn't even spoken one word to him; he had shoved him away every night when his little brother attempted to get into his cot so that Tom soothed his scar after the nightmares, and he had ignored all his little brother's confused, wounded and pleading glances.

But even though he did all those things, he hadn't stop observing Harry from afar and what he had seen over those three months had made all of his dark emotions increase and mount and pile up and flare.

He had seen Harry doing other things, as if something had opened and burst forth from within Harry, more strange abilities blooming and pouring out.

One day he had awoken and he had seen Harry sitting up on his cot, the boy's hair suddenly reaching his shoulders and with a pair of scissors in hand. The boy had cut locks of his hair and in an instant they grew back, and his little brother giggled and did it again. And then he shortened his hair without the need to do anything and then made it long again, and so forth.

Once he had seen Harry sitting by the row of flowers at the backyard, and the boy had had a closed bud in his hands and it suddenly bloomed magnificently, gorgeous big petals unraveling open, as leaves grew and fluttered along the stem.

Sometimes when Harry had his nightmares, their cot frames would shake and the nightstand rattled and their wardrobe's doors would flap open and shut. Snarling with anger and vexation, Tom had been forced on those occasions to hurl a book at his brother's head, to brutally wake him up. And without uttering a word of comfort, Tom had always shot him a contemptuous sneer before rolling over to give Harry his back and go back to sleep, ignoring his brother's sniffles.

It had gotten worse when the rabbit had been brought to the orphanage. During those three months of estrangement between Tom and Harry, when Harry played with his so-called friends with the animal, the bunny would suddenly jump, flip in the air and land back, or flick its ears as if in synchrony to some tune, or stand on its two hind paws and take steps forward – all things that were clearly abnormal, that his little brother was clearly making happen.

The boy's friends soon realized it, but they didn't look at Harry with fear, but with wonder and fascination. And they quietly whispered among themselves, encouraging Harry to make the rabbit do more funny things when there were no adults around.

To add insult to injury, a couple of times when his little brother was playing with his friends, some toy would simply fly into Harry's hands or disappear from its place and pop right beside him, and his friends clapped and cheered even more.

It had been the last straw for Tom when he had seen his brother playing with that stupid little simpering girl, Amy, who was always around Harry, blushing and staring at him like a love-struck mooncalf.

The girl had been playing with a hair ribbon, and Harry had taken it from her hands, widely smiling at her as the string of cloth suddenly fluttered into the air and started coiling itself, soon forming a pink bow which Harry had then timidly presented to the girl as if he was some sort of gallant knight wooing his demure and abashed princess.

The second Amy had gazed wide-eyed at Harry, entranced and worshipfully, her rosy cheeks flushing and her lips puckering into a beaming, coy smile, Tom had jumped to his feet, taken a few strides to reach them and had grabbed his brother by the scruff of his shirt, forcefully yanking him out of the room.

Without saying a word, as a perplexed and alarmed Harry attempted to fight against his brusque hold, Tom had started dragging him towards the staircase, to reach their room in order to have a private 'chat' with him.

However, his endeavor had been interrupted when Alice had burst through the corridor, running and picking up toys and things littering the hallway, as she beamed and shouted urgently and excitedly, "Children, gather around in the parlor, we have visitors!"

Awestruck and startled, everyone had gaped at first; Harry's friends poking their heads out the door to stare at her, gobsmacked. Then everything had exploded in a flurry of activity, as Alice grabbed Tom's and Harry's hands, pulling them back inside the room, and as Kathy quickly arranged the rest of the children in one neat row.

That had been the first time that St. Jerome's Orphanage had received any prospective adoptive parents and most of the children were too nervous and surprised to do anything but stand in place whilst fretfully attempting to tidy up their ruffled and tattered clothing and their scruffy appearances.

All the while, Alice and Kathy finished tidying up the room, just as Mrs. Sharpe, clearly having had one too many glasses of gin, had entered the room with an unsteady step, a couple following behind her.

Tom had narrowed his eyes at them, scrutinizing them, seeing the expensive clothes, the air about them of elegance and wealth, the pinched expression of mild disgust on the man's stern face as he eyed the peeling wallpaper and the ratty furniture and the expression of reserved expectancy on the woman's delicate features.

Alice soon took command of the situation when it was evident that Mrs. Sharpe wasn't clearheaded enough to do her job, and she quickly chatted with the couple in a hushed and brief conversation before she started introducing them to the first child on the line, in descending order of age.

And then, Tom had glanced at his brother who was standing by his side, both of them the last in the line. Harry's emerald eyes had been wide with awe and excitement, as he cheerfully waved a hand at the visitors, rocking on his feet and widely grinning.

It hadn't come as a surprise for Tom when he saw the couple halting in mid progression along the line of children, their gaze snapping to Harry, the woman's eyes lightening up, a soft smile forming on her painted lips as her expression softened, while the man's eyebrows rose and his gaze turned calculating and then satisfied and pleased by what he saw.

It had been then that Tom had known how to best teach his brother the important point he had wanted to drive through Harry's thick skull that day.

Meanwhile, the couple had reached them and the woman had been already cooing at Harry as the boy answered one of her questions by puffing out his chest, grinning toothily as he stuck out four fingers as he chirped proudly, "I'm five!"

Even the stern-looking man had given a small smile at that, and the couple soon pulled Alice to a side as they started murmuring amongst themselves. By then, Mrs. Sharpe was slumped on a chair at the other side of the room, sleeping off her drunken stupor, while Kathy made sure that none of the children broke the line or misbehaved.

Inevitably, some parts of the conversation between the couple and Alice reached Tom's ears, but none of it fazed him. He impassively stared at them, shooting Alice a calm smirk when their gazes met.

"… yes, Harry is a dear, sweet boy, but you see, they're twins," was saying Alice fretfully, as she shot a perturbed glance at Tom. "It wouldn't be right to separate them… now, if you wanted them both…"

The man's gaze briefly landed on Tom. "… he's handsome, I grant, but we only want one child and my wife is quite set on the small boy-"

"Tom's very studious and astoundingly smart," quickly interjected Alice. "A prodigy, I would say, and he's very… er, well-mannered and polite-"

When it became evident to him that Alice would to go any lengths to ensure that Harry and he would not be split up, Tom decided to act before the caregiver started to outright lie and spout that he was a sweet, good-natured child or some such thing.

After all, he had no intention of being adopted by anyone. The orphanage was a ghastly place which he despised with all his heart but at least he was just one of many children, and thus wasn't too closely supervised. Having adoptive parents, though it certainly entailed having a better lifestyle and could open more doors to a glorious future, also meant having two people butting their noses in his affairs and watching what he did, constantly.

He wasn't about to swap one form of authority for another. It was independence from any adult that he wanted, and of course, where he went, Harry followed. He didn't even consider that he could be robbing Harry from having a better life. His brother's place was with him, always.

Swiftly, Tom pulled Harry towards him, leaning down to whisper into his brother's ear, "Go to them before they change their minds and leave. Tell them you want to speak to them alone, to get to know them. Take them to the backyard -it's sunny outside- and then show them what you can do. Do the flower thing-"

"What?" Harry gaped at him, evidently at first startled that his brother was talking to him after being given the cold shoulder for three months, and then looking nervous as he stared at him with wide eyes, as he mumbled, "You know? You've seen-"

"Of course I know about the things you've been doing, you idiot," hissed out Tom angrily, before he quickly composed himself and rearranged his features to a pleasant and calm expression as he soothingly patted his brother on the head, his voice turning soft, "But we'll talk about that later. Now go and do as I said."

"You want me to show them? With the flower?" whispered Harry, gazing up at him uncertainly as he bit his lower lip fretfully. "Are you sure? Won't they-"

"Yes, I'm sure," snapped Tom with annoyance, then sweetly smiling at him as he continued gently, "They'll see that you're special and they'll like you even more for it."

Little Harry gazed at him dubiously, mulling over it, before he apparently decided that his brother had to be right. After all, Tom was way smarter than him. He beamed, already excited about the prospective of doing something nice for the couple and chirped cheerfully, "Alright."

And with that, Tom merely inwardly smirked with satisfaction as he watched how Harry bounded up to the couple and tugged on the woman's skirt, peering up at the rich lady as he started babbling and pointing a finger in the backyard's direction.

Tom didn't even pay attention to what was being said. In a few minutes, the couple and Harry made their way outdoors, leaving Alice looking a bit perplexed. The caregiver even shot him a concerned and sad glance, as if worrying what would happen to Tom if the couple decided to adopt Harry and take him away right there and then. He simply answered by calmly gazing back at her with an unperturbed expression on his face.

Soon Alice had other things to worry about when the rest of the children finally figured out that Harry had won and that they were indeed not wanted or liked. And as some of them broke into tears and sobs and others sullenly sulked or scowled, Tom slipped away from the room and down the corridor.

Reaching the kitchen, he stood at its farthest end, right in front of the window above the sink, gazing out through the glass panels with an unencumbered view of the whole backyard.

Tom's lips twisted as he gazed at the sickeningly sweet picture the trio made; the stylish and well-to-do couple doting on a poor little orphan boy, happily yapping as they all sat on the old bench amidst the shrubbery, no doubt already making plans about the wonderful life they would give to their little Harry.

By the looks on their faces, the wealthy couple appeared to be already enchanted by Harry. And by the gentle and loving way the woman was gazing down at his brother, it was clear to Tom that they indeed intended to treat Harry well and give him all the boy could ever need or want. Not that it really mattered.

A self-satisfied smirk curled Tom's lips as the events unfolded as he had hoped for. Good little brother that Harry was, the boy was doing exactly what Tom had instructed him to do.

Crouching down, Harry plucked a small flower bud from the nearest plant, presenting it to the woman. The lady beamed, clearly finding it adorable that she was being gifted a flower in such a sweet gesture, but before she could accept it, Harry shook his head as he widely grinned, lifting up his palms to display the nice thing he could do. In an instant, the bud in his hands unraveled in a gorgeous array of colorful petals, as leaves burst from the stem, and the flower floated up into mid air, as it kept growing and blossoming even further.

The woman's horrified shriek interrupted the display, the couple jumping to their feet, the woman staggering backwards and almost toppling over the bench. Her husband soon pulled her upright and then away as the woman's scream continued, their faces pale and terrified. In the next second, they turned tail and ran as if the hounds of hell were after them, the man's booming voice reaching Tom's ears as the couple entered the house.

"… I don't know what kind of twisted joke… what kind of demented circus you're running here... we're never setting foot in here again!"

Wiping the smirk from his face as he calmly strode into the corridor, Tom saw all the children and caregivers huddled near the entrance door, having heard the screams and no doubt perplexed when the man spat those words at Alice before he yanked his pale-faced and stammering and mumbling wife out the front door.

Tom had a second to savor the conclusion of a plan well made, before Harry burst out from the door leading to the backyard, instantly catching sight of him.

Sobbing uncontrollably, looking scared, crushed and miserable, he yelled at Tom, "I did what you said – you knew, you lied – I HATE YOU!"

Wretchedly crying and hiccupping, Harry turned his back on everyone and swiftly scrambled up the staircase, the sound of a bedroom door being slammed shut resounding seconds later.

Alice swiveled around to stare at Tom in confusion, as if asking for some sort of explanation to Harry's strange and incomprehensible accusation, while the rest of the children animatedly burst with questions. Tom didn't even miss the way that Kathy Cole was gazing at him with narrowed eyes, suspicion and condemnation in them.

Looking extremely concerned and troubled, Tom stared back at them with wide eyes as he murmured apprehensively, "I'll see what happened. I'll calm him down."

And with that, he quickly made way towards his bedroom. He found Harry huddled on his cot against the corner, his body curled up in a small ball, with his head bowed and tucked between his knees as he sobbed quietly.

Tom tsked and approached the boy. Staring down at Harry's heaving and trembling shoulders, he drawled in a severe tone of voice, "Have you learned the lesson?"

Harry's sobs stilled and the boy gave one last hiccup, before he lifted up his head to hatefully glare at Tom with a tear-stained face, as he said hoarsely, "What?"

Tom skewered him with an unforgiving gaze as he said curtly, "The lesson, you pea-brained idiot, that you must never show to others the things you can do." He contemptuously sneered at him as he added, "For three months you've being parading around, doing stuff around your friends-"

"No one saw!" yelled Harry as he unfurled from his curled up position to glower at his brother. "I never did anything around the grownups-"

"But your so-called friends can blab about it," snapped Tom angrily, sitting down on the cot by Harry's side. "You cannot trust them-"

"They promised they wouldn't say anything," snapped Harry heatedly as he wiped his eyes with his shirt's cuff. "They like the things I can do-"

"Because they are stupid and don't understand, because they're amused by it, but they will soon realize that what you do is not normal." Tom pierced him with his dark blue eyes as he added sternly, "When they're older, they'll know, and they'll tell on you."

"They won't," gritted out Harry, though he eyed Tom uncertainly as he nibbled anxiously on his lower lip. Then he frowned and glared daggers at him as he said accusingly, "But you made me do the flower thing! You say now I shouldn't do that stuff but you-"

"Because I wanted you to see the consequences of it," interjected Tom impatiently. He shot him a superior look as he demanded curtly, "How did they react?"

Harry's eyes teared up as he mumbled softly, "I think they were afraid..."

"You think?" sneered Tom with condescension. "They were afraid of you, and what's more, they hated you for it."

"Hate me?" echoed Harry in a tiny voice as he stared at him with wide eyes, his expression miserable as his small shoulders hunched.

"Yes, that's how people will react if they know," said Tom sharply with utter conviction, pinning his brother with an unrelenting harsh gaze. "And they would lock us away in a loony bin, too. Do you want that?"

Harry's eyes impossibly widened with fear as he quickly shook his head, and Tom was momentarily pleased by it. Indeed, the latter he had said was no lie - not in its entirety.

He had once overheard Kathy Cole telling Alice that they should call some doctor to check his head. Apparently, Mrs. Cole was quite certain that he suffered from some dangerous psychological problems and that a stint in an asylum was the best remedy for him.

The day when he had overheard that, he had known fear for the first time in his life, imagining what it would be like to be alone, cooped up in a small room without seeing daylight for the rest of his existence.

Granted, Kathy Cole had never said anything about having Harry checked by any doctors, but it was best if his brother was scared of it all the same. It was a miracle that, in the three months that Harry had been 'entertaining' his friends, none of the caregivers had seen anything unusual going on.

It was thus that Tom had extracted from Harry the promise that he would never again do anything 'special' in front of others, and thankfully Harry obeyed and only did things when they were alone in their room.

It was that way, too, how in the subsequent years in which several couples came to the orphanage, Harry never again drew attention to himself, and simply stood in line, with a bowed head and staring at his shoes, without saying a word when the couples attempted to speak to him.

Tom had thoroughly convinced his brother that if any couple liked Harry, then that they would be torn apart and never see each other again, and that the couple would end up carting him off to the loony bin if they ever adopted him. Not that Harry had needed to be further convinced about any of it – for the little boy it became stuff of nightmares to imagine any life away from his brother's side.

Nevertheless, that day after the disastrous affair with the first couple that had visited the orphanage, Harry had still moped around the house, looking dejected and miserable.

It had been that night when Tom had decided to finally introduce his companion to Harry, as a way of cheering up his brother and also because he had been very curious about the outcome of the meeting. For some years he had kept her only to himself, possessive of her and with no wish to share her with his brother, but after Harry had given evidence that he could do special things just like Tom, he had wondered how far their similarities reached.

Just before the caregivers started rounding up the children to force them into their bedrooms for a night of sleep, Tom had slipped to the backyard in search for his companion's nest in the depths of the shrubbery. Carrying her back to the house, coiled around his forearm under his sleeve, he had uncovered her before Harry's gaze.

"What's that?" had gasped out Harry in awe, staring at the small, scaly creature with wide eyes.

"A snake, you idiot," drawled Tom with irritation, unimpressed with his brother's limited wits or deductive abilities. "What else could she be?"

"It's a she?" murmured Harry softly, now staring at the slim creature coiled around his brother's arm, no longer than Tom's arm from wrist to elbow and no thicker than a finger.

His wonder and eager curiosity was plain on his features as he took a step closer to admire the gleaming, tiny green scales which had a bluish or black hue to them.

"_Yesss, I'm a girl_," hissed the little snake proudly, as she reared forward to flick her tongue out to taste the boy in front of her.

With a yelp of alarm, Harry jumped in the air, tripping and landing on the floor on his bum, panting out a haggard breath as he stared up at the creature with huge eyes.

Pointing a shaky finger at her, he gasped out, still startled out of his wits, _"It speaks!"_

A thin smile of satisfaction stretched on Tom's face, his gaze fixed on his brother, as he hissed quietly, _"You do understand her, then?"_

"_What? Of course I do – it speaks in English!"_ sputtered Harry, gawking at the creature as he picked himself up from the floor, his eyes as wide as moons. In the next second, an expression of sudden understanding and fascinated awe crossed his expression, as he chirped happily, _"Are you a princess turned into a snake? Like the princess in Alice's story that became a swan because the evil witch cursed her?"_

"_A princess?"_ hissed the snake, swaying her head to a side, giving the impression that she was seriously pondering about the matter, though it was evident that she didn't fully understand the notion.

"_She's not a princess,"_ snapped Tom with irritation, not for the first time damning Alice and her stories, for filling his brother's head with moronic ideas. _"People don't turn into animals, Harry."_ Then he transferred his glower to the snake and hissed sharply, _"And you're not a girl, you're a female. That's the proper term since you're an animal and not a person. How many times do I have to tell you?"_

"_I understand, Master,"_ hissed the small snake, her tone contrite as she settled her head back on Tom's hand.

"_Master?_" Harry gaped, his emerald eyes flickering from his brother to the creature and back.

Tom superiorly smirked at him as he slowly trailed his fingers along his companion's length, caressing the small, smooth scales. _"Of course I'm her master. It's only proper she addresses me as such. She's mine, after all."_

Harry blinked and then stared at him with a dubious expression on his face, finally simply giving a shrug as he wrapped his mind around the fact that his brother had discovered a snake that could speak – and in English to boot!

"_It's amazing,"_ he breathed out, his awed gaze fixed on the beautiful snake. A wide grin grew on his face, as he rambled excitedly, _"How did she learn how to speak? How did she learn English? And are there others like her-"_

"_Learn English?"_ hissed Tom, a low chuckle escaping from his lips as he shot his brother a smirk. _"She doesn't speak English. She doesn't 'speak' at all, not in the strict sense of the word. And you haven't been speaking English either, you little twit."_

He pierced his brother with his dark blue eyes, his expression turning arrogant and self-satisfied, as he added, his tone turning quiet and slow, _"She hisses, just as you have been hissing all this time. Just as I'm hissing right now. Listen carefully to my voice, to my words… what do you hear?"_

Little Harry's expression of confusion soon turned into one of startlement as he did as his brother asked, for the first time really concentrating hard out of his own will.

"_What are you hearing, Harry?"_ continued Tom, his smirk widening as he gazed down at his brother's awe-struck face.

"_Hissing,"_ mumbled Harry, his small forehead scrunching with a perplexed frown, _"but English too… like... the words being on top of it… like hearing both at the same time."_

"_Exactly,"_ hissed Tom with satisfaction, as he nonchalantly continued petting the snake, gracefully sitting down on his cot.

"_But – but, I don't understand,"_ spluttered Harry, as he also took a seat on the cot, yet in sharp contrast to his brother, just plopping himself down on it. He peeled his gaze from the snake to stare at his brother, bewildered, as he said nervously, "What's going on?"

"I thought it would be quite plain to you," said Tom, shooting him a sneer before he continued stoically, "We can speak to snakes – understand their language and speak it as well, when we're looking at a snake or thinking about one." He shot him a wide smirk, as he added gleefully, "No one else can, Harry. I tested it. It's clear, this is just one more special thing we can do."

"Oh!" breathed out Harry, his eyes becoming wide as he gazed back at the snake. In the next instant, a giddy grin broke on his face, as he chuckled happily and comfortably stretched himself on the cot, to peer at the snake closer.

In no time at all, the small snake was oozing contentment and satisfaction under Harry's pampering ministrations, with the boy giggling as he caressed and tickled her scales, and chuckling when the snake's tiny tongue flickered out to taste his fingers.

"_What's your name?"_ hissed Harry as he adoringly scratched the snake under her belly, as she had requested.

"I named her Nagini," said Tom curtly, eyeing their interaction with a reproving expression on his face.

Harry's gaze snapped up to him at that, and he snickered as he declared gleefully, "You took it from that story that Alice read to us – from The Jungle Book, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi! Nag and Nagaina were the two bad snakes-"

"I most certainly did not take the name from that stupid tale for silly little children," snapped Tom in indignation, shooting him a contemptuous sneer before he continued sternly, "I made the name up, from the Greek term Naga, which means snake, and the term-"

"Yeah, sure," interrupted Harry with a snort, "whatever you say."

Tom fulminated him with a poisonous glare, but before he could continue defending his unparalleled intellect, Harry was already yapping happily with the snake, no longer paying any attention to him.

If Tom had known what a bad influence on Nagini that Harry would prove to be, he would have never introduced them to each other. The little snake became a chatterbox, just like Harry, and not a cold night went by when the two of them wouldn't chatter away until the wee hours of morning.

At least Tom managed to forbid Harry from interacting with Nagini during the day – it would garner unwanted attention and raise suspicions if Harry began sitting in front of the shrubbery in the backyard, as Tom did, instead of playing with his so-called friends.

However, during winter nights, with the excuse that it was too cold outside for Nagini's health and comfort, Harry always snuck the snake into their bedroom.

The boy had whined and pleaded and cajoled until Tom had had no other choice but to yield to his brother's wishes if he wanted to spend a night in peace, and he had grudgingly allowed Nagini to coil herself in between their bodies to bask in their warmth.

Such was the enjoyment that they derived from each other, that Nagini even came to display some of Harry's mannerisms, which irritated Tom to no end. At least Tom made sure that the snake retained the proper respect due to him when they interacted with each other. With him, she behaved accordingly, not forgetting who owned her, and acting as the sensible, serious, and cunning snake that Tom had first known.

Nagini was still somewhat of a mystery to Tom. In the years that had passed since then, she had barely grown and he was quite sure that it wasn't normal.

On the other hand, he didn't know much about snakes – she was the only one he had ever seen and he knew that it wasn't usual to find snakes in London. He also knew that her first recollections were of breaking out from a cracked egg, in a pile of rubbish in London's docks.

He could only deduce that she had been shipped in from some distant country, her egg no doubt being one of many inside a crate that must have endured some damage and must have had a crack in its wood boards. He imagined that as the dock workers loaded the crate onto a cart-wagon -most probably destined for the London Zoo- her egg had slipped out from the crack and ended up rolling into a pile of litter.

She had found her way to the orphanage's neighborhood, since it was quite close to the docks, and had soon made it her home, finding bountiful prey, since being as poor as it was, their neighborhood had quite a large population of rats and mice.

Regardless, the thought that swam around his mind as he remembered those events was that something was not right in what was happening in the world.

From everything he had read in newspaper articles, and from what he had found out about from Alice's Communist pamphlets, a vague, foggy thought had been growing at the back of his mind - not fully formed, but tickling him like an itch he couldn't quite reach and scratch to his satisfaction.

As he halted to gaze out the window by the orphanage's entrance door, seeing all those rows of houses with their inhabitants placidly and cozily sleeping with not a care in the world, Tom scoffed snidely.

Everyone out there was carrying on with their lives as if all was well, naively believing whatever the government said. What did they think it meant when the Germans said that their prime goal in foreign policy was to secure living space for their race?

They were all mindless, half-witted sheep, but he had always known that about the masses. It didn't bother him at all. It didn't even concern him that Jews were being persecuted and carted off to labor camps – as Alice's Communist pamphlets speculated. He really couldn't care less about the Jews and those other types of people who were disappearing.

It seemed quite logical to him that the Nazis would employ the strategy of blaming someone for the disastrous circumstances in which their country had been reduced to after losing the Great War. And he fully understood their motives.

They had chosen the Jewish race as their scapegoat, just as plain and simple. It was the oldest tactic in the world, and one that always worked. It was human nature to be so petty, cruel, selfish, and opportunist, and he prided himself to be the one person who saw people in their crude reality.

Thus, he wasn't like every half-brained imbecile out there. He knew what was coming: War.

And it filled him with a blazing feeling of exhilaration and excitement. Wars always caused interesting changes; they shaped nations and caused the rise and fall of empires, they gave rise to fortunes for those who were smart enough to take advantage of it, they stimulated the formation of new ideas and innovations, they rearranged social structures, and they always ended up having the same consequences, the doom of many becoming the prosperity of some.

He wanted to be one of those 'some'. He would need to figure out how to benefit from it, because it was quite clear to him that he couldn't let such a precious opportunity pass him by.

And suddenly, just as that thought contently spun in his mind, it all became sharply clear to him. The revelation that had eluded him for some while and which had kept him sleepless that night, abruptly blossomed in its full glory: everything was staged too perfectly and seamlessly, the timing too precise to be natural or just mere coincidence.

Mussolini and his Fascist government in Italy; just recently, a civil war bursting in Spain, with a General called Franco leading an African Army against the insurgents, a man who clearly supported the Fascist movement as well; and then, the Nazis in Germany. Those three were natural allies given their similar ideologies, and he wouldn't be surprised if their leaders were already secretly negotiating their terms.

And of course, to all that, adding the Communists in Russia, with the Industrialists in Britain and the Capitalists in America fearing that it would spread to their lands, and with a Communist uprising in China as well, if one of Alice's pamphlets were to be believed.

The world seemed to him like a giant chessboard in which all the pertinent pieces were being moved with uncanny precision across the squares, by a great invisible hand which knew exactly how to arrange matters to have it all explode in one blazing war which would be far more encompassing than the last one.

And without a doubt, much more devastating. After all, this war would be carried under banners of ideologies. And when it came to ideologies, religions, and such self-righteous notions, everyone became much more ruthless and vicious. Oh, yes, someone knew precisely what they were doing.

Tom's lips quirked into a wide, gleeful smirk, his expression one of both bemusement and satisfaction. Yes, now he finally understood. There had to be some actors orchestrating things behind the scenes. A group of people, surely, for no one man could plan and execute something so great by himself. Not unless he was a genius, and Tom couldn't conceive the notion that anyone could be such a prodigy as he himself was.

He was intrigued, thrilled and excited, but above all things, he was deeply pleased with his discovery. The whirlwind of his thoughts finally settled itself to become a calm mantle in his mind, thrumming contently. And he exhaled, ready to finally go back to his room for his night of rest.

Tom was about to turn on his heels to take the flight of stairs up to his floor, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes – a shadow moving, a light at the end of the corridor.

His curiosity piqued, Tom instantly moved towards it, careful to make no noise with his footfalls. He soon saw that the 'shadow' was Billy Stubbs clutching his rabbit against his chest – no doubt the creature had escaped from the boy's bedroom and Billy had been roaming the corridor in search of the little beast.

What made Tom frown, however, was that the boy was frozen in place, standing beside the parted door of the kitchen from which a dim light could be seen.

As Tom made his way towards the boy to find out what was going on, the voices from the occupants of the kitchen started reaching his ears.

"… if Harry has asked you to know more about 'their' parents, then this time you must tell him the truth, Alice!" came Kathy Cole's voice, stern and sharp. "It was what we had agreed upon initially. I said nothing when you told the boys that they were non-identical twins, that first time. But now they are old enough to be told the truth."

"It would crush him! Harry is so attached to Tom, he worships him, and he's not mature enough to-"

"It's not Harry you worry about in this case, Alice. You don't fool me," snapped Kathy Cole impatiently, her tone now harsh and relentless. "You don't want _Tom_ to know, because God knows that he won't take it well and that once he knows, Harry won't be able to appease him any longer or to keep him in check. But I think it's worth the trouble, precisely because Harry adores Tom. That can't be allowed to continue. Tom is a bad influence on the boy and Harry deserves to know that they aren't brothers!"

"In a few years I'll tell them, Kathy," said Alice pleadingly, her voice soft. "Listen to me…"

A sort of strangled squeak issued from Billy's throat when he finally saw Tom standing beside him, as still as a statue and with a horrible expression on his face. Billy alarmingly paled, his eyes growing wide with dread and fear as he saw the dark, ominous look on the taller boy's face.

Instincts of survival kicking in, Billy took one more look at Tom, and before he gave a chance for the other boy to realize it or do anything about it, Billy squashed Puffy the Bunny against his chest and turned tail, dashing down the corridor and soon disappearing from sight.

Tom noticed, but for once, he didn't care. Kathy's last three words were still echoing in his mind with stabbing force – 'they aren't brothers!'. He felt such a tempest of clashing emotions, with such intensity as he had never experienced before, that for several seconds he wasn't able to move or even think; burning rage, mingled with a sharp pang of loss and grief and bitter disappointment, meshed with fiery hatred, they were all coiling and raging within him.

Yet, in the next second, all of it was abruptly doused under a chilly mantle of terrifying fear, shaking him to the core.

The very idea of the consequences, of knowing that the bond that had tied them together would be inevitably weakened, that Harry would no longer have reason to always remain by his side, to be always there, loyal, steadfast and needing him, wanting his company and preferring it to all others, yearning for his approval and attention. Imagining how Harry would grow apart from him, how the boy would carry on easily making friends as always and no longer dreading being separated from him…

He couldn't let it happen.

Harry _was _his brother; they were alike, they were both special and unique. That counted more than any ties of kinship. Harry had always been his, since the beginning of his awareness and as far as he could remember. His brother, his companion, his counterpart - his to teach, to mold, to protect, to ridicule, to hurt, to torment, and even to twist and corrupt and destroy if he wanted to. That was true possession and ownership over someone and he had always had it over Harry. And he wouldn't let anything or anyone pose a threat to it.

The very idea of it instantly prompted him to act.

Tom unceremoniously slammed the door to a side and strode inside the kitchen, the two arguing women freezing as their gazes landed on him.

"You won't tell him – ever," spat Tom, his voice as hard as grating rocks as he skewered them with a dark blue gaze burning with contempt and seething hatred. "But you will tell me, right now."

Kathy Cole was the first to gather back her wits after her startled shock, and with a stern expression on her face, she said curtly, "What are you doing up so late? And you have no business spying on us-"

"I wasn't speaking to you, woman," hissed out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits as his expression turned darker. "You'll do well to remain silent if you know what's good for you." His gaze flickered back to Alice. "Speak."

Mrs. Cole, not one to allow to be spoken to in such tones, casting to a side all lingering sense of prudence, pulled herself up to her full height, pinning him with a hard gaze of her own. "Look here, child, you'll show proper respect and-"

She choked. Suddenly she was being squeezed and crushed, all air heaving out from her lungs as she gasped for breath, her eyes bulging, her frame shaking so violently that she stumbled backwards and crashed against the table of the kitchen. Frantically clawing at her throat with her fingers, in a state of absolute panic, she tried to scream – it only came out as a gurgle.

"Kathy!" Alice instantly reached her friend and grabbed her by the arms, steadying her. "Kathy, what's happening? Are you ill, are you-"

"It seems she's having a fit of some sort," came Tom's cool, nonchalant voice. "Perhaps she's having a stroke?"

Alice's eyes snapped back to him, wide and bewildered, her gaze then flickering from him to Kathy and back. Nervous, frightened and uncertain, she nevertheless made her friend take a seat and started unbuttoning the first buttons of Kathy's shirt, as she fanned her with a hand.

"You-" gasped out Kathy, her voice raspy, hoarse and still struggling to come out from her throat, as she pointed a weak, shaking finger at Tom, her bulging and watering eyes fixed on him. " I know – this, is your doing-"

Tom arched his eyebrows at her, his expression utterly blank. "Oh?"

"Somehow-" croaked out Kathy, but in the next instant her eyelids fluttered shut and she slumped over the table, her head loudly banging against the hard wood.

Alice cried out in alarm, fretting frenziedly over her, ripping open Kathy's shirt, leaving only the undershirt beneath, checking her pulse with fingers on Kathy's throat and pressing her head against her friend's bosom, searching for the heartbeat, as she muttered, mumbled and rambled without knowing what she was saying.

"It seems that she simply fainted," said Tom impassively. "I'm sure she'll be fine in a few minutes."

Alice shot him a glance with wild eyes, but there, faintly, she suddenly felt Kathy's pulse and she deeply exhaled with relief. Still badly shaken after the experience, she gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles, suddenly feeling very out of her depth.

"What else should we do? I don't think it was a stroke, the symptoms weren't those of a stroke, I don't know what happened, I don't know what it could be, maybe-"

"Nothing, she's fine. As I said, she just fainted," said Tom curtly, cutting short the caregiver's scared ramblings and not even sparing the unconscious woman a glance as he took slow steps to stand right in front of Alice, piercing her with intense, dark eyes. "While she recovers, you can start speaking."

Alice shot him a disconcerted glance and sputtered, "But Kathy-"

"Tell me the truth now!"

Alice felt the boy's voice like a whip lashing against her flesh and shattering her bones, and she unwittingly took a step back, jaw slack, before she came to her senses.

Taking a steadying step forward, her expression crumbled into one of pained compassion, as she said softly, "I will tell you the little we know."

Tom listened to her attentively, his face showing nothing but a composed expression as the words seemed to burn themselves into his mind, as he grew angrier and more furious by the second. What he and Harry had been told was that they had been left at the orphanage's doorstep, wrapped together in blankets, that they were twins, non-identical, and that nothing was known of their parents.

"… 'Tom', after your father, and 'Marvolo' as a middle name, after her father. 'Riddle' as a surname since she said it was your father's family name. Your mother died not much later after that. That's all Kathy knows. Regarding Harry, we know nothing about his parents. There was no letter left with him when he was placed outside our door, only his first name embroidered on his clothes… " Alice trailed off as she finished relating the events in a quiet tone of voice.

"Marvolo," said Tom slowly, a glint shining in his dark blue eyes as he tasted the name on his lips, rolling it on his tongue. But any gleam was soon gone as his gaze flickered back to Alice, his expression turning impenetrable as he said curtly, "So my mother simply died? You didn't mention if she was ill."

"She wasn't. At least none of the caregivers who were present at the moment noticed anything wrong with her health," muttered Alice in a quiet tone of voice. "But it's clear that…" She cleared her throat uncomfortably, before she met Tom's piercing eyes and continued in a mellow tone of voice, "When terrible things happen to people, when they are unable to overcome them, sometimes it happens that they lose the will to live."

She gazed at him with a compassionate and warm-hearted expression on her face, as she continued gently, "There's no doubt in my mind that your mother loved you greatly, Tom, and you shouldn't hold it against her that she died. Some bad experience must have broken her spirits-"

"Save your pity and your paltry platitudes and sentimentalities for yourself," hissed out Tom acidly, piercing her with contemptuous, narrowed eyes, before he stood straight and took one menacing step forward, his voice lowering ominously, "You'll say nothing to Harry about this. I'll tell him my own version of events – where, obviously, he'll be my twin, just as you have made us believe all this time. Do you understand?"

Alice looked uncertain for a moment, feeling warring emotions inside herself – after all, she had always had every intention of telling the boys the truth when they were older. But to keep quiet about it, to never tell Harry…

"Do you understand?" repeated Tom harshly, with such ringing force that it seemed to crash and resound against the walls.

A sudden chill ran down Alice's spine, abruptly making her feel extremely cold. She even had the impression for a second that her breath had come out as a puff of white air. She felt herself inching away from the boy before she became aware of it, and something prompted her, something in the child's ominous expression, just made her nod her head – her promise given.

"And you'll convince her to keep her mouth shut as well," added Tom, disdainfully gesturing at the unconscious Kathy Cole.

Alice nodded jerkily once more, remaining mute, her wide eyes fixed on him.

"Good," said Tom curtly. Then, abruptly, he shot her a thin, satisfied smile.

Alice was only able to blink as the boy strode out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Where have you been – what happened?" Harry instantly demanded the moment Tom returned to their room, as he rubbed the scar on his forehead which still throbbed with lingering pain. He shot his brother a miffed scowl, as he added, "Your anger woke me up. So spill the beans, you owe me."

Tom scoffed, though he took his place at his brother's side, snuggling against him to keep warm under the covers, and then started relating his own version of the story in a curt tone of voice.

The moment Tom finished and the room was encompassed in absolute silence, Harry bit down on his lower lip, peering up at his brother as he said in a wobbly, sad little tone of voice, "So mum died after she had me and didn't have time to give me a second name?"

"Yes," said Tom coolly, as he stretched an arm under his head and stared up at the stained ceiling.

He shot a side-glance at his brother, seeing Harry's sorrowful expression- the boy's bright green eyes were even shinning with tears- and he had to bite on his tongue to not lash at the sentimental little fool.

Deciding to derail the conversation, he cleared his throat and shot Harry a smug look. "But since unlike you, I do have a middle name and I rather like it, from now on you'll call me Marvolo."

"Will not!" retorted Harry heatedly, for a moment forgetting all mournful thoughts to shoot his brother a resentful scowl. He huffed as he added, "It's a strange and stupid name and it's not fair that you have a second name and I don't-"

"It's not stupid," hissed out Tom indignantly, darkly glaring at him. His eyes narrowed as he spat out with disgust, "'Tom' is stupid. 'Harry' is stupid. Both are common names. There are thousands of people out there with our names-"

"I don't care," snapped Harry, "I still like our names and I won't call you Marvolo-" his small button nose scrunched with dislike- "ever, so there. Besides…" He trailed a finger over his brother's clothed chest, drawing little circles, as his voice lowered into a soft tone, "… our names are like our mum's gift to us. It was the only thing she could give us before dying…" He peered up at his brother with huge, uncertain eyes, as he added in a small voice, "She must have loved us a lot, right? Since she came here to have us, and she named us and all-"

"If she had loved us, she wouldn't have died," interjected Tom curtly, shooting him a harsh, chiding glance. He narrowed his eyes and hissed out acidly, "She was weak, she was a wretch and she was pathetic-"

"Don't talk about mum like that!" bit out Harry hotly, instantly jumping to roll over Tom and squash him under his weight, pressing his nose against his brother's to glare at him. "Take it back!"

"You deluded little idiot," spat Tom, forcefully shoving Harry off him as he sat up to skewer him with an incensed glower. "You don't even know what type of woman she was. I bet you anything she was something horrible – it wouldn't surprise me if she had been a whore or some such thing. Only whores have babies in orphanages, after all."

He shot him a sneer when he saw Harry's crushed expression at those words, and added with cold relish, "And our father is either dead or he's alive and couldn't care less about us and left us here to rot."

"Not true," mumbled Harry, his expression downcast as he gazed down at his small, fisted hands." I know it's not true." He glanced up at Tom, new hope shining in his emerald eyes as he piped in, "I bet that dad is out there looking for us. Maybe bad people have been stopping him from finding us. And all these years he must have been fighting them and looking all over the country for us. And soon he'll find this orphanage and he'll see us and-"

"You're pathetic," sneered Tom with disdain, rolling to a side to give Harry his back. "Believe whatever idiotic little fantasies you like." His voice turned low and quiet as he added in a curt whisper, "The truth of the matter is that we're alone. We only have each other."

At his brother's hushed statement, Harry's anger faded away and he remained seated at one side of the cot, eyeing Tom's back as he bit down on his lower lip.

He soon stretched himself at his brother's side, pressing his small chest against Tom's back as he threw a short arm over his brother's shoulder, murmuring softly, "Don't be mad."

Tom didn't answer, his shoulders and spine still remaining stiff, and Harry eyed him uncertainly before he gave his brother a brief squeeze as he pressed his forehead against the nape of Tom's neck, the silky locks of black hair brushing and tickling his nose.

Not wanting to argue again about their parents, since it was obviously a touchy subject for both, Harry voiced another hopeful thought that had crossed his mind, "So… I was born minutes after you – are you sure? Maybe I was first, and Kathy doesn't remember well-"

"You're the little brother, Harry, not I," scoffed out Tom, without turning to face him. "Facts are facts. Now go to sleep."

Harry harrumphed, his hopes of being able to rub in Tom's face who was the real big brother among them dashed, but a small grin broke on his face all the same, for Tom had relaxed under his arm and seemed to be pleasantly dozing off.

Nevertheless, no matter what Tom had said, that night Harry vouched that if their dad never appeared at the orphanage, then that one day he would go out in search of him.

That night, his dreams were filled with vague images of a tall man with a joyous expression and a big loving smile on his face as he hugged Harry and Tom and took them away to a small, cozy house. For once, terrible, menacing crimson eyes and flashes of blinding green light didn't spear through the foggy clouds of his dreams.

* * *

The following morning, Tom slipped out of their shared cot, taking care of not waking Harry up. He was one of the few early risers in the orphanage and never waited for one of the caregivers to come by, like Harry did, who always lazed about in their bed for as long as he could.

However, that morning, Tom had a specific reason for quickly making his way to the ground floor and the orphanage's playroom, since Billy Stubbs was one of the others who was out and about before the caregivers made their rounds - not willingly, but because that rabbit of his was squirming for freedom and wanting to hop around by sunrise.

As soon as Tom entered the room, he saw what he had expected and hoped for. Billy Stubbs was already there, sitting crossed-legged in the middle of the floor, with Puffy the Bunny on his lap, being petted and worshipped.

Throughout the years, Tom had had a vast number of reasons for wanting to show Billy Stubbs his place, but he had so far refrained from tormenting the boy. He didn't like to admit it, but he had done so for Harry's sake. Now, however, circumstances had changed.

"Hello there, Billy," said Tom placidly, as he took a step to tower over the sitting boy.

Billy's head shot up so suddenly that it seemed as if some bone in the neck must have cracked. The boy's brown eyes were immense as he stared up a Tom, his mouth parted open, the lips now trembling as he stuttered out, "H-hullo T-Tom." An attempt of an ingratiating smile wavered on the boy's face as he paled.

"You must know what this is about, yes?" prompted Tom calmly, though his eyes narrowed as he pinned the boy with his dark blue gaze.

"I didn't hear anything – I swear!" burst out Billy, as he shot up to his feet, tightly gripping his rabbit against his chest, and clearly ready to take flight as far away from Tom as possible. "I won't say anything to anyone – promise!"

Tom's hands immediately shot out, with one grabbing Puffy the Bunny by the ears and ripping her out from Billy's protective embrace, with the other harshly gripping the boy by the neck to keep him in place, as he hissed out ominously, "I know that you won't say anything." He shot him a dark smirk as his eyes narrowed menacingly, "Because if you do, your fate will be the same as Puffy's here."

"What are you going to do with her!" cried out Billy as he attempted to recover her from the other boy's clutch as Tom held her up high in the air. "Leave her alone, she's done nothing to you-"

Billy Stubb's pleads and shrieks went deaf to Tom's ears as his gaze quickly scanned the room. His smirk widened when he caught sight of one of Amy Benson's hair ribbons lying on the nearby table, the piece of cloth unknotted, long and thin – perfect.

A second later, rabbit and cloth shot up in the air, rising fast towards the ceiling. In the bat of an eyelash, the string coiled itself around the bunny's soft, fluffy neck and then its end spun around one of the wooden rafters. Gravity seemed to be restored in the next moment when the rabbit dropped a few inches, the coil of cloth twanging like the release of a tense string of a drawn bow, as a frantic yipping sound came from the bunny as its white limbs jerkily flailed in spasms.

"NO!" wailed Billy as he sobbed wretchedly, but Tom halted any movement by brusquely holding the boy by the jaw, forcing him to watch the rabbit's strangulation.

"That will happen to you if you ever say a word to anyone about what you overheard last night," hissed out Tom, sinking his short fingernails in the boy's sunken cheeks. "Is that clear?"

Billy froze, his eyes wild as he stared up at Tom. Soon, Tom's nose scrunched when a pungent odor reached him, and he glanced down at the boy's pants in disgust, seeing a wet stain spreading over Billy's crotch.

Suddenly, as noises reached his ears of the footfalls of the running children that had awoken and were making their way to the playroom, Tom was forced to violently shake Billy to yank him out of his terror-induced stupor.

"Is it clear!" snapped Tom harshly, skewering the boy with narrowed eyes.

"Y-yes," stuttered Billy simply, his frame now trembling.

Abruptly, the door was yanked open and a chirpy voice said with curiosity, "What are you two up to – PUFFY!"

Harry dashed by Tom's side like a flash of a blur, crying out in dismay as he leapt forward towards the dangling bunny. In the next instant, the piece of cloth snapped and the rabbit dropped into Harry's awaiting arms, unmoving. A second later, children and caregivers poured into the room, no doubt their quickness encouraged by all the yells coming from within, and Tom instantly stepped backwards into a shadowed corner.

"What's all this ruckus about?" demanded Mr. Jenkins gruffly, his small black eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered from Harry and the rabbit, to Billy who still stood petrified in the middle of the room, face pale and tear-streaked, pants stained with urine, and then to Tom, who never escaped the brute's notice no matter where he hid. "What's happened here?"

No one answered. Harry was now eyeing the caregiver with dread, any grief for the bunny's death and anger towards his brother due to it, now at the back of his mind, as his gaze uneasily flickered from Tom to Billy to Mr. Jenkins and back.

"Well, explain yourselves!" bellowed Mr. Jenkins as he towered over Harry, his gaze lowering until it landed on the bunny. His small beady eyes narrowed as vicious glee crossed his ugly features. "The rabbit's dead. Who did it?" He licked his lips as his eager gaze snapped from Tom to Harry, then to land on the petrified Billy. "Who killed your pet, boy?"

Billy remained silent, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked as he stared at his shoes, unmoving.

Anger soon swept over Mr. Jenkins' face as he spun around and approached the mute boy, raising up a meaty hand, clearly with the intention of delivering a backhand to slap the truth out of the boy.

Alice sprung into action that instant, moving forward and planting herself in front of Billy, facing the other caregiver with a hard expression on her face. "You will not hit the boy. He's clearly not at fault here."

Mr. Jenkins eyed her with smoldering contempt as he snarled, "You'll do well to mind your place, lass, or you'll soon find yourself kicked out to the streets, jobless and with not two pennies to your name."

The threat seemed to have no effect on Alice other than keeping her in silence, since she bravely remained standing protectively between child and man.

Sensing that things would soon be spiraling out of control and take a turn for the worse, Harry armed himself with valor. Mr. Jenkins was the one person he truly dreaded and even feared, but he hoped he could find a way out of the mess.

He realized that the piece of cloth that he had somehow snapped, and was still dangling from the rafters, hadn't been noticed by anyone, except Kathy Cole who was eyeing it with a frown on her face, her suspicious gaze flickering from it to the corner where Tom stood.

"It was me," murmured Harry quietly, pressing the dead bunny to his small chest before he raised his head to meet Mr. Jenkins' narrowed eyes, his voice gaining strength as he continued, "I killed Puffy. It was an accident. I tripped and stepped on her, and her neck must have broken-"

"It-t wasn't H-harr-y," came Billy's whispery, stuttering voice.

Harry bit his lower lip in sheer frustration, not at all happy that his friend had decided then to stand up to his defense.

Mr. Jenkins' limited patience was clearly coming to its end, as he spat, "Then who, boy? Speak up!"

However, it seemed that Billy feared someone else much more than he was afraid of the caregiver, and the boy clamped his mouth shut with such force that his lips turned white.

Harry deeply sighed and turned around to gently lay the dead rabbit on the nearby table. Squaring his shoulders, he swiveled around once more to face the man, as he said insistently, "It _was_ me."

Suddenly, a hissed exhalation of displeased annoyance resounded as Tom took several steps from his corner to stand in the middle of the room, his expression blank as he stared up at Mr. Jenkins and said coolly, "Harry's lying to protect me. It was I who accidentally stepped on the rabbit."

Harry's eyes grew large as he stared at his brother in utter astonishment.

Cruel glee and eagerness swamped Mr. Jenkins' face once more as he grunted with relish, "Thought so. It's always you, ain't it?" A meaty hand latched itself to the back of Tom's neck and he started to brusquely yank the boy out of the room, as he added with a satisfied snarl, "You know the drill, boy."

"No!" burst out Harry, spurred into action and rushing to their side, remembering the state in which Tom always came back when Mr. Jenkins punished him. Granted, Harry himself wasn't immune to the man's vicious brand of disciplinary action, and it terribly hurt all the times when the palms of his hands had been canned until they bled, but he at least healed fast. "It was me, I tell you-"

"Enough!" growled out Mr. Jenkins in fury, glancing back at him with a glower. A nasty gleam suddenly shone in his eyes as he bit out, "If you're so set on sparing your brother then at least you'll watch and learn from your brother's mistakes." His small beady eyes then bore into Alice as he spat, "Bring him."

Appalled, Alice's blue eyes widened as her hand automatically grabbed Harry's shoulder as if she could somehow whisk him away to someplace safe. "I don't think this is necessary-"

"Bring him along, girl!" bellowed Mr. Jenkins, before he turned around and harshly gripped Tom by the nape once more.

With her jaw clenched and a look of pained impotence on her face, Alice gently grabbed Harry's hand and proceeded down the corridor, following Mr. Jenkins' steps. She left Kathy behind to take care of the rest of the children, and particularly Billy Stubbs who was still alarmingly pale and didn't seem to be in full possession of his senses or in control of his bodily functions.

Mr. Jenkins reached Mrs. Sharpe's office and yanked the door open without bothering to knock, brusquely shoving Tom inside, like a victorious conqueror who brought amusing prey to torment.

As they all stepped into the room -Harry fully dreading what would happen, Tom looking impassive and indifferent, and Alice praying to God that someday they could all be rid of Mr. Jenkins– it became clear to all that Mrs. Sharpe had spent her night slumped on her desk.

Bottle and glass of gin were knocked over the table, its liquid contents spilled all over a disorderly mess of papers and documents, her hair a disarray of grey curls haphazardly dangling from a bun, and her face plastered on a newspaper on which drool had formed a small puddle.

Mr. Jenkins took one look at her and then proceeded to bang the door shut with a resounding slam. Instantly, Mrs. Sharpe jumped in her seat, eyes foggy and unfocused for a second as her gaze roved over them, disconcerted.

Mr. Jenkins grabbed Tom by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him forward giving him a violent shake, as he announced gleefully, "The boy has killed Billy Stubb's rabbit."

Mrs. Sharpe's eyes sparkled with interest at that, and a small, thin-lipped smile curled her painted lips as she said with a raspy voice, "I see. He must be punished then, of course."

"He certainly must," agreed Mr. Jenkins, sounding as if it was a well rehearsed script between them as a prelude to a mutually enjoyable spectacle. Then he shoved Tom forward, making him nearly bang against the sharp edge of Mrs. Sharpe's desk. "Assume position."

Harry's hands tightly clenched into fists as he saw Mr. Jenkins reach for a birch cane which had its own special perch on top of a chest of drawers. As Tom calmly unbuckled his shabby belt, starting to pull his pants down, Harry took a step forward before he knew it.

He halted on his tracks when Tom snapped his head to a side to shoot him a piercing look of warning, clearly conveying that Harry was not to interfere or else. Harry sank his small teeth on his bottom lip as Alice, who stood by his side, became as tense as a bow-string.

"You're a bad seed, just as Father Patrick says," spat Mr. Jenkins as he returned to stand before Mrs. Sharpe and her desk, cane in hand while he yanked down Tom's pants and undergarment until they hung loosely under the boy's small, taut buttocks.

Tom gripped the edge of the desk without saying a word, and a wide, nasty smile filled with rotten teeth spread on the man's face at the sight, as he continued, "There's the Devil inside you, boy, there is. But we shall beat Him out of you, won't we?"

No reply came and it was clear that Mr. Jenkins didn't need any to motivate him.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Sharpe was sitting straight up on her chair to afford her a direct view, her dark eyes shining with enjoyment, as she waved a hand and declared importantly, "You can proceed."

Mr. Jenkins graced her with one of his twisted smiles as he raised the cane in the air.

"I'm doing this for your own good, boy," he said with vicious relish, as he brought the cane down in a full arch, producing a twang as it sailed through the air and then a horrible noise as it struck smooth flesh.

Harry winced and his teeth sank deeper into his lip as he saw his brother gritting his teeth, but not a word came from Tom. The only evidence of pain was the knuckles of the hands that gripped the desk turning white, and the line of raised, red flesh that now ran along Tom's backside.

A nasty chortle came from Mr. Jenkins as he announced, "This time we will make it twenty and not our standard ten. What do you say?"

Harry gasped and looked at him, aghast, and his expression only turned even more horrified as Mr. Jenkins employed the full strength of his meaty arm to keep delivering blows which became more savage and brutal as the minutes ticked by.

Alice, by his side, had her eyes tightly shut, her own expression one of pain, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line, with her hands clenching and unclenching jerkily.

Grunts were ripped from Tom's lips as his buttocks became a crisscross lattice of bleeding rows of broken skin, and Harry felt his breathing coming out as haggard pants. Not only seeing it happen was much worse that merely seeing the results, but his scar was flaring in pain with all the seething hatred and murderous rage that was blazing in his brother's mind. And suddenly, Harry could only see red and he became strangely dizzy and frenzied.

"Twelve!" declared Mr. Jenkins with a crow of laughter, as Mrs. Sharpe eagerly clapped her hands in approval of a punishment that was being well executed. "Eight more to go, boy – you'll learn your lesson, mark my words!"

"STOP!" yelled Harry frantically, the words tearing out his throat before he knew what he was doing.

"You, clamp your mouth shut or you're next-"

Shards of glass suddenly pelted forth in a blast, and Mr. Jenkins' threat was lost in the exploding sound that reverberated in the room, as Mrs. Sharpe shrieked and dropped for cover under her desk.

Alice had immediately reacted instinctively, not only throwing herself to the floor but pulling Harry with her as she used her arms to cover as much of the boy as she could. Tom, with his ankles entangled in his pants and undergarments, had also leapt to a side and to safe cover. And it was thus that Mr. Jenkins was the only one who received a face-full of volleying shards of glass.

The man bellowed in pain as he rolled to the floor, making a greater mess of his face by attempting to rip out the shards with his meaty fingers.

"Wh- what- wh-" sputtered Mrs. Sharpe, her eyes wild as she took everything in, though not moving an inch to help anyone.

"You fool!" hissed out Tom with livid anger, briskly pulling his drawers and pants up and buckling his belt, before he dug out Harry from under Alice, brusquely pulling his little brother up to his feet.

Alice gawked at the blasted window behind Mrs. Sharpe's desk, which had no glass panels left, and when Tom's hushed, furious words reached her ears, her gaze snapped to Harry, her eyes growing wide.

She didn't quite know what had happened and she couldn't make sense of the crazy thoughts rushing through her mind, or of the way that Harry was looking deeply contrite or how Tom seemed to believe that his brother was to blame, or even of Kathy's belief that last night Tom had somehow attempted to suffocate her to death.

But as Mr. Jenkins kept bellowing in agony and fury, and as Mrs. Sharpe kept shrieking for some sort of explanation and the name of the guilty party, Alice rose to her feet and found herself pointing at the broken window as she said loudly, "A boy in the street hurled a stone, I saw. Then he ran away."

Momentarily shocked with herself, though knowing what had motivated her as her gaze landed on Harry and Tom who were now staring at her in surprise, Alice then gathered back her wits, knowing they had to leave the office as soon as possible.

"Mrs. Sharpe, I think it would be best if you could tend to Mr. Jenkins' wounds, if you will?" she said quickly, as she grabbed both boys by their arms. "And I'll take Tom to the Punishment Room and Harry to his bedroom-"

"Yes, yes, take them away," snapped Mrs. Sharpe with angered annoyance, dismissively waving a hand at them as she crouched to peer out the window, as if expecting to see the urchin who had dared to throw a stone at her window.

Alice didn't waste a second in pulling the boys out of the office, and the three of them remained awkwardly silent as they made their way up the staircase.

It was Harry who broke the tense air surrounding them as he said in a small voice, "Do you have to take Tom to the Punishment Room? He hates it-"

"Shut up," snarled Tom at his brother, making Harry hang down his head like a scolded puppy who was fully aware of all his misdeeds.

"I have to take him there because it's what Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Jenkins expect," said Alice reasonably, finding strength in the mere act of following procedure. "If I don't, it will only be worse for Tom."

They reached the boys' bedroom and Alice opened the door and gently pushed Harry's back to make him go inside, as she said, "Get in your bed and wait for me. I'll be right back."

"Bed?" Harry gaped at her. He was almost eight years old already – practically a grown-up! Harry fumed. And grown-ups weren't told they had to go to bed, and besides...

He stared up at Alice and then said with a small whine, "But it's morning-"

"A bit of extra rest, given recent events, will do you good, I'm sure," interrupted Alice, then shooting him a stern glance when Harry mutinously pouted at her. "Go."

Harry huffed but obeyed nonetheless, and Alice proceeded to take another flight of stairs with Tom, to reach the attic and the small, lightless cupboard at its end which was known around the orphanage as the Punishment Room - the one place which Tom, in particular, was vastly acquainted with.

Neither of them said one word to each other, and Tom for his part felt relieved. His backside felt like a mass of burning, flayed skin, but not even the feeling of rivulets of blood trickling down his legs prevented him from concentrating all his efforts in walking as if nothing was the matter with him. He would be limping if not. Though, he knew that no great amount of willpower would spare him from being unable to sit for a whole week.

Tom gritted his teeth as he climbed up another step. And for all that, he had his little imbecile of a brother to thank.

* * *

Harry was fretfully turning on his cot and already dreading any questions Alice might ask, when the caregiver came back to his bedroom.

Alice seemed to be calm as she took a seat on the cot, eyeing Harry pensively for a moment without saying a word.

Then, she gently caressed the boy's wild mass of hair as she murmured quietly, "What happened in Mrs. Sharpe's office?"

"Nuthin'," muttered Harry, staring up the ceiling, though he couldn't help fluttering his eyelids shut in contentment as Alice kept soothingly carding her fingers through his hair – there was nothing he liked more than that.

"Harry…" she said chidingly, but then she trailed off uncertainly, not entirely sure if she really did want to know.

She deeply sighed and then warmly smiled at the small boy when she saw his expression, like a little kitten being gently petted and purring in pleasure.

"Alright, I will not ask," said Alice at last.

Harry's bright emerald eyes cracked open at that, and he graced her with a beaming smile.

Alice chuckled as she caressed his cheek. "And just for that smile, it's worth keeping my questions to myself and not think about the matter further."

"Thank you," whispered Harry, clutching her caressing fingers and giving them a soft squeeze as his smile turned into a grin.

Alice nodded and then cleared her throat as she inquired dubiously, "Is Tom claustrophobic? Or is he afraid of the dark?"

"Clastro-what?" Harry shook his head and piped in, "He isn't scared. He just doesn't like small places or the dark." He shot her an impish grin, as he added, "He never admits it, but I can tell."

Alice had to repress a wince. It was clear that Tom's stint in the Punishment Room wouldn't be a pleasant one for the boy. Alas, there wasn't much she could do about that.

She shook her head and then pulled the covers up to Harry's chin, as she said softly, "Now try to sleep for a bit."

"But I'm not sleepy," mumbled Harry, his lips pursing stubbornly.

"Shall I sing to you my mother's nursery rhyme?" offered Alice gently. "It's your favorite, and it always works like a charm and makes you sleepy."

"Alright!" chimed Harry, an eager sparkle in his green eyes as he burrowed placidly under the covers, to then peer at her expectantly.

"Once upon a time, there was a good little wolf, mistreated by all the lambs," began to sing Alice softly, her voice slowly raising and then lulling like soothing, cradling waves. "Once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon. There was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate. There were all these things, once upon a time…"

She trailed off, waiting for Harry to sing the last part of the rhyme, as had became a tradition for them.

"When I dreamed of a world turned upside down," murmured Harry sleepily, as his eyes fluttered shut and a yawn escaped from his lips.

Satisfied, Alice smiled and waited during a few more minutes until soft, peaceful snores could be heard, and then she gently pecked Harry on the forehead before she took her leave.

The instant Alice left the room and Harry heard the sound of her footfalls fading away, he jumped out of the cot.

He grabbed pillow and blanket and then carefully cracked the door open, poking his head out and peering at both sides of the corridor to make sure no one was wandering about.

With a wide grin on his face, Harry scampered up several flights of stairs until he reached a small, short ladder. Haphazardly climbing it with pillow and blanket under one arm, he managed to open the trap door at the end of the ladder and climbed into the attic.

Sneezing once as dust tickled his nose, he made his way through old, broken furniture and all sort of miscellaneous, abandoned items of no value which littered the floor. Finally, he reached a small door no higher than his chest. He placed his pillow and blanket on the dusty floor, quickly making full use of them by lying down, resting his head on the pillow as he attempted to see something through the crack under the door.

He tentatively knocked softly on the small wooden door, as he whispered quietly, "Tom, it's me."

"Go away," snapped Tom's voice acidly.

"No," bit out Harry mutinously, glaring at the door. "I'll stay here all day and night with you."

An aggrieved groan came through; muffled, but the irritation conveyed was unmistakable.

"Alice won't mind when she finds out," continued Harry, ignoring the sound, his tone now cheerful. "So I'll keep you company."

"Hn."

Not at all discouraged by his brother's less than gracious grunt, Harry babbled on eagerly, "So what do you want to do? Maybe we can play some game or tell each other fairy tales or make funny animal noises and guess which animal it is or I can bring Nagini if you want and we can play with her-"

"Don't you ever stop talking?" hissed out Tom's voice with annoyance. He paused for a brief moment before his voice turned hasher and angry, "You realize the idiocy of what you did in Sharpe's office, don't you?"

"I didn't mean to blow up the window – it just happened," piped in Harry defensively. "I couldn't help it!"

"Be glad that Alice covered for you," snapped Tom's voice curtly.

"She was great, wasn't she?" declared Harry proudly. "She will always protect us, no matter what." He started scratching the door with a fingernail as he added in a cajoling tone of voice, "So maybe we could tell her about the things we can do-"

"No," was the immediate, stern response.

"But she loves us, Tom!" insisted Harry stubbornly. "She would never tell-"

"Perhaps," came Tom's reply, his voice soon turning sneering. "She's the type of soft-hearted, sentimental fool who would always make excuses for us and help us out. And you're right, pathetic people like her are meant to be used and exploited by others. And so we should. It's her own fault for being so stupid-"

"I never said that!" interrupted Harry hotly, glowering at the wooden door in front of him, not liking one bit how his brother viewed Alice – apart from Tom, she was his favorite person in the world.

Tom scoffed snidely. "Never mind. My point is that she's useful, and only that. We won't be telling her anything."

"Fine," groused out Harry.

Silence spread between them, Tom perhaps wishing that his brother had relented and left him alone, and Harry for his part fuming before something caught his eye. An idea sprung in his mind as he watched a little spider climbing up a web not three inches away from him.

"I'm sending you a friend to cheer you up," he said excitedly, as he made the spider jump to the floor and scramble towards the crack under the door. When the spider vanished, he said eagerly, "Are you seeing her? I'll make her dance – watch!"

The sound of a shoe sole slamming against floorboards and a squishy noise alerted Harry to what had happened to the nice spider, and he cried out in indignation, "You killed her!"

"Yes, I did," came Tom's relishing voice.

Scowling, Harry huffed as he protested, "You're such a sourpuss. What do we do now, then?"

"Remain silent."

Harry's dissatisfied scowl deepened before he started eyeing the crack under the door with a speculative and assessing look. A grin soon spread on his face and he tested the waters, sticking his fingers through the crack. His grin widened as he easily managed to put his hand through till midway.

Chuckling, he wriggled his fingers, knowing that his brother could see them. "Look – you could grab them. Come on, you know you want to..."

Harry abruptly yelped when his fingers were painfully squeezed and twisted. "Let go!"

"What you did today," came Tom's menacing voice, "promise to never do something like it again. I can take care of myself, is that clear? So promise or I'll hurt you even more."

Vainly attempting to get his fingers back, Harry yielded and mumbled out his promise, but it was a moot point. He knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself if someone tried to truly harm his brother, and it wasn't something he regretted.

As the grip on his fingers relaxed, Harry immediately started withdrawing his hand, only to halt when Tom said quietly, "If I hold your hand, will you stop your nonsensical chattering and remain quiet?"

Harry blinked in surprise, but then a wide, triumphant grin spread on his face. Though, he made sure of not conveying it, as he said shortly, "Sure."

It was thus that, out of sheer boredom in Harry's case and out of a much needed rest to dull his pain in Tom's, both ended up falling asleep, holding hands through the small crack of the cupboard's door and with equally satisfied and placid expressions on their faces.

* * *

Countless miles away, amidst a dense forest near the German-Austrian border and hidden under heavy, powerful layers of wards, a dark wizard with curly locks of blonde hair peppered with grey at the sides and with hazel, hawk-like eyes, was pacing in his office in the highest level of his tower.

A tower the wizard had built himself, brick by brick, and enchantment after enchantment; the many hidden passages and chambers and the secrets it held only fully known by its creator. Though the motto etched on the entrance gateway of the tower, 'Für das Größere Wohl', was already widely known throughout the wizarding world; sometimes fully advocated and supported, other times murmured with wariness and dread.

It was an afternoon in which the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald found himself pacing as he waited for his guards to bring him his latest prisoner and recent acquisition, who had been 'softened' by a one-month stint in Nurmengard's underground dungeons.

In this occasion, the Dark Lord was sporting his best muggle civilian clothes, since it had been one of those days in which he had apparated to muggle Berlin and participated –as he regularly did- in an exclusive meeting in the Reichstag, where the lead members of the Nazi party knew him as one of the country's most prosperous factories owner and as the Führer's personal advisor. Knowledge, of course, which would disappear from the minds of those muggles the day when Gellert Grindelwald had no more use for them.

As he impatiently awaited for his prisoner's arrival, his hazel eyes swept across his vast office; clustered with countless books of any variety of magical and muggle topics, added to his personal library and collection consisting of only the most unique Dark Arts texts, with numerous magical artifacts scattered among shelves, and detailed maps of Europe, the North of Africa, the Middle East and Asia.

It was in the maps of Europe, hanging from walls or stretched across tables, in which his plans for the War were revealed: with figurines representing troops, divisions of tanks and artillery, and even squadrons of battle-airplanes; with magically drawn lines representing battle fronts and trenches, and arrows depicting the planned deployment of his muggle forces; even with notations regarding the sequences and timing of the conquests, so that his strategies for the muggle war were executed precisely in time with his tactics for the wizarding war.

For such purpose, sometimes, superimposed on the map of muggle Europe, Grindelwald liked to place his map of wizarding Europe, with the marked locations of all the Ministries of Magic or similar governmental facilities, depending on the country, and with notations of the magic to be used, the negotiations to be held, and the names of leaders to either kill, imprison or persuade.

There was one map, however, which wasn't openly on display but rather hidden in one of the office's many secret compartments. This was the map which represented years of historical and archeological research in the quest of finding the one magical artifact which Grindelwald coveted the most.

An artifact lost millennia ago and believed by most to have been long since destroyed. It was such the ancient age of the legendary artifact that Grindelwald's quest in search of it lacked any progress, in stark contrast with his quest of locating the two companions to the wand he held in his hand.

Nevertheless, that evening, Grindelwald expected his luck to change, for he was certain he would rip the truth from his prisoner and finally obtain some leads regarding the artifact's location. After all, for years he had plotted in detail both the wizarding and the muggle war that were about to come, both of which would avert attention from his true quest. With the benefit along the way of having muggles kill themselves in the millions, if everything went according to plan, and with having the Nazis do the tedious work of storing all valuable Jew belongings in warehouses, so that his followers could covertly go through them in search of clues.

Nevertheless, such matter wasn't the only one which he hoped to be enlightened about.

Gellert Grindelwald's hazel eyes roamed over the immense sphere which occupied a vast corner of the room; the Globe, with a diameter as long as the height between floor and ceiling, was a much cherished magical artifact, created by himself from the instructions in a journal of a Dark Lord long forgotten.

It was Gellert's means of keeping track of all magical beings –humans and creatures- all depicted in the Globe's watery-like surface by flames, of varying sizes, colors and degrees of brightness.

How it had amused him when he had seen that, recently, his old 'friend' had increased the frequency of his trips to the French countryside.

It seemed that when Gellert Grindelwald was on the move, Albus Dumbledore didn't leave anything to chance, even believing that Grindelwald could be interested in something so lackluster as Nicholas Flame's Philosopher's Stone.

Immortality had never particularly appealed to a hedonistic wizard like Gellert, who knew himself well enough to foresee that an eternal existence would only end up making him cry out of tediousness. No, Gellert was all for the 'next, great adventure' as his one and only true lover had called it, and would joyfully embrace Death with a crow of chortles when it came, as long as it didn't take him before he accomplished his aims.

Nevertheless, he had been entertained by the comings and goings of the bright orange flame that represented Albus Dumbledore. It was the one flame in the whole Globe which was as large and which shone as powerfully as Gellert's own.

And a flame which never, not once, had moved across the Globe to appear in Germany, but which had been orbiting around other countries - Albus had certainly been busy lately, attempting to form alliances for the British Ministry of Magic in an unofficial capacity, no doubt, and certainly being the only one who had the foresight and depth of understanding to know some of what Grindelwald had planned.

The most powerful light wizard in the world – as evidenced in the Globe – was clearly making preparations to thwart him. But not to confront him directly, Gellert knew that well.

For the same reason that he would leave England and his quest for the two remaining Deathly Hallows for last, he knew that Albus would never set foot in Germany and confront him face-to-face, not unless it became the wizard's last, desperate measure.

Thus, it wasn't Albus' orange flame which he was concerned about, not even some other flames which Gellert had keep tabs on, since those bright flames represented powerful witches or wizards who could be somewhat of threat to him, or possible allies if he so wished.

Rather, what had piqued his curiosity for some years were two flames right smack in the middle of the docks' neighborhood of muggle London.

One of those flames had just, some minutes ago, flared up brightly. The child had done magic, and with some measure of control over it; quite a feat given the child's young age.

He was most puzzled by this bright blue flame in particular, though the black one vastly intrigued him too. It was the latter which he had seen being 'born', and just a year later, a small blue flame had popped right next to it, as if out of thin air.

Gellert was interested in them not only because of the brightness and intensity of their flames –indicating vast and unprecedented magical potential in children who, by his estimates, hadn't turned eight yet- but due to their flames' characteristics.

The flame of the child which had been born nearly eight years ago was almost pure black, denoting a strong ancestry of a dark pureblood line and a rather staggering potential for the Dark Arts.

Nevertheless, it was the other flame which befuddled him the most; bright blue and yet with a strong core of black from which a tendril flared out and connected with the other flame. It perplexed him. Never had he seen such 'connection' between flames on the Globe, and its meaning utterly eluded him.

His pensive musings were abruptly cut short when the door of his office was opened and two guards stepped inside, dragging a witch by her arms.

Gellert immediately strode forth and soon halted in front of her, his lips quirking upwards into a twisted parody of a charming and courteous smile, as he intoned pleasantly in a faultless Greek, "_My esteemed Oracle, I hope your accommodations in my humble abode have been to your satisfaction?_"


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thank you all for your reviews, they always keep me motivated!

Now, I would like to clarify some points brought up by some reviewers:

First, Tom and Harry have the same age. When Lily and James Potter were killed, Harry was a one year old baby –I'm following canon here-, and it was that night in which –in this fic- someone took baby Harry and left him at the orphanage's doorstep, as described in the first chapter of this fic. Tom was one year old as well. Alice and Kathy estimated that both babies seemed to have the same age and thus, later, Alice came up with the story that they were twins, given their similar looks, etc.

Second, Harry will be a powerful and independent wizard, but not yet. Some readers are annoyed with Harry's personality, but you have to remember that he's still just a child. We've seen him from ages 4 to 7, so of course that he's going to be childish and immature, he's acting his age.

You can't expect him to be like Tom, who is so adult-like given his innate personality and prodigal mind, nor can you expect him to be like canon Harry who was so moody and broody, and 11 years old in the beginning, by the way.

This Harry wasn't raised by the Dursleys like an outcast in his own home. He was raised in a ghastly orphanage, yes, but with many that adore him. He has been loved and cherished, and he's well liked by all his friends in the orphanage, thus he's much more sociable, outgoing and kind-hearted.

Alice and Harry's friends in the orphanage have shaped Harry's personality in this way, but we can also see how Tom has influenced Harry in the way in which Harry is mischievous and cunning and knows how to use his tears, whining, and innocent looks to get what he wants.

We can also see that he's not easily ruffled by the things that Tom does, he takes them in stride. For example, when Tom kills the bunny, Harry was angered but he didn't cry and have a hissy fit. He's become used to things like that and they don't frighten or scare him. This is part of the beginning of his 'darker' nature, to call it something, and of course, Tom is the cause of it.

On the other hand, we have Tom, who speaks and acts like an adult, for the simple reason that he, unlike Harry, is an outcast in the orphanage. Only Alice and Harry like the boy, and Tom never socializes with the other children, thus he doesn't act like them. He spends all his time reading and studying and thus has the vocabulary and mind-set of an adult. And since he spurns Alice's affection for him, he hasn't been influenced by her. But we can see the way Harry has affected his personality in many scenes, primarily in the one in which he admits to having killed the bunny so that Harry wouldn't take the blame. Also, every time Tom has done something 'nasty', he has had a good reason for it, so I don't think he's being sadistic just for the joy of it. Oh, he enjoys taking revenge and causing pain, but he only does so when he has reason for it, and this is certainly proof of how Tom has been influenced by Harry.

So, in short, we have Harry who is nice, 'cute and adorable' and loves his 'big brother' unconditionally, and we have Tom who is mean and harsh with Harry most of times, but it doesn't mean that Harry is Tom's pet or that he's a doormat.

I think their relationship is pretty well-balanced. Tom can be mean and harsh, but more often than not, he ends up doing what Harry wants, and he's easily softened when Harry starts crying and whining and cajoling – and Harry knows this well.

However, both their personalities will change and develop as they grow up, Harry's in particular. And it is then when we will see how he comes to be a 'powerful and independent' wizard, but for that we will have to be a bit patient.

Third, the boys' 'flames' in Grindelwald's Globe indicate Tom's vast potential for the Dark Arts, and also that both boys have the capacity to be uncommonly powerful - this, and the 'strange link' between the flames, is what has piqued Gellert's curiosity. But it only indicates potential, given the size and intensity of the flames, so it is up to the boys if they become powerful or not. In this fic, like in my others, innate magic has to be nurtured and exercised so that it can grow and be strong and powerful.

Also, Grindelwald will certainly have a major part in the story, mostly by the things he will be doing in the background. Though, it's safe to expect that he will be directly involved with the boys at some point.

And finally, what Tom knows about the Nazis –the details about their oppression of the Jews, homosexuals, communists, and etc- comes from the info he read in Alice's Communist pamphlets. As we all know, the general public, even the Germans, were unaware of the things that went on. It only came to light during the Nuremberg trials after the end of the war, so Tom is dealing with privileged information here, and much of it –especially regarding the 'labor' camps- is mere speculation from Mr. Hutchins and his Communist associates. But all of this will also play a major part in Harry and Tom's lives.

**Note:**

All OC scenes and background info, such as the ones of Alice -and of other characters that will appear- are important to the plot, so I recommend not to skip them, even if it doesn't seem that interesting or relevant.

In this fic, the Wizengamot will not only be the Court of Justice of wizarding Britain but also like a Parliament, where laws and important government decisions are discussed and then approved or rejected- I don't know if this was also so in canon, but it will be in this story. And the Minister of Magic, when it comes to governmental decisions, has the last word.

_Italics_ will always denote foreign languages or parseltongue.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 5**

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald's hazel eyes gleamed when he received no response to his taunting welcoming remark, and he simply watched with unrepressed eagerness as the woman was forcibly dragged further into his office by the two burly guards at her side.

Dressed in clothes that were now nothing more than filthy rags, with trails of dried blood running down her legs and many bruises and infected cuts on face and arms, Gellert could still appreciate the witch's sturdy beauty in the curves that still lingered on her emaciated body; the ample bosom, the small waist and the wide hips, added to large black eyes, a mass of riotous dark curls, a prominent straight nose and a manly squared jaw which only lent more strength and appeal to her Grecian features.

Always one to admire beauty in all shapes and forms, Gellert's lips curved into a smile as the woman was brusquely dropped on an armchair.

Gellert waved his Elder Wand once, and abruptly, magical chains erupted from the stone floor, instantly wrapping themselves around the woman's legs, arms and torso, pinning her in place.

"_Leave us_," said Gellert shortly in brisk German, gesturing dismissively at the guards.

With just a sharp nod of their heads and a click of their boots as they snapped their heels together, the wizards then spun around and soon shut the door behind them.

"_Look up at me, dear_," intoned Gellert pleasantly, switching to Greek as easily and casually as if he had been raised with it, while he leaned against the edge of one of the tables to be directly in front of her.

Piercing black eyes snapped up to his, and Gellert's twisted smile widened when he saw the fiery spirit in them. No, this witch hadn't been broken by her one-month stint in Nurmengard's dungeons, nor by the prison guards who had had direct permission from Gellert to do whatever they pleased with her, and who had evidently, by her looks, not only tortured her but violated her to their hearts' content.

"_Sibylla Spyros__,"_ he said with relish, as he slowly caressed his Elder Wand, _"what a pleasure it is to have you here at last." _He arched an eyebrow at her, as he continued placidly,_ "And to think that at first, when rumors reached my ears that a female descendant of Cassandra's line existed and lived, I did not believe it."_

Gellert chortled under his breath, as if finding his own foolishness amusing, and then graced her with a blinding smile. _"Yet that you are, the proof is that your body rejected the Veritaserum plied in your food. I heard that you were ill for many days due to it. Yes?"_

"_Yes," _came the response through gritted teeth as if against her will, the witch's voice raw and hoarse.

Gellert's eyebrows hitched upwards, and a sudden gleam entered his hazel eyes as he said gleefully, _"The legends regarding your line are correct then, you can only speak the Truth. Cassandra's Curse-"_

"_The Curse is not that we can only speak the Truth,"_ said Sibylla tartly, her jaw tightening as the words spilled out of her dry mouth, _"or that our prophecies sound like lies to all ears or that we are never believed. The Curse is that all our prophecies are of doom and destruction and no matter what we do or how hard we try, they always come true. That's the Curse that has always plagued the females of my line."_

"_I see,"_ said Gellert as he hummed low under his breath, before he pinned her with his hazel gaze, arching an intrigued eyebrow. _"And yet, you chose to live."_ He gestured at the room and at both of them, as he continued, _"You must have Seen this. And from what I've been told, when my followers went to Greece to capture you, you were waiting for them in your home, sitting alone in the middle of your room – expecting their arrival and not resisting capture. Why?"_

Sibylla's expression smoothened, with no trace of pain or grief on her bruised face as she replied calmly with a sardonic smile on her lips, _"As you said, I chose to live." _

Gellert narrowed his eyes at her, before he chuckled and said amiably, _"You'll have to give me a more enlightening answer than that. After all, I'm well aware that your husband and fifteen-year-old son are hiding somewhere – undoubtedly per your instructions. You wouldn't want to force me to hunt them down, would you?" _

For a moment, Sibylla tightly closed her eyes shut, breathing haggardly as she forced her mind to repeat the answer she had already given. It was the truth after all, and the cause and reason for everything that had happened.

Indeed, as the wizard before her was well aware, she was the only female of Cassandra's line that had been allowed to live past her infancy. When Sibylla had been a seven-year-old girl, living with her mother in an isolated little hut, she had begun having visions and started to understand her Curse and the danger of her existence.

She had Seen, with her Inner Eye, how it had all started with her unfortunate ancestor, a woman who had had a life more wretched and miserable than that of any other.

Cassandra, daughter of King Priam of Troy, had been one of the first true Seers in history, and to date, the most powerful one. As legends went, at the tender age of thirteen, one of her tutors, an old lecherous wizard who was one of the King's priests of the Temple of Apollo, had fallen in love and lusted after the girl. His courtship rejected by both Cassandra and her father, the wizard had cursed her and her descendants before mysteriously disappearing.

Soon after, Cassandra had begun having visions and bespeaking prophecies regarding the destruction of their kingdom. She had been disbelieved, ignored, ridiculed, and even her own family had thought her mad and had imprisoned her. And yet, it all came to happen as she had foretold.

The young girl ended up being a war prize for the victorious King Agamemnon of Mycenae, who forcibly took her as a concubine and had two children with her. It was the man's wife, Clytemnestra, who killed him when he returned to his kingdom. And Cassandra, knowing beforehand her fate, had entrusted her children to a slave and ensured that they would escape unscathed. Then, the young Seer had calmly met her death at Clytemnestra's hands.

How Sibylla had suffered through those visions, feeling her ancestor's piercing grief and sorrow, her wretched impotence and her bottled, burning rage. How Sibylla had further grown embittered as she Saw what came of Cassandra's descendants; all of them with that uncommonly powerful Seer trait, but it was the females who inherited the 'gift' most potently, along with the Curse, and thus, it was the females who were most feared and therefore who were killed at birth. The males' fate throughout history hadn't been a joyful one either; captured by wizards who knew of their line, who forced them into becoming Oracles, or even by muggles of old who still believed in legends.

All of them had had wretched lives. And all of them had made sure that if they spawned a baby girl, they would kill her before she could grow up to be a Seer who would only bring doom and misery with her prophecies and Truth-speech.

It was so, that at the age of thirteen, Sibylla had dared ask her mother why she still lived.

Her mother had married a wizard of Cassandra's line; a poor wizard who had managed to avoid detection and suspicion by working as a mere peddler, never revealing his Seer abilities. And he had been a wizard who, when his wife bore him a daughter, had instantly and fearfully instructed that the baby was to be drowned the following day. But by morning, his wife had disappeared, taking baby Sibylla with her.

"_Why?"_ she had asked her mother, so many years ago when she had been a girl of mere thirteen.

"_Because I wanted you to live,"_ had been her mother's loving and simple reply.

Her uneducated, dimwitted mother who didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions, who was only moved by her profound love for her daughter, it had been her who had irrevocably altered things.

And soon after, when her mother had died, ill and impoverished, Sibylla had taken her words to heart, and had done exactly that – she had lived. She had always strived to live her life to the fullest, with no regrets, with no culpability and owing nothing to anyone, not to wizards or muggles who had done nothing but use and torment the ancestors of her line.

Even knowing how it would all end, and the devastation that her existence could bring, Sibylla had lived for herself, finding love in the arms of a kind-hearted man and only doing one thing to ensure that the Curse of her line would come to an end – she had poisoned her womb before conceiving her son, making sure her child would carry only a weak modicum of Cassandra's Seer trait, making sure, thus, that the Curse would lose most of its potency.

And indeed, her now fifteen-year-old son would be a mediocre Seer at best, and Sibylla knew that her line would end with her son's daughter, and it gave her a deep sense of relief and peace.

It was so, that she was now able to meet the gaze of the dark wizard before her, knowing that her life would end that day and that what she would reveal would further change the future into that which should not have happened.

"_I didn't resist, and I didn't kill myself before being captured,"_ said Sibylla calmly, as she made her tortured body relax against the chains and chair, _"because I chose to live. And because I don't owe the world and its people anything."_ Her large black eyes pierced into the wizard's hazel ones, as she continued in a strong voice, _"I have no regrets, no burdens upon my shoulders. I am at peace with myself and my decisions. What you will learn from me and what you'll do with it, will be your choice. And what comes of it, is the choice of many others as well. The choice my mother made, and the choice I made, only play a small part in it."_

Gellert Grindelwald stared at the woman, first with frustrated irritation and then with dark amusement – Seers were known to be annoyingly vague and cryptic with their answers. But it mattered little; soon he would acquire all of her knowledge directly from the source. His gaze flickered from her forehead to the bottomless pensieve on his desk - quite a unique one he had recently acquired for that day in particular.

He waved a hand dismissively, already bored with their topic of conversation. He didn't care about the Seer's motives or where her family was, after all. He had no need for that information, but he still needed other answers before he could proceed with what he had planned. He rather hear it from her directly before seeing it. It was much more amusing and satisfying that way; he always did like to play with his prey for a little while.

Gellert stood up and gracefully made way towards the end of the vast room, flicking his wand, which immediately made Sibylla, in her chair and chains, drag after him. He halted before the immense magical sphere which encompassed a full section of his study, and then turned around to glance at the Seer who now sat before the Globe.

He gestured at the sphere as he said placidly, _"I'm sure you already know what this is. You must have Seen it, hmm? It's how I managed to find where you were, after all."_ He shot her a crooked smile before he pointed at two bright flames with the tip of his wand. _"Use your abilities and tell me about them – are they worthy future followers that I should mold or just children who will amount to nothing significant?" _

"_Will they be followers? Not quite,"_ said the Seer coolly, her lips stretching into a harsh smile which seemed to want to mock him. _"Will they be significant? Oh, very much so, I dare say."_

Gellert's lips thinned into a humorless flat line, and he asked again, now in very simple terms, _"Who are they?"_

The taunting expression on her face vanished, and Sibylla's mouth hung open as words spilled out of her mouth as if her tongue was being pulled by a pair of tongs, _"A Slytherin. And a Potter."_

Gellert's blonde eyebrows jumped to his hairline, his expression one of speechless disbelief. A second later, a deep frown furrowed his forehead as he said harshly, _"It cannot be. The line of Salazar Slytherin's bastard son died out centuries ago. And I would know if there was a Potter meandering about. I've kept close tabs on the members of that family for many years-"_

"_Slytherin's last descendants disappeared from wizarding society many centuries ago, they became recluses, hermits,"_ snapped Sibylla, her expression hard and dark as she gritted the words out, _"but they still live. That boy is the lost Slytherin Heir."_ Her lips contorted into a sneer of derision as she bit out, _"And I am well aware of the reason for your interest in the Potters. I Saw that summer night, so many decades ago, when you revealed the deepest of your secrets to your paramour, the details of your quest for the Hallows, the clues you had gathered. How Albus Dumbledore loved you then - such a profound and blind love, such a synchrony of minds and longings, such a perfect match of magical cores." _

Suddenly, she paused and let out a harsh bout of snide laughter, her black eyes gleaming nastily. _"Young, infatuated Albus Dumbledore was able to piece the clues together, he even remembered the slab of tombstone he had seen near his mother's grave the day of her funeral. He took you there, that night, to Ignotus Peverell's tomb, you both saw the symbol there-"_

Abruptly, she choked on her words when Gellert suddenly poked her throat painfully with his wand's tip, his face contorted in a fierce and wrathful expression, his lips pulled back from his perfect row of white teeth.

In the next second, just as abruptly, his features smoothened and he chortled under his breath, a tight smile twisting his lips. _"Yes, I dare say I owe Albus for that."_

He ripped his wand away from the Seer's throat and calmly stroked it, though his eyes narrowed as they remained fixed on the witch. _"As you evidently know already, after that night, we both soon discovered that the Potters are Ignotus' descendants, his Hallow passed down as an heirloom from father to son, the Cloak's mastership bounded by blood to them. Only a Potter can be its master, only a Potter can hand its ownership to me."_ He shot her a crooked, gallant smile, as he added amiably, _"Thus, you can understand my interest in knowing about this Potter boy. Is he a bastard son?"_

"_No, he's a true Potter,"_ said Sibylla hoarsely, her hands pulling against her chains when she absentmindedly attempted to massage her aching throat. _"He's out of place, out of time."_

Gellert frowned as he skewered her with his hawk-like hazel gaze. _"What do you mean by that, exactly?"_

"_I mean just what I've said,"_ snapped Sibylla shortly, her lips curling into a contemptuous sneer.

Suppressing a spike of frayed annoyance, Gellert chose to simply jump to his next question, his mind -already supplied with some astonishing information- was rather occupied in many plans and plots. _"What about the peculiar connection between the two boys?"_

"_It's a link that has not yet been formed," _replied the Seer tartly, once again settling herself in her prison of chair and chains with an air of supreme indifference.

At that nonsensical reply, now irritated beyond the limits of his patience, Gellert dismissively waved a hand at her. However, before he could say another word, the Seer bore her eyes into his, as she said gleefully, _"What you secretly yearn for, will never happen. He will never come back to you."_

Arching an eyebrow, Gellert stared at her, his strained smile relaxing into a nonchalant one as he batted away bittersweet memories and said pleasantly, _"We will see." _

"_You will lose the war as well,"_ said Sibylla as if she had not been interrupted at all, her tone now satisfied, _"both the muggle and the wizarding one."_

At that, a bout of hearty, crowing laughter erupted from Gellert's mouth, as he shook his head with amusement. _"Indeed?"_

When his chortles subsided, he shot her a wide, crooked grin. _"But with countless casualties, no doubt, hmm? Splendid news, then. The wars are nothing but a smokescreen, a sideshow of a sideshow, amusing entertainment with some added benefits to help my Quest along."_ He eyed her with a viciously taunting expression on his handsome face, as he quipped, _"Surely you didn't expect me to break into tears when you disclosed that to me? Or when you mentioned Albus' 'profound love' for me in the past? Or that he wouldn't be mine, once again?"_

Sibylla countered his words not with an expression of disappointment but with one of utter boredom. _"This is getting tedious. Ask the question – the reason for why I am here, and let's be done with it."_

"_With pleasure,"_ said Gellert shortly, before he pinned her with his eyes and demanded curtly, _"Where is the Vessel?"_

The Seer's lips curved into a wide smile, her dark eyes gleaming, as she intoned cheerfully, _"Where, indeed. The Jews' greatest treasure has long since been hidden, not even my Inner Eye has the capacity to pierce through the shrouds of magic that keep it concealed. I can tell you this, however - it will not be you who finds it."_ Her black gaze flickered to the Globe, her hard smile widening_. "It will be the boys."_

With his narrowed-eyed, hazel gaze flickering from the two flames on the Globe to her and back, Gellert finally took a step forward, aiming his wand at the Seer, as a crooked grin spread on his face. _"I'm afraid that's an insufficient answer. You know what will happen now, do you not? You must have Seen it, hmm? Yet I dare say that you won't be prepared for it, as much as you must have already armed yourself with valor." _

Sibylla's bruised face paled alarmingly, though she didn't speak a word, her jaw merely tightened as she balled her chained hands into white-knuckled fists.

At her reaction, Gellert cocked his head to a side, his twisted grin widening with relish, as he continued placidly, _"I, on the other hand, am quite looking forward to it. It was a tradition of old, was it not, to rip out the eyes of Seers so that their Inner Eye instantly became more powerful? Undoubtedly, you'll be able to 'pierce through shrouds of magic' once it's done and divulge to me the Vessel's precise location."_

Not wasting another breath, Gaelic words sprung from his lips as he swished his wand in her direction. In the bat of an eyelash, ghostly, skeletal hands erupted from his wand's tip, becoming larger as they spread forth like black tendrils of smoke, the fingers soon sinking into the flesh of the woman's face, delving into her eye-sockets.

And as much as she had foreseen it and prepared for it, Sibylla couldn't help the endless scream that tore out her parched throat, her limbs jerkily convulsing due to the agony inflicted, as the ghostly claw-like fingers clamped around her eyeballs, and then simply pulled and gouged out.

The sound of her screams, of Grindelwald's satisfied chuckles, of the squishy noise when the ghostly hands withdrew and squashed her eyeballs within their fists, the dripping of rivulets of blood that surged from her empty sockets, all of it became faraway, distant sounds when her mind suddenly seemed to explode in a whirlwind of blinding visions, of flashing images and sounds, of floods of knowledge of past, present and future which abruptly poured forth as if a great dam had been broken.

The pain was insurmountable, yet with her last remnant of conscious will and determination, Sibylla remembered the fake tooth in her mouth and the poison within it. She snapped her jaw shut, and with a soft 'crack', the tooth split and the liquid quickly trickled down her throat.

Gellert jumped forward when, suddenly, purple fumes hissed and emanated from the witch's mouth, blood abruptly pouring from her ears and nostrils, as her face became a lattice of protruding, sickly black veins.

With a roar of rage, having an inkling of what the cunning Seer must have done, he flicked his Elder Wand urgently and repeatedly. His bottomless pensieve flew towards him as he made flows of silvery tendrils pour out from the woman's head, like thick rivers of grey light that came forth like waves as he directed them with his wand.

Frantically, Gellert poured memory after memory into the floating pensieve by his side, but he could already see the wide, gaping holes in the damaged silvery tendrils.

After long minutes of exhausting work, with beads of sweat on his smooth forehead, Gellert took in a deep breath as the last frayed tendril he could salvage dropped inside the pensieve. Settling the pensieve on top of the nearest table, he gazed down at its contents with an utterly enraged expression on his face.

He had told the guards to check every inch of her body precisely so that something like that wouldn't happen. Soon, two of his guards would wish they had never been born.

Yet, as he contemplated the ravaged tendrils of the Seer's memories now floating placidly on his pensieve's surface, he thought he could piece some information together from what was left.

Gellert stilled for a moment, and his hazel gaze snapped to look at the witch. There was nothing left of Sibylla Spyros but a mangled corpse with a black, veiny face, eyeless sockets, and bloodied rags of clothes. Her blue lips, frozen in their expression with the rigor mortis of death, were twisted, yet not in agony but with the satisfaction that came with having taken her ultimate revenge.

If it was revenge on him or on the world at large, Gellert didn't know, but abruptly, peals of crowing chortles escaped from his lips.

And as he reached her corpse, he gallantly bowed his head to her, admiringly acknowledging the cunningness of the one witch who had managed to best him.

With a wide, crooked grin of appreciation and parting fondness, he flicked his wand. Her body instantly vanished into thin air, the chains loudly clanking as they heavily dropped to the stone floors.

As his hazel gaze returned to the pensieve, Gellert's grin widened. Indeed, he wouldn't have all the information he had hoped for, but he always enjoyed playing the game when it became harder and more unpredictable.

* * *

Konrad Von Krauss' shiny black boots clicked against the stone floors as he made his way along the narrow corridor of the highest level of Nurmengard Tower. In his late thirties, with his locks of ashy blonde hair pulled back on his head in an impeccable style, his hard, icy blue eyes gleaming with depths of knowledge and self-confidence, and with his tall and broad-shouldered physique, he cut an impressive figure - the epitome of strong masculinity and vaunted dark pureblood power and supremacy.

There were not even crinkles around his eyes or along his forehead to indicate the utter exhaustion the wizard felt, after having spent one more month leading the squads of followers who went through the Jew possessions that the Nazis had been confiscating and whisking away to the numerous warehouses they had scattered all around Germany.

Alas, in the endless rows of ornate, antique furniture, of priceless vases, paintings and portraits, of jewels and gems, of books upon books, and Torahs after Torahs, nothing pertinent had been found. Oh, there had been some valuables magically hidden away in many objects from wizarding Jewish families, but not what his Dark Lord was looking for – a clue regarding the location of the Vessel.

Once again, the latest warehouse had proven to be an utter disappointment.

Nevertheless, he had been summoned by the Dark Lord a few minutes ago and Konrad had instantly apparated to Nurmengard's entrance gateway, his concern for Grindelwald giving him one more reason to be as swift as possible.

He had heard that the Dark Lord had finally interrogated the Seer, but in the two weeks after that, it seemed that Grindelwald had spent all his time locked in his office, merely going out to participate in some meetings in the Reichstag to push matters along with Hitler and the muggle's minions.

For Konrad, this was worrisome to some extent, since the Dark Lord usually liked to be seen in the many balls and society events thrown with the very money of his followers, affording the lap of luxury to entice more supporters.

When he finally reached the iron-wrought door of the Dark Lord's study, Konrad cleared his throat, smoothened his robes to get rid of non-existent wrinkles, and then knocked once.

Without a word from the inside, the heavy door creaked open, and Konrad stepped inside with brisk, short strides.

He abruptly halted when his icy blue gaze landed on Grindelwald, who was seated behind one of his many desks. But unlike other occasions, the Dark Lord had dark circles under his eyes and a rather ruffled and scruffy appearance. Though, the wizard's hazel eyes gleamed with some measure of satisfaction, and his ever present crooked smile seemed to be one of pleasure at seeing him.

Konrad would still be cautious, nonetheless. No one knew as well as he did how mercurial and unpredictable Grindelwald's mood swings could be. After all, the wizard had practically raised him. He liked to believe that no one knew the man better than he did.

At the sight of his most loyal and trusted of his Haupte Kommandanten, and the only one in his Circle of followers who knew about his true Quest, Gellert widened his smile and gestured for the wizard to take a seat, as he chuckled under his breath, _"Every time I see you, you remind me more and more of your father."_

"_I certainly hope it's in looks only, my Lord,"_ said Konrad, his lips twisting with disdain at the very memory of his progenitor, as he swiftly sat down with an economy of movement.

Gellert chidingly tsked at him, but knew better than to push the matter. It was no secret that Konrad held no love for his departed father. And Konrad, for his part, felt that the only valuable thing Ulrich Von Krauss had ever imparted to him was his vast knowledge of magical history.

Indeed, since his father's schooldays, when Ulrich had been Grindelwald's loyal sidekick and closest friend, his father had been a history fanatic. It had come as no surprise to anyone that, when a seventeen-year-old Gellert had started travelling around the world, the faithful and besotted Ulrich had instantly joined him. For years and years, the pair had journeyed to their heart's content, gathering magical knowledge and coming to form many plans.

Konrad knew well that the Quest for the Vessel had began due to some of his father's findings during the travels, and that soon, it had become the pair's common life goal to see the artifact re-discovered and used for the third time in history.

He didn't hold against his father the man's unrequited and obsessive love and adoration of Grindelwald, despite that it had been subject of ridicule during most of his life and some, even now, dared to throw a jibe at Konrad due to it. He didn't resent his father for having no thoughts or interest but in history and his scholarly pursuits, and to care for no one but for Gellert.

Konrad didn't even despise his father for the childhood he had been given – Ulrich had done his duty and had married a dark pureblood witch, who had bore him a male heir and then was happily content to live her own life in one of the many Von Krauss estates and never see child or husband again.

As a result of that, and per Grindelwald's wishes, Ulrich had been forced to take the little boy Konrad along with them during their endless travels. Konrad had grown up without the formal education of a magical school, and while Ulrich had treated him as a sort of pet which annoyingly distracted him from historical studies and researches, Gellert had treated him as a nephew, and had taken the time and interest to tutor and teach him during the many years when a young Konrad had travelled along with them.

What he did hold against his father was the decimation of the Von Krauss fortune caused by the astronomical expenses incurred during decades of journeys. He didn't blame Gellert for not having spent a knut of the Grindelwald riches in such wanderings around the world. It was his father who had decided to treat his 'friend'. And thus the blame laid on his father's besotted and extravagant foolishness and the man's lack of thought for the future of the Von Krauss line.

The Von Krauss estates, thankfully, hadn't been touched, but that didn't help matters when Konrad's time had come to have a spouse. With not a knut in the Von Krauss vaults, he had had no choice but to marry the wealthiest pureblood that could be found. But it had been his father, as per tradition, who had chosen for him.

Daughter of one of the wealthiest dark pureblood families of Russia, with nothing to entice marital prospects –not in looks or wits- but her fortune, Ludmilla had seemed like the perfect candidate to Ulrich Von Krauss, with little concern about his son's tastes or opinion about her.

Moreover, the wizard had disregarded -other due to blind stupidity or indifference- the many loopholes in the marital contract that was signed with Ludmilla's family. Konrad had later learned that due to that mistake, his wife's fortune would not be appended and become part of the Van Krauss one, as was normal and expected, but that his wife would retain control.

And after a few days of marriage, Konrad had discovered that his wife was nothing but a petty, frivolous -and to his misfortune- occasionally cunning, harpy of a woman. To add insult to injury, they had tried to beget an heir for ages, all conceptions ending in miscarriages, until one day a daughter was born and Ludmilla had quite acidly declared that there would be no further attempts.

A female heiress, of course, was not a proper heir to the Von Krauss line, but Konrad had had no choice but to accept it, since Ludmilla had quickly willed her fortune to her newborn daughter, and told him in no uncertain terms just how knut-less he would be if he ever impregnated one of his mistresses with a bastard child. Then she had swiftly occupied herself with throwing balls in the Von Krauss estates and holding court in wizarding society events, never missing the grandeur and lavishness of the Winter Season in her beloved wizarding Moscow or St. Petersburg, and coming back to Germany only to mingle with the crème de la crème of pureblood circles.

Tied to his wife's purse strings, with no option of poisoning her so that he could marry again, Konrad had grown to despise his daughter as much as his wife, since the girl, in his eyes, though having inherited his looks, seemed nothing but a horrid copy of Ludmilla, personality-wise.

Thus, when his father had been killed, Konrad had considered that justice had been served and he had known joy for one brief moment. And so, when Gellert liked to reminiscence about his old friend, Konrad did nothing but press his lips into a thin line, his eyes turning chilly until Grindelwald noticed, which would often result in being shot a crooked smile before the Dark Lord summarily changed subjects.

"_Any findings?"_

Konrad was yanked away from his embittered reminiscences, and he focused his full attention on the dark wizard before him.

"_No, my Lord,"_ he replied shortly, with enough words to convey the fruitlessness of the latest warehouse inspection.

"_Gellert, if you will, when it's just the two of us,"_ said the Dark Lord, gracing him with a charming, twisted smile which had a hint of impatience to it. _"Surely I don't need to remind you yet again?" _

Without replying, Konrad simply nodded, but it wouldn't change the fact that he would always wait for Grindelwald to offer that sort of familiarity between them. Even if the wizard was the only true parental figure he had known in his life, he had experienced more than one occasion when the Dark Lord had seemed vastly irked when addressed as simply 'Gellert' by him.

The wizard before him ever remained truly unpredictable in his moods; as companionable and mischievous as a schoolboy one moment, as charming and alluring as the most consummate of hedonistic dandies in the next, and as chilling and fear-inspiring as the Dark Lord he was, in the other.

Konrad contemplated the perfection of the regal and handsome features of the face before him and the sheer breathtaking potency of the power that Gellert exuded. And not for the first time, he thanked that his tastes didn't lean towards males.

Grindelwald -renowned as a wizard who enjoyed carnal pleasures to the fullest and who didn't restrain himself in such pursuits- had a long string of beautiful male lovers, and the occasional woman, who inevitably all ended mindlessly in love with the wizard. Yet, one after the other, they all went out of Gellert's bedroom door receiving the same farewell: a fond pat on their heads, a salacious parting wink and a crooked smile.

Pulling his gaze away and clearing his throat, Konrad gestured at the nearest map of Europe hanging by the walls, as he said curtly, _"Despite of my lack of success so far, I believe that when Austria and Czechoslovakia are taken first, as you have planned, we could have greater chances of finding something in the possessions of the Jews of those countries-"_

"_Yes, yes, certainly. That is a possibility, but we'll wait a while before that,"_ interrupted Grindelwald, his tone disinterested and quite dismissive. _"And I will no further waste your talents in such mundane task." _His hazel eyes suddenly seemed to gleam as an eager smile broke on his face._ "Tell me, how is your dear little daughter doing?"_

"_Kasimira?" _Konrad frowned at him, before he added with unveiled distaste,_ "I suppose she is doing well. She has begun her first year at Durmstrang."_

"_Indeed? Wonderful news," _said Gellert quite congenially and casually, his tone of voice only managing to put Konrad on his guard and making him quite certain that he wouldn't like the next words that would spill from his Lord's lips. _"Have you thought of start making arrangements to have her married into a worthy pureblood line?"_

Konrad's frown, now a bit befuddled, only deepened as he replied, _"Ludmilla will take care of that-"_

"_No, my dear friend, you cannot leave such matters to your 'charming' wife," _interjected Gellert, his tone sarcastic and poignant. A smile stretched widely on his face as he abruptly stood to his feet and went around his desk to pat Konrad on the shoulder. _"Since Kasimira will be the heiress of your estates, it's only fit that you see to her future, as a doting father should do."_

"_Doting father? Not quite, Gellert, as you well know-"_

"_And a union with a dark pureblood English family of renown and prestige, is just what the Von Krauss line needs,"_ continued Grindelwald pleasantly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. _"The Patriarch of the family I have in mind is already a supporter but can be persuaded to commit further to the cause if presented with Kasimira as a spouse for his grandson. With the enticement of the estates your daughter will inherit from you and the fortune from Ludmilla, she'll be a treat too appealing to ignore. Thus, I've decided that it's in your best interest to spend some years in England, to see this matter through."_

Without knowing what to protest about first, Konrad settled on showing some of his utter abhorrence, as he said with open scorn, his lips twisting, _"England? Surely not. I'm your right-hand. I'm needed here in Germany, not traipsing around that horrid little country. And Ludmilla would never consent. She can't abide British wizarding society, as boorish and tainted as it is. And for once, I agree with her in that opinion-"_

"_Ludmilla and your daughter will stay put where they are,"_ interrupted Gellert, all traces of amicable smile gone from his handsome face as he pierced him with a hard gaze. _"And I'm not sending you there to enjoy society, Konrad. I'm sending you on a several missions, as a matter of fact. I've given you a reason for your stay there that will raise no suspicions – to seek a marital contract for your daughter. And so you shall, whilst you conduct more pertinent tasks for me." _

"_Which are?"_ demanded Konrad, fixing his Lord with an icy stare, not ready to relent unless given a worthy reason.

"_You do try my patience sometimes, Konrad,"_ said Gellert sharply, before he turned around and gestured at a nearby table. _"What do you see there?"_

An expression of dawning understanding spread on Konrad's features as his gaze landed on the pensieve predominantly occupying the tabletop, and he said quietly, _"The Seer's memories? It went according to plan?" _

"_Not exactly,"_ said Gellert nonchalantly, as he waved a hand and a scroll of rolled parchment materialized in his grip. _"I didn't glean as much information as I desired - but enough." _His hazel eyes gleamed darkly and his lips curved upwards, as he added, _"I've been… quite surprised by some of it."_

Konrad shot him a scrutinizing glance, decided it was best not to pry for the time being, and then eyed the scroll in the wizard's hand. _"My missions in England have to do with what you've learned from the Seer's knowledge?"_

"_Precisely, and there's no one I can trust with it but you,"_ said Gellert, crookedly smiling at him with an affectionate, encouraging expression that Konrad didn't fully trust, since it normally preceded orders he didn't like. _"One of your tasks, apart from seeing to your daughter's future marital arrangements and to persuade more British wizards to our side, is to act as a liaison between my spy at Hogwarts and myself. The other, is to forge for yourself an identity in English muggle society, with adequate political and financial clout."_

"_In muggle society?"_ echoed Konrad, painfully pushing the words out with an appalled and suffering expression on his face.

"_I'm not doing this to torture you,"_ said Gellert sternly, piercing him with an impatient, harsh gaze. _"And as distasteful as you find it, you will do as commanded."_ He dropped the scroll in the wizard's hands as he added curtly, _"There you will find the detailed instructions. Your missions will span for several years, and I expect you to report back to me once every three months. You will understand more when you've read the scroll. You're dismissed." _

Gripping the scroll tightly in a fist, Konrad shot him a glance, before he snapped his heels together and gave him a sharp nod of the head. In the next instant, he briskly strode out of the room, leaving an amused Dark Lord shaking his head.

* * *

_Three years later…_

* * *

In a circular office in Gryffindor Tower of Hogwarts, a wizard sat behind his desk with a contemplative expression on his face. Having nearly eighty years of age, any muggle who would look at him would have pegged him as not being a day over forty.

The wizard had wavy locks of long, auburn hair and a beard of the same hue which reached his waist, sky blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles which twinkled with good humor, and pleasant features in a face which usually wore an amicable and calm expression. Adding joviality to his appearance, he was dressed in purple robes, the cuffs and hems displaying rows of small, animated suns, with hands that waved and with eyes that winked.

The majority of Hogwarts students who knew Albus Dumbledore as their Transfiguration Professor, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster, were of the opinion that he was a benevolent and kind-hearted man, with a patience and fondness for children as that of a fatherly and doting uncle.

The wizarding world in general knew him for the fame and good reputation that the wizard had earned for himself.

Albus was well known and respected in the scholarly circles, where he had gained notoriety with his publications in Potions Journals, with the deep research and experimentation with Alchemy that he conducted with his partner Nicholas Flamel, and with the ground-breaking discovery of the full twelve uses of dragon blood.

He was also known as to have been the youngest wizard to be granted a seat in the Wizengamot, where he was considered by most to be wise beyond his years, his intelligence and prudence admired. Though, his open championship of muggles and muggleborns was not favorably viewed by some.

It was in this regard that Albus sometimes found harsh opposition when he proposed laws and measures for the protection and betterment of muggleborns, especially in recent years, with the rise of a new Dark Lord.

Yet, even if many purebloods considered him to be a thorn in their side and the bane of their traditions and beliefs of old, none could dispute Albus' talents in law-making and in handling political affairs.

In many occasions Albus had offered himself to act in an unofficial capacity for the Ministry of Magic, as an ambassador of sorts, in order to resolve political disputes in other countries which affected the wizarding world. And he was renowned by his long list of successes.

His most prominent accomplishment in this regard had taken place some decades ago, when Albus had acted as the mediator during the negotiations for the formation of the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas.

Indeed, it was mostly due to the wizard's intervention that all the leaderless and squabbling wizarding communities scattered about the American continent had been able to reach an agreement to be joined under one magical government; from the shaman tribes of the north, to the wealthy pureblood families of Massachusetts, to the small communities of halfbloods and muggleborns who liked to live amidst muggles, to the powerful magical descendants of the Incas and Aztecs who lived in their hidden ancient cities in Mexico and Central America, to the pygmies in the jungles of the Amazons, to the blooming wizarding towns in Chile and Argentina, and reaching down to the very tip of South America with the isolated communities in Tierra del Fuego.

And yet, for all his success, other than having accepted a seat in the Wizengamot and to be the British representative in the International Confederation of Wizards, Albus Dumbledore always rejected offers to have an official position in the Ministry or any other accolades.

And it was so, that many wondered why the famed wizard was simply content in remain being a teacher at Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, that day in particular, Albus Dumbledore had much on his mind. His spectacled, sky blue gaze travelled along the many shelves containing his ample personal collection of books and tomes, his eyes focusing on one shelf in particular, which had many silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. They were of his very own creation; crafty little things made to alert him if certain events were to happen - most particularly, if an old acquaintance of his ever set foot in England.

And while he contemplated the instruments, the flurry of activity surrounding him went on undisturbed.

There was an immense, thick book open on his desk, with a long list of names on its pages – the names of the children who were eleven years old or would be turning that age before the start of the school year that would be commencing in a few months.

The magical ledger, believed to have been created by both Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, had the uncanny ability of detecting all magical children in the United Kingdom, and of revealing their names and addresses when the time came for those children to attend Hogwarts.

At present, several magical quills were flying from the pages of the ledger to the stack of parchments at one side, writing the Hogwarts letters for the children and copying down their names. As letters were completed, they folded themselves inside the envelopes that floated nearby, and then another set of quills wrote down the pertinent address. After, the magical dance continued as owl after owl perched themselves by one of the windows, sticking their legs out so that a rolled envelope would be tied to it.

And so went on the progression of flying quills, letters, envelopes and owls, while Albus Dumbledore silently mused about Gellert Grindelwald and the wizard's recent actions.

A knock on his door yanked him away from his thoughts, and an expression of resignation spread on his face as he said, "You may come in, Horace."

A short, plump man, with a balding head and a bushy, brown moustache, entered the room, chuckling jovially. "How did you know it was me?"

As the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House settled himself on a cushy armchair without any further invitation, Albus shot him a knowing glance from the top of his half-moon spectacles. "It is such time of the year when I have come to expect to receive a visit from you."

"I certainly don't know what you mean," said Horace Slughorn with an innocent look on his face, before he smiled winningly as he held up a hand to display a large bottle of firewhiskey. "I've just received this from the owner of the Daily Prophet. He was a dear student of mine, if you remember, and he likes to send me gifts from time to time to show me his appreciation for my..."

Horace trailed off as Albus' knowing stare became more pointed. Finally, he huffed as he flicked his wand to conjure two glasses. He began to pour, as he said with an affronted tone of voice, "I just thought that we could share a drink, that's all."

Albus simply smiled at that, and graciously accepted the offered glass of firewhiskey as he waited for the wizard to play his part until he got what he had come there for.

Taking a swig from his glass, and looking mightily content and cozy as he settled himself more comfortably on his chair, Horace then glanced to a side as he said idly, "He's looking a bit peaky, isn't he?"

On a perch near one of the windows, a miserable-looking creature chirped weakly with a disgruntled tone, before he stuck his head under a wing once more.

"I'm afraid Fawkes is in one of his burning days," said Albus, his gaze softening with sympathy as he observed his companion.

"Someday you'll have to tell me the story of how you managed to bond with a phoenix as a familiar," said Horace with a genial chuckle, though he shot Albus an expectant glance, as he always did when he pried into such matters.

And as always happened, Albus graced him with an enigmatic smile and remained silent.

Abruptly, Horace set his glass on the corner of the desk, a look of surprise on his face. "Oh, look at this! I hadn't noticed - well, if I had known that you were busy with the Hogwarts letters, I wouldn't have interrupted..."

With that outburst, the wizard had fooled no one, and certainly not Albus. It was not only due to the fact that Slughorn clearly lacked any acting skills, but also that with the flurry of activity that had been going on from the length of Albus' desk to the window, it was impossible that the Potions Professor had just then noticed it.

Ever since Armando Dippet had appointed Albus as his Deputy Headmaster and had delegated many of his responsibilities to him -taking care of the letters being one of them- Horace Slughorn had always found an excuse to visit him precisely on such days, every year.

Horace was already standing up and reaching the other side of the desk to look down at the ledger, as he said eagerly, "You wouldn't mind, would you, if I just took a peek...?"

Refraining from letting out a sigh, Albus shot him an indulgent glance, as he granted permission with a gesture of his hand.

Without wasting another breath, though taking care of not disrupting the proceedings, Horace bent down to be able to read the list from the ledger.

Soon, he started voicing his enthusiasm, "Oho! This must be the Minister's grandson, I wonder if he'll be one of mine… ahh, more Blacks - good, good indeed! Prewetts – and they're twins! I would so like to have the set… oh, and-"

Abruptly, Horace stared at the two last lines on the list, blinking with puzzlement. "What's this, Albus? Tom Marvolo Riddle…" He shot Dumbledore a brief glance, before he started ruminating out loud, "Riddle, Riddle… Doesn't ring a bell – it must be a muggle surname. But Marvolo? That's a wizarding name if I ever heard one. And the address, that's in muggle London… and it's an orphanage to boot… and the last boy, with the same address, and yet…"

Slughorn pulled himself up and frowned at Albus. "His name – it just says 'Harry'. What does it mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Horace," said Albus, his gaze now fixed on the last two lines in the ledger. Indeed, he had been most intrigued when he had seen it, and nothing short of bewildered too.

"Has this ever happened before? Hogwarts' ledger being unable to provide a child's surname?"

"Never, as far as I know," muttured Albus quietly, a mussing and concerned expression on his face.

Before Horace could continue discussing the matter, a knock sounded on the door, this one polite and almost hesitant.

"You may enter," called out Albus distractedly.

A small girl took a step inside, dressed in her Gryffindor uniform though it was summer holidays and she certainly wasn't required to do so. She was one of the few who had been granted permission to remain in the school during the holidays and who was often seen spending all her time in the library.

She would soon start her second year at Hogwarts but already many teachers agreed that she would make a splendid prefect. With her hair strictly pulled back into a tight bun, not a hair out of place, and her lips pursing into a flat line when she glanced at Slughorn, she nevertheless gave a small smile and her cheeks flushed faintly when Albus gestured for her to come further inside.

"Miss McGonagall," said Albus warmly, his eyes twinkling at the sight of his best Transfiguration student to date. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she choked out, as if the question had startled her and her mind had gone to dreamy places it shouldn't have.

Instantly after that, she flushed to the tips of her ears, looking mortified. It didn't help matters when Slughorn started chuckling under his breath, evidently amused at her expense.

But in the next second, Minerva pulled herself up to her full height and gazed back at her favorite professor, who was patiently smiling at her, and she said in a strong voice, "Excuse me, sir. That is, I have something for you. The Headmaster asked me to give you this."

She handed over an envelope, and then gave a sharp nod of the head before she turned around and dashed out of the room without another word.

Horace's chuckles turned into belly-laughter after the door was shut, but Albus didn't bother to chide him for it, nor to pay attention to the wizard's amused comments about schoolgirls and crushes.

Albus opened the envelope bearing the Ministry seal and read the contents of the letter, sighing with weariness and a hint of annoyance. Finally, he stood up and flicked his wand at himself, changing his clothes.

Not one to follow the latest fashions but his own colorful tastes, Albus now sported a velvet suit of a startling, bright yellow, pinstriped with violet lines – it was one of his most formal and subdued attires, in the wizard's opinion. And also, the one suit which didn't have animated figures winking, waving or dancing – perfect for an incursion into muggle London.

With that thought in mind, he opened a drawer of his desk where he had kept the letters for the muggleborns. He hadn't planned on visiting the muggleborns' homes for another week or two, but now that the perplexing matter of the boy without a surname was back in his mind, he thought he could kill two birds with one stone.

As requested by the Minister's letter, their meeting would take place in Leisure Alley, just a step away from muggle London. Hence, afterwards, he would pay a visit to St. Jerome's Orphanage.

Pocketing the thick envelopes for Tom Marvolo Riddle and just 'Harry', he shot Slughorn a brief glance, seeing how the Potions Professor was brimming with curiosity.

"I must take my leave, Horace," Albus said quickly, as he grabbed a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece. Without giving the other wizard a chance to start asking questions, he swiftly threw the powder unto the flames of his fireplace. The moment they turned green, he stepped into them and called out, "The Leaky Cauldron!"


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers and sorry I took so long to update. But I must admit that it will probably happen again, I'm not sure. I'm very busy nowadays and don't have much spare time, so my updating will be sporadic – I might update several times in one month and then there might be a period in which I don't update for a couple of months, and such.

Sorry, I know how bothersome that is for readers, but it can't be helped.

Now, you must know beforehand that there is little action in this chapter and no Tom/Harry scene. This is mostly filled with information, so it will be boring and tedious for some of you, but it's very important for the development of the plot.

In the next chapters things will pick up quite a bit, hopefully.

That said, I hope you let me know what you think and enjoy it nonetheless!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 6**

* * *

In his flashy yellow velvet suit, after leaving The Leaky Cauldron to enter Diagon Alley, Albus Dumbledore had traversed the length of the bustling street, pausing here and there to exchange greetings with acquaintances, shoppers and passersby.

When he reached the end of Diagon Alley, where Gringotts stood in all its splendor, he didn't even glance at the corner of the street where the shadowy entrance to Knockturn Alley could be seen. Instead, he stood on the opposite side where there was a small expanse of brickwall between Gringott's building and an owlerly post office.

He gave the brickwall a single tap with his wand and soon an archway materialized in front of him, gleaming bright blue with the age line charm that prevented under-aged wizards and witches from crossing it. As Albus took a step forward, it gleamed green and then the brickwall sealed itself behind him as he entered Leisure Alley.

The cobblestoned, winding street was bustling with activity, being as it was the preferred shopping and dining site, not for families with their children, but for couples wanting to have romantic get-togethers in the cafés, for witches shopping for the latest fashions from wizarding Paris in the three exclusive stores, for Ministry officials who liked to go there during their lunch breaks to partake of international cuisine in its many restaurants, for tourists who could choose between staying in the lavish Hotel Boadicea, favored place for many foreign, visiting dignitaries, or the more relaxed and cheaper Wild Boar's Inn, or, late in the evening, for witches and wizards who wanted to spend a night of cheer and festivity in its many pubs or in Leisure Alley's dancing hall.

Albus soon located the restaurant where he had been 'requested' to partake lunch with the Minister. Dionysius' Abode had become a favorite dinning place for purebloods and high-placed Ministry officials; with elegant Roman columns displaying coiling vines, hanging and heavy with grapes, with a high, arched ceiling charmed to show a sunny, cloudless sky, with a majestic fountain decorated with stone nymphs in the middle of the many tables, and with arches along the walls which resembled windows, charmed to show views of the Mediterranean sea, sprawling villas and vineyards.

For all its pretentiousness, Albus nevertheless admitted that Dionysius' Abode's chocolate and lemon dessert was truly exceptional. It was the one positive aspect of being forced to be in such surroundings.

"Mr. Dumbledore, the Minister is already waiting for you," said the hostess as soon as she caught sight of Albus, as he stepped further inside the restaurant's lobby. The beautiful young witch, dressed in form-fitting scarlet robes, charmingly smiled at him as she started to lead the way. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me…"

Cheerfully trailing after her, Albus waved and nodded in response to the greetings shot at him by acquaintances as he passed by their tables. A group in particular caught his attention; from those quarters he received no greeting but rather poignant stares.

Old Maximilian Malfoy, with his long, dark blonde hair and cunning blue eyes, seemed to be holding court in the best-placed table in the restaurant, the wizard's thin lips curling in distaste as his chilly gaze followed Albus' progression across the room.

Albus recognized the man's companions: two Ministry officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, who seemed to be preening and basking in the glory of being seen next to such an eminent figure as the Paternas of Malfoy House; an elderly member of the Wizengamot, who -when catching sight of Albus- squirmed uneasily in his seat, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; the middle-aged Arcturus and Pollux Black, cousins, and the Heads of their respective branches of Black House; and last but certainly not least, Aurelia Bones, the Minister's Undersecretary.

The hostess led him to a table occupied by a wizard of Albus' age – the Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen, with his long, thin mustache, its tips curled upwards into spirals, which, in the wizard's opinion, gave him a sophisticated and majestic look.

Furthermore, the man wore rich robes of the latest fashion and seemed to flinch when blinded by Albus' flashy yellow attire, his expression then souring as if Albus' choice of wardrobe had been made with the sole intention of offending him.

Albus took a seat and pleasantly greeted the Minister as the hostess left them after conjuring the menus. It didn't escape Albus' notice that their table was but an arm-length's away from Maximilian Malfoy and his cronies. It seemed the Minister had decided to have reinforcements for their 'casual' meeting – it surprised him not.

Albus had long ago become tired of warning Charlemagne of the dangers of 'befriending' Maximilian Malfoy and lending an ear to the wizard's advice. It was no secret to Albus that Maximilian's sphere of influence was far reaching, his web not only threading through the Ministry –as it seemed a Malfoy tradition of old to bribe their way through the Ministry's ranks. But Maximilian had taken it two steps further by managing to get himself a seat in the Wizengamot and elected as the Head of Hogwarts' Board of Governors.

Thus, the old wizard had the three bastions of power of wizarding Britain under his influence. However, while Maximilian Malfoy surely considered Albus Dumbledore his foremost archrival in political matters, Albus merely thought of him as one more wizard whose actions had to be monitored and nothing else – even the Malfoy Paternas, with all his cunningness and power, paled in comparison to the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald, no matter how much Maximilian Malfoy would certainly desire to be considered in the same league.

Nevertheless, Albus Dumbledore was no fool, and he soon covertly swished his wand to envelop both him and the Minister in an invisible magical bubble – their conversation would remain private. He shot a benevolent smile at Charlemagne McLaggen, and while the wizard realized what had been done and shot him a resentful glare, Albus took the opportunity to very briefly, and covertly, share a glance with Aurelia Bones.

Their quick, shared gaze spoke volumes, a silent conversation traded. The witch's minute nod of the head conveying that Mrs. Bones would later apprise Albus of the particulars of Malfoy's conversation with his cronies, in that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix – the secret group Albus had recently founded when it became evident to him that the English Ministry of Magic was ill-prepared, and its leader too weak-willed, to pose an opposition against Gellert.

Aurelia Bones, the Minister's Undersecretary, was -secretly in her case- one of several Ministry officials who followed Albus' lead in political matters. She was his spy – though Albus didn't like to use that word, since dire had to be the times in which they lived when he had no other choice but to have spies in his very government.

Charlemagne McLaggen's mood –which had never been a good one- soured further with each passing second; when Dumbledore magically isolated them from prying ears, when the odious carefree wizard plucked a grape from the vine dangling above their heads and popped it into his mouth, when the man cheerfully hummed as he asked the waiter to only be served 'that scrumptious chocolate and lemon cake', instead of asking for a full meal as any respectable wizard would do. Everything about Albus Dumbledore offended him – it always had.

The man's garish yellow suit insulted Charlemagne's sense of style, the man's benevolent expression and calm airs made him want to strangle him, Albus' mere presence made him grit his teeth – with envy, anger and bitterness.

They had known each other for a very long time. They had attended Hogwarts in the same year; Charlemagne being in Ravenclaw, as most McLaggens before him, and Dumbledore in Gryffindor. Even back then, Charlemagne couldn't stand the sight of him.

Every year, he had come second place after Albus, always bested in grades. Every year he had to watch as the wizard stole the limelight, with teachers praising Albus instead of paying attention to Charlemagne's accomplishments; when Albus was made Head Boy instead of him – a position that should had been his, something he had always coveted- when Albus' NEWT scores were perfect, and when the wizard had been the winner of the Barnabus Finkle Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting and the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot – another two things Albus had stolen from him.

Back then, Charlemagne's sole respite from being in Albus' shadow was that he was free of him during summer holidays. But that had also changed. Like several light pureblood families, the McLaggens had a summer residence in Godric Gryffindor's hometown. And one year, all of a sudden, a huge scandal had shaken the wizarding community of Britain; Percival Dumbledore, Albus' father, and a very well respected pureblood wizard since the man had been the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was sentenced to life-imprisonment in Azkaban for the murder of a couple of muggles. The whole affair had been very hush-hush, the Ministry unwilling to leak information about the matter in their shame of having one of their Head of Departments being convicted of such a serious crime.

Charlemagne, for his part, had been ecstatic at the news, hoping that the infamy of having such a father would put Albus in his place and take him down several notches. What he hadn't expected was for the Dumbledore family to move right next to his family's summer house in Godric's Hollow.

After that, all he had heard about during those times were his mother's offended remarks and indignation because Kendra Dumbledore had slammed the door shut in her face when his mother had paid a visit to welcome her to the neighborhood; all gossips suddenly were about the Dumbledores, all attention drawn to them and the strange noises that had come from their house, as if they had a wild beast caged within their home.

The following summer had been worse, when Kendra Dumbledore had died from an 'accident', and everyone in the neighborhood pitied Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, and spoiled them, trying to make up for their loss.

And the last summer, in their seventh year, it became unbearable for Charlemagne. The eminent and famous historian Bathilda Bagshot, the pride of Godric's Hallow, received a visit from her grandnephew, and everyone in the neighborhood doted after the handsome young man, and cooed and speculated when they saw that the boy was always seen in Albus' company. And when the cat was out of the bag and everyone discovered the existence of Ariana Dumbledore when the girl was killed in another 'magical accident' which was blamed on no one at all, Albus was once again the focus of everyone's attention and compassion.

It had galled him, yet Charlemagne considered himself as not being resentful. If Albus Dumbledore had apologized for being the bane of his existence, Charlemagne would have magnanimously forgiven him. But it seemed that Albus wasn't even aware of the damage he had caused to him.

Yet, Charlemagne had been gracious enough to even consider forgiving Albus when he had found out that for all his perfect scores, the wizard had decided to become a mere Transfiguration Professor. That had been a joyful day for Charlemagne, and after Hogwarts he went on to climb the ranks in the Ministry of Magic, his ascendance slow but firm, gaining many important posts before becoming the Minister of Magic.

He had thought, then, that Albus would fade away into insignificance and oblivion in the dusty and lackluster post as a school teacher. But even from such an inconsequential placement, Albus had managed to outshine him.

First, when Albus advocated the preservation of the almost extinct merpeople, managing to convince the Ministry to allow a community of merfolk to take residence in Hogwarts' Lake. Then, when the wizard was awarded with the Gold Medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo – a prize which hadn't been conferred to anyone for over four centuries. After, Dumbledore was further acclaimed as the key mediator in the formation of the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas. Later, Albus broke all records by being elected the youngest Wizengamot member in British history.

Dumbledore even gained further fame when he solved the centaur-problem by reaching an agreement with the beasts, giving them a home in Hogwarts' Forest in exchange of allowing the Ministry to keep them in check by forming a sub-department for the regulation and control of centaur population. That no centaur ever registered, thus breaking the deal, seemed to escape everyone's notice. No one had blamed Albus for it, even when it was clear to many that the wizard seemed quite happy that the halfbreeds weren't submitting to the Ministry's control.

And lately, for some years now, Albus had dealt him the most grievous of insults and offenses, when the wizard started war-mongering from his seat in the Wizengamot, warning about the perils of Gellert Grindelwald's rise to power in Germany, spouting vile alarmist lies regarding impeding doom for them all if something was not done to halt Grindelwald's ascendancy. Worst of it, half of the Wizengamot believed him, and even before that, many had attempted to convince Albus to become the Minister of Magic – when Charlemagne himself had already acquired the post.

"This is quite tasty," remarked Albus as he loaded his fork with another morsel of cake, at last breaking the silence that had reigned between them after their dishes had been served. "Would you care try a bite-?"

Being yanked away from bitter reminiscences, Charlemagne, who still hadn't touched his dish of duck a la orange, skewered him with a poisonous glare as he said acidly, "We're not here to enjoy the culinary delicacies of this establishment."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, as he set down his fork and leaned back on his chair to regard him with utter calmness. "Why are we here, then, old friend?"

At the appellation, Charlemagne's spiraling moustache twitched with incensed anger. He considered himself to be the consummate politician, a smooth-talker who could persuade even the most hostile of audiences; as cunning as a Slytherin, as prodigal as a Ravenclaw, as loyalty-inspiring as a Hufflepuff, and as noble-bearing and morally upstanding as a Gryffindor. But Albus Dumbledore was the one person in the whole world who instantly riled him up with his mere existence – he was utterly unable to be his restrained, polite and charming public self in the man's presence.

Thus, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he hissed sharply, his tone of voice agitated and enraged, "To discuss two matters. First, I want you to call off Carlotta Pinkstone and her cohorts."

An expression of earnest surprise flashed across Albus' face, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Charlemagne shot him a venomous glance, not believing Albus' innocence in the matter for one second. For the last two weeks, a halfblood witch by the name of Carlotta Pinkstone had begun campaigning for the lifting of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy; her aim being that Muggles be told about the existence of the Wizarding World. Of course, it was preposterous and no one supported her cause.

Nonetheless, the witch and her equally deranged small group of friends had somehow managed to slip into the Ministry of Magic and they had chained themselves to the Fountain of Magical Brethren as a means of protest – refusing to leave until the Minister agreed to her conditions.

Articles in the Daily Prophet had found it vastly amusing, ridiculing the Aurors' inability to break the unknown spells that Pinkstone and her friends were using to remain attached to the Fountain. It made Charlemagne look like an incompetent fool, and that he was not.

In his years as a Minister, he had achieved no spectacular accomplishments -nothing flashy and thus not considered by the papers to be news-worthy- but British wizarding society had known years of peace, stability and bountifulness under his mandate. His problems had started with the rise of Gellert Grindelwald and with Albus Dumbledore's alarmist views about the matter.

"You must think very little of me," said Albus at last, his tone of voice grave as he pierced the Minister with his sky blue gaze, "if you believe I'm behind it."

McLaggen met the wizard's stare as he remarked sharply, his tone of voice openly accusing, "I believe you would resort to any lowly measure to ensure I'm ousted from my post."

"I'm not after your job, Charlemagne," interjected Albus, letting out a weary sigh.

"I know you're not," said the Minister sourly, and that very fact burned like acid through his veins, since he knew that Albus could take the post from him if he so desired, but Dumbledore had no interest in it and he felt as if he was being given the leftovers the wizard didn't want. "But you wish you could have a more amenable wizard in my place – someone who could be easily manipulated by you, someone who would do just as you ask."

"I see you're not mincing words today," said Albus with a wry chuckle, as he shook his head as a means of letting the wizard know that he had no such heinous and underhanded intentions.

"I'm taking the direct approach," bit out McLaggen through gritted teeth, "since all other attempts to reach a common ground with you have been thrown back to my face."

Albus shook his head once more, looking pained for a brief moment as he said quietly, "As always, you misjudge me. Nothing would please me more than to reach an agreement with you, Charlemagne."

"How can I believe you have no hand in Pinkerton's protest when just the other week you proposed in the Wizengamot that the Statute of Secrecy be breached?" hissed out the Minister through clenched teeth, his outrage and indignation clear in his incensed expression, his level of voice rising with each word spoken, as he leaned forward against the table's edge to be closer to Albus' face. "You and your followers in the Wizengamot are pushing for your proposed law to be passed and I will not have it! I will not be known as the Minister who doomed the Wizarding World by unraveling our existence to Muggles! It's preposterous, it's sheer madness!"

McLaggen's infuriated, looming visage before his face did nothing to ruffle Albus' calmness. Dumbledore merely stared at him in silence, allowing some time for the wizard to compose himself and restrain his temper.

For a minute, Charlemagne looked mortified that he had lost his cool in such manner, quickly glancing around to see if the other patrons of the restaurant had been witness to his shameful loss of control – the last thing he needed was such an event to reach the ears of the Daily Prophet.

The eyes of many people were indeed on him, some even gawking – Charlemagne was known to be a very even-tempered wizard. However, he remembered the spell Dumbledore had cast at the very beginning and for once he was glad for it. No one could have overheard the reason for his outburst. Nonetheless, he didn't feel even the tiniest bit of gratefulness towards Albus for his spell. It only made him resent the wizard even more; that his reputation had been salvaged by Albus' actions felt like a dagger being cruelly dug between his ribs.

The Minister let out a slow exhalation of breath as he leaned back on his seat, forcing a pleasant smile to stretch on his lips to show observers that all was well.

The moment he saw that McLaggen had regained his composure, Albus eyed him intently as he started to say slowly, "Charlemagne, I'm not proposing to lift the Statute of Secrecy, nor indeed, to breach it per se-"

"I know exactly what you want," interrupted McLaggen crisply. "I've read your proposal – all three hundred pages of it." He shot him a baleful glare as he lifted up a hand, ticking off his fingers as he started enumerating, "A new department to be formed in the Ministry, the 'Muggle Liaison Office'. A means of direct communication with the Muggle Minister which consist of two things. The first, a magical portrait to be hung, irremovable, in the man's office, the portrait's subject being our ears while his second portrait is to hang in my office so the subject can move to it to alert me of any important happenings in Muggle Britain. The second, for the Muggle Minister's fireplace to be connected to the Floo Network, allowing me or any other I appoint, to be able to visit him if dire circumstances require it. All of it for the purpose of revealing the existence of our world to the Muggle Minister-"

"And only him," interjected Albus quickly, pointedly staring at him as if willing to drill his point through McLaggen's skull. "No other muggles would know-"

"The Muggle Minister would know and that alone is dangerous enough!" snapped Charlemagne angrily, frustrated by the wizard's blind obstinacy. "Even if he didn't blab to other muggles about it-"

"He wouldn't," interrupted Albus yet again. "No one would believe him. He wouldn't take the chance to be thought to be a lunatic. No muggle would."

"Even so," bit out McLaggen sharply, "it's too great a risk and we gain nothing by it."

"Gain nothing?" repeated Albus, his expression incredulous for one instance before his face became grave, his tone of voice turning harshly reproving, "If we don't help the Muggles in their War, they won't survive it."

"Ah, yes, the other point in your law – for us to have the responsibility to protect all Muggles, of any country, when their lives are endangered by a wizard, even if such wizard is not British." Charlemagne shot him a sneer as he continued sharply, "My duty is to protect and ensure the wellbeing of Wizarding Britain, and the safety of British Muggles from harm done to them by a British wizard – not a foreign one. That would be the responsibility of the Ministry of Magic of the wizard's country. Furthermore, the fate of Muggles outside Britain is not my responsibility either."

Albus shook his head sadly as he murmured, "And that is the point in which our opinions differ-"

"Indeed it is," bit out Charlemagne poignantly, narrowing his dark brown eyes at him. "Do not believe me to be a dim-witted fool, Dumbledore. I'm well aware of the reason behind this whole charade of yours, with this law you want to pass. You want us to be legally compelled to join the Muggle War, to be legally responsible to protect foreign Muggles who are attacked by foreign wizards – by German wizards." He pierced him with a contemptuous gaze, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he hissed out, "This is about Gellert Grindelwald and your claims that he has become a Dark Lord who wants to take over the entire world."

"I think there is little doubt that he is, indeed, a Dark Lord," said Albus sternly, his features hardening as he skewered him with his bespectacled gaze.

"I have no such evidence," interjected Charlemagne nonchalantly, waving a hand dismissively. "There hasn't been a Dark Lord since the fifteenth century, and as far as I've seen, Grindelwald has done nothing but become Germany's Minister of Magic and-"

"A post he gained through coercion and by underhanded means," interrupted Albus curtly, his expression becoming more thunderous by the minute, as if his patience with the wizard before him was reaching its limit. "Surely it's plain for anyone to see – the former German Minister of Magic didn't drop dead of his own accord-"

"There is no proof Grindelwald caused the wizard's death, and so far he hasn't done anything illegal either."

Being a wizard who had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, Charlemagne had grown up believing in the precepts of his House – one of the most important ones which had served him well in the past, was that a fact was not a fact until there was solid proof of it. Moreover, upholding the Law and always acting within its marked boundaries was a matter of integrity and necessity for him, both because he was a Minister of Magic and because he firmly believed in the need for any society to adhere to strict rules in order to be civilized and peaceful.

A sound of frustration issued from Albus' throat, his angered exasperation with McLaggen's pig-headedness clear in his voice as he snapped, "He has taken over Austria, by force-"

"Has he?" said Charlemagne pleasantly, his lips curling upwards with satisfaction, as if he had found a legal snag with which to corner Dumbledore and win the argument. "According to what has been reported back to me, the Austrian Ministry of Magic voluntarily submitted themselves to Grindelwald's rule. Who are we to deny their wishes to join their two countries under one mantle? Indeed, if I did anything to threaten such a union, it would be I who would be breaking international magical laws."

Albus mutely shook his head, his bearded jaw clenching, before he attempted once more to make the wizard see reason. "Even before the Austrian Minister of Magic consented to become Grindelwald's puppet figurehead, in fear of his life, the Austrian muggles were already being coerced into annexing their country to the Third Reich-"

"Do not think I do not read muggle newspapers and that I'm ill-informed about the happenings in their world," snapped McLaggen incensed, believing that Dumbledore was trying to trick him with faulty information. "The Austrian muggles held a plebiscite – the majority voted in favor of joining the Third Reich, as muggles call it."

Letting out a tired sigh, Albus pinned him with his gaze as he said quietly, "It's clear to me now that you are unaware of the full extent of what happened in Austria."

Charlemagne narrowed his eyes at what he perceived to be an insult to his mental capacities. Nonetheless, he remained quiet and imperiously gestured for the wizard to continue. He would hear what the odious man had to say and then he would refute what would surely be outlandish ravings from a war-mongering loon.

Pushing his abandoned dish of cake to one side, Albus steepled his fingers over the table, boring his gaze into McLaggen as he said gravely, "The Austrian Muggle Chancellor was being pressured by Nazis from within his country and from Germany to agree to the annexation of Austria. The man attempted to keep his country independent, but he didn't succeed. The Austrian Nazi Party launched a silent coup d'état, taking over the country's state institutions. They transferred power to Germany and instantly sent troops to invade Austria in order to enforce the annexation. They didn't call it an invasion, of course, they gave other reasons for it – to keep peace and order in the country, they said. But the reality of the situation was that they left the Muggle Chancellor with few choices. He was coerced into holding a plebiscite, but he still hoped that Austrians would not vote in favor of the annexation, even if they were surrounded by troops-"

"I know this already," interjected McLaggen impatiently, "In the plebiscite, ninety-nine percent of the votes were in favor for the annexation. Nothing illegal there, they chose-"

Albus' sky blue eyes flashed behind his half-moon spectacles. "Precisely, Charlemagne. Ninety-nine percent. Not just a simple majority, but nearly an absolute one. Doesn't that give you cause for suspicion? Never have muggles reached such unprecedented majority of votes in any sort of election." His expression grew grave as he pierced the wizard with his gaze. "The general muggle populace showed signs of having had their minds tampered with, Charlemagne. I believe their water supplies were plied with a potion to make their minds pliable, open to manipulation- we both know that there are several dark potions that could do such a thing."

The Minister's dark brown eyes grew wide for a moment, before they narrowed, as he said stiffly, "That is a very serious accusation, indeed, if you're suggesting Grindelwald ordered such measure to be taken."

"I'm certain he did," retorted Albus firmly.

McLaggen's eyes narrowed even further as he demanded curtly, "You saw this yourself?" At Dumbledore's shake of the head, he pressed on, "Where is your proof, then, Dumbledore? You can't accuse the German Minister of Magic of such grave crime if you don't have the evidence to back it, if you don't have eye witnesses -"

"I do. I was informed about it by a wizard who saw the signs himself – the glassy eyes of the muggles, the-"

"Who is your witness?" demanded McLaggen instantly.

"That I cannot tell you," replied Albus sternly, peering at him from the top of his spectacles. "They must remain anonymous or their lives would be in danger."

"Are you implying that the information would be leaked out – that I have spies in my Ministry?" burst out McLaggen indignantly, his jaw clenching as his curled moustache shook with anger.

"Spies? Certainly," said Albus coolly, before his gaze flickered briefly to the table near theirs, where Maximilian Malfoy was still conversing with his cronies. "And many Grindelwald supporters as well. Your choice of… 'friends' is not a wise one."

McLaggen followed the wizard's gaze and his jaw clenched as he caught sight of Malfoy shooting them a covert glance. He turned to sneer at Dumbledore but said nothing about the matter. He was well aware that Dumbledore considered him a fool, but he wasn't one. He knew Malfoy was a dangerous, untrustworthy man to have at his side, but the wizard had his uses.

"Furthermore," started again Albus, "I have been informed of yet other grievous tampering of muggles. Recently, a region in Czechoslovakia called the Sudetenland has been occupied by the Nazi army-"

McLaggen interrupted him with a huff. "The muggles there are of German descend. From what I've heard, they wish to be annexed to their home country-"

"As happened with the invasion of Austria," continued Albus as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, his tone growing sterner, "the Nazi troops moved very efficiently, extremely quickly – this is already flummoxing other muggle nations, they believe it indicates that Hitler is a military genius. It instills fear in them. But the reason for it is a much different one."

He pointedly pinned the Minister with his gaze, as he added, "The food provisions for the Nazi armies are being laced with several potions, to give the soldiers strength and endurance beyond normal human capacity. Not to such abnormal levels as to raise suspicions but enough to make them tireless. Furthermore, they are starting to believe their own lies – that they are indeed superior to other muggles, that the reason for their tirelessness if due to their Arian race attributes shinning through."

"Again, and your proof of this-?"

"With those two examples, I believe we can see what Grindelwald's modus operandi entails," pressed on Albus, ignoring McLaggen's question. "First, he uses his muggle puppet, the man called Hitler, to give thunderous, agitated speeches to rouse their muggle armies into a frenzy and to give them a 'valid' excuse for the need to conquer a neighboring country. Then, the muggle armies are sent to invade quickly, in a flash, their very speed and efficiency bringing fear and terror into the hearts of the muggles of the country to be subjugated. After the muggle side of the country is secured, Grindelwald sends in his followers to take over the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry of Magic officials, already seeing that their muggle counterparts have fallen, and now being surrounded by muggle troops and thus vastly outnumbered, have little choice but to submit or be summarily executed."

He paused to pierce McLaggen with his gaze, as he said pointedly and sharply, "But, if they knew that the British Ministry of Magic would come to their aid, they would have hope – they would fight back, Charlemagne. We can save Czechoslovakia yet. We can attempt to halt Grindelwald's progress before he conquers more countries – before it's too late."

Charlemagne leaned backwards on his seat, his expression one of deep, grave ponderings. At last, he glanced up at Albus as he said curtly, "If what you say is true, then bring forth your eyewitnesses. I can call for an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. I will give you permission to expose your case, to have your sources of information stand there, in the flesh, giving account of what they have seen – their proof of the illegal use of potions on muggles."

A sharp, hard smile spread on his lips, his expression smug, as if he had reached a solution that could satisfy them both, as he continued, "Only then, can we press charges against the German Minister of Magic. If Grindelwald is unable to show evidence to demonstrate his innocence on the matter, I have no doubt that I would be able to convince other Ministers of Magic to unite in the cause of declaring war on Grindelwald."

"We cannot afford to do as you say - to use legal means," retorted Albus with a shake of his head. "It would take too long. Grindelwald would find ways of postponing it and in the meanwhile he will keep on invading. Moreover, I cannot let my spies reveal their identities. It would instantly reach Grindelwald's ears and they would be killed. I cannot afford to lose them, they are my only source of information-"

"Then my hands are tied, Albus!" roared McLaggen, pounding a closed fist on the table. "I'm a Minister of Magic, I have to operate within the Law. And I cannot attack a fellow Minister without evidence of wrongdoing – if I did that, I would be condemned by other Ministries. It would be I who would be breaking international magical laws!"

"That's why I ask you to act unilaterally," interjected Albus firmly. "Aid the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic, and once others see that Britain has taken a stance, the other Ministers of Magic will follow your lead-"

McLaggen let out a burst of dry, humorless laughter. "How little you know my counterparts! They will not come to the rescue if they see we are vastly outnumbered – and that we will be!" He shot Albus a glare as he added fiercely, "According to reports, Grindelwald's followers reach the thousands, my Aurors number little over a hundred. And I cannot take a leaf out of the muggle's book and force conscription. If I send to battle every wizard and witch of age, they would be ill-prepared –it takes a wizard three years of arduous and constant training to become an Auror. I would be sending them untrained. I would be sending them to their deaths. I will not have that on my conscience!"

Albus skewered him with his eyes and said vehemently, "If we do nothing now, British wizards will die nonetheless when Grindelwald invades England."

"There is no reason to believe Grindelwald will invade our country-"

"Don't be a fool, Charlemagne!" thundered Albus with exasperated impatience. "He will not stop at Czechoslovakia. He won't even stop when he has the whole of Continental Europe. England is the one country he will surely not leave alone!"

"Why not?" snapped McLaggen, narrowing his eyes at him. "What makes you so sure of it?"

Albus leaned backwards on his seat, keeping silent for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and said carefully, "There are… things in England he wants."

"Things?" demanded Charlemagne instantly, his eyes narrowing to slits. "What 'things'?"

"That I cannot tell," replied Albus firmly.

"Ah," bit out McLaggen incensed, "another secret you want to keep. Very well, Dumbledore, keep your silence, but know that it comes at a high cost."

He then shook his head, huffing, as he added scornfully, "You refuse to bring to light any evidence you have, you refuse to bring forth your eyewitnesses. You're asking me to act blindly, on your word alone. And you want me to send my Aurors and untrained wizards to the battlefield, without thought of the cost in human lives-"

"I'm well aware that many would die," interjected Albus quietly, letting out a deep, weary sigh. "It pains me as much as it does you. But we have little choice. We have to act now. The longer we wait, the stronger he will get-"

"I cannot do as you ask," interrupted McLaggen, shaking his head repeatedly. "I won't send wizards to their deaths. If what you fear does come to happen and Grindelwald attempts to invade us, I'll negotiate for terms of peace instantly-"

"He will not respect any terms," muttered Albus, "and if you surrender as the Austrian Minister did, he will use you and then kill you when your usefulness expires. You'd be instantly replaced by one of his closeted supporters."

With this, he pointedly shot a glance at Maximilian Malfoy and McLaggen's lips twisted as he understood the meaning of Albus' words.

Nevertheless, McLaggen shook his head once more, as he said stiffly, "You have my answer. I will not change my mind."

Albus closed his eyes, his expression one of defeat and pained regret. In the next instant, he snapped his eyes open and leaned forward, boring his gaze into the Minister's, as he whispered quietly, "Then at least do one thing, and one thing alone. Grant asylum to Jewish wizards."

McLaggen flinched backwards as if he had been struck by a heavy blow. He tried to mask it in the next second by seating straight on his chair, letting out a hollow laugh. "Grant asylum to the very people Grindelwald is rounding up? And with valid, legal cause. I might as well be asking him to invade us."

At present, the Jewish people represented a difficult problem, a delicate issue.

Charlemagne remembered clearly the first time he had read about them when he had been a schoolboy, and how fascinated he had been with them - the Jews, the only group of muggles in the history of the entire world who had embraced their wizarding counterparts.

It had started many millennia ago when the Jewish people were bound by slavery to the Egyptian Kingdom. And in the midst of times of great misery for them, the first muggleborns had been born in their bosom. But unlike any other muggles who discovered that some of them had strange, inexplicable abilities, the Jews hadn't felt threatened, envious or scared of their muggleborns – they hadn't tortured, isolated or killed them.

No, they had seen their muggleborns as a benediction of their God, that their deity was giving them the means for them to break free from the chains of slavery – they had taken it as a sign that they were God's chosen people, because why else would their God make some of their own kind special just when they were so in need, and give them the wisdom to not fear them but to recognize a godly gift for what it was?

With the aid of their muggleborns, they managed to flee from Egypt and went in look for a territory to call their own. And with the passage of time and rise of new religions, they saw how other muggles viewed their own special people, how their religions spoke of evilness and how muggles instantly thought that their magical people were the very incarnation of such evil.

The Jews, however, remembered, and they closed quarters around their wizards, revering, cherishing and protecting them. They even generated their own version of a pureblood: a pure Jew descendant of only other Jew muggleborns.

With the passage of time, and with their muggle population growing much faster than their magical one, only some select Jewish muggle families remained attached to their magical kind – they made sure they remembered the reason why they were God's chosen people, they verbally passed down the knowledge from father to son, from mother to daughter.

Those families became the protectors of their wizards, living with them, willingly and lovingly serving them. Now, in modern times, only those numerous muggle families knew about their magical kind, since for the others their existence had become a mere legend, a fantasy, until it was no longer remembered at all. The others no longer remembered why, exactly, they were God's chosen people.

As a schoolboy, the story had filled Charlemagne with a hopeful, warm feeling, seeing that at least there was a race of muggles who had always viewed their own wizarding kind favorably.

Even now, they were the only muggles he truly respected, due to it. However, as a Minister of Magic, he understood the risk they represented.

Three years ago, when Gellert Grindelwald had abruptly become the German Minister of Magic, the wizard had sent envoys to all the Ministries in Europe – as any newly elected Minister would do.

Charlemagne remembered his meeting with the diplomat clearly – he remembered how the wizard had explained that Grindelwald was concerned about the possibility that the Statute of Secrecy would be irreparably broken by allowing the select Jewish muggle families to live with their wizards, to keep knowing, thus, that a whole wizarding world existed.

Indeed, when the International Confederation of Wizards had established the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, those Jewish muggle families, the Guardians, had refused to adhere to it; they had refused to allow themselves to be obliviated and parted from the Jewish wizarding families they were attached to. In the end, no one had forced them into complying with the Statute, but they were breaching it nonetheless.

It was so, that the German diplomat had exposed his case very reasonably. As the new German Minister of Magic, Grindelwald had the legal right to fully enforce the Statute of Secrecy in his own country, and when those Jewish muggle families still refused, he had the legal right to take measures; to round them up -the Guardian families with their attached wizarding families- and relocate them to somewhere isolated where there would be no risk of any of them interacting with other muggles and thus expose the existence of wizarding kind.

It was a harsh measure, but legal, and it only represented isolation for those Jews, nothing grave. So Charlemagne had told the German diplomat that he understood and that indeed he could find no legal wrongdoing in the matter, and thus, wouldn't interfere with a fellow Minister's decision.

"Valid, legal cause?" muttured Albus incredulously, before his expression hardened. "You must be referring to that feeble excuse that is flying around – that Jewish families are breaking the Statute of Secrecy. But he's not capturing them for that reason, he wants something from them-"

"And that is?" snapped McLaggen impatiently, now having grown very tired of his conversation with Dumbledore.

"I'm not certain, yet," admitted Albus quietly. He sighed and carded his fingers down his long, auburn beard, before he glanced up and gazed at the Minister over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his voice turning soft, "But believe me when I say, Charlemagne, that Grindelwald doesn't care about the Statute of Secrecy – he never has. He has always believed that wizarding kind could easily subjugate the muggle world, that it's our duty to do so-"

"He has 'always' believed?" McLaggen's brown eyes darkly gleamed, his lips curling upwards underneath his long, thin moustache. "Yes, you would know, wouldn't you?" His expression was now both nasty and accusing. "Some of us, who lived in Godric's Hollow, still remember. Someone of us recognized him. Indeed, when I saw the wizarding picture of Grindelwald accepting the post as the German Minister, I instantly knew who he was. He's older, just like we are, but his distinctive features haven't changed. He was that boy – Bathilda Bagshot's grandnephew, the one you were so close and cozy with."

Albus remained silent, merely meeting his gaze, and McLaggen felt a burst of vindictive pleasure erupt in his chest, as he continued in a poignant tone of voice, "I could bring it to light. I could expose you and easily bring you down." He let out a harsh chuckle, as he added sharply, "Or perhaps I could reopen the investigation into the death of your sister. I wonder what my Aurors would discover? Who killed her, Dumbledore? Was it you, Aberforth, or Grindelwald?" He shot him a nasty smile and then gestured at Albus' long, crooked nose. "Ah, no, Aberforth couldn't have been – he hit you in your sister's funeral, he broke your nose. I was there, I saw. It was you then?"

Still, Albus remained impassive, as unmovable as a stone statue, with an air of unconcern and calmness around him. Evidently, the wizard couldn't be easily riled up or threatened.

McLaggen shot him a scornful glance and then changed tacks, to bring up a matter that had been in his mind for some time.

With an expression of relish on his face, the Minister comfortably leaned back on his chair, eyeing Albus almost mockingly, as he intoned, "The most peculiar thing happened to me three months ago. I was paying a visit to a dear friend in Hogsmeade, and imagine my surprise when I saw that a new pub had been opened – the Hog's Head, it's called. Of course, out of curiosity, I entered the establishment – if it could be called such." His lips curled as he continued pleasantly, "Imagine my further surprise when I saw the bartender and the owner of the pub. Your brother is a bit pudgy around the middle, nowadays, isn't he?"

McLaggen chuckled dryly, shooting a glance at Albus to see his reaction. When none came forth, he smirked and added loftily, "The last time I saw him was in your sister's funeral. I heard that a French aunt of yours had taken him back to her country. I even heard that he finished school in Beauxbatons and then became their Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Following your footsteps in your profession, it seems, and Abe always did like his dirty, beastly animals, didn't he?" He tutted mockingly, as he added, "I've even heard that for many years you wrote letters to him and attempted to see him – and he always refused. So, it has been what, over six decades since you haven't seen each other? Or have you already attempted to see him at the Hog's Head, hmm?"

He cocked his head to a side, waiting to see if the wizard before him would speak. But Dumbledore seemed content to let him continue cruelly taunting him, perhaps waiting for him to get to the point. Nevertheless, Charlemagne was not fazed by the man's unflappable silence.

"I had to ask him, of course, why he had returned to England, where so many painful memories awaited him," said McLaggen, placidly stroking one curled tip of his moustache. "And you know what Aberforth said?" He dropped his hand from his face, and leveled a hard stare at Dumbledore. "He said he was there to keep an eye on you. I had to ask why, and he didn't mince words in his reply. It seems he had read in the newspapers about Grindewald's actions. And Aberforth spat out to me, 'That man is truly on the move now. Albus was weak once, I won't let him make the same mistake twice.'"

McLaggen paused and shot him a sneer. "I thought he was implying that due to your previous… 'friendship', shall we call it, with Grindelwald, you were at risk of having certain feeling of … fondness for the wizard bloom forth once again. That maybe there was a chance that you would join Grindelwald's side. But Aberforth quickly rid me of that notion – he even laughed! 'No', he said, 'Albus wouldn't join Grindelwald. He can't, even if he truly desired it, he couldn't. He fears him, because he fears himself.'"

The Minister paused, and then demanded acerbically, "What did he mean by that, Dumbledore?"

Albus sat stiffly on his seat, his shoulders tense, his face pale. But then he let out a wry chuckle. "Aberforth did always know me better than I know myself."

"Yes, very endearing. But explain yourself," pressed on McLaggen briskly, but the man before him remained silent and merely relaxed on his chair. Bristling, the Minister bit out, "It has just occurred to me that we have another solution for the Grindelwald matter."

Albus shot him a glance of interest, and Charlemagne continued grudgingly, as if pained by having to admit such thing, "You are hailed to be the most powerful wizard in England. And you are believed to be, possibly, one of the most powerful in the entire wizarding world. Thus, why not fight Grindelwald yourself, Dumbledore? A duel, face-to-face, one-to-one. If you defeat him, I can arrange matters so that you wouldn't be convicted of the crime of murdering another wizard. Indeed, if you killed him then you won't need to protect the identity of your spies and they can come forth and testify about Grindelwald's crimes, and your murder of him would be legally justified. You wouldn't be punished – you have my word on that." He paused and then added bitterly, "Perhaps you would even be hailed as a hero. So what say you?"

"That, I cannot do," muttered Albus quietly, his expression closed off, but there seemed to be a hint of deep, painful self-reproach in his eyes. "I cannot confront him face-to-face."

"Merlin's staff, Dumbledore!" burst out McLaggen, his contempt for the man clear on his face. "To think you're sinking to such lowly hypocrisy. You have no compunction in asking me to send thousands of British wizards to battle against Grindelwald's forces but you refuse to put your own life at risk!"

"Believe me," said Albus, his eyes flashing behind his spectacles with a hard glint, "the outcome of having me face Grindelwald directly might be more dangerous for all of us than anything else."

"I don't see how it could be so," bit out McLaggen, making a move to stand up from the table. "You're a coward, Dumbledore, plain and simple. It's clear to me now that it's just as your brother said - you fear Grindelwald."

"Because I fear myself," interjected Albus curtly, the very intensity of the gaze he leveled at McLaggen making the Minister halt in his motion and sit back down. "Temptation, Charlemagne. I would be tempted, and now I know myself well enough to be aware that it isn't advisable for anyone's sake that I'd be put in such a situation."

"Temptation?" spat out McLaggen, looking both incredulous and repulsed. "What, would you expire in a delirium of lust for the man if you came to face him?"

Albus chuckled wryly, shaking his head with amusement. "I'm not a hormonal teenager anymore, Charlemagne. No, that wasn't my meaning. There's no risk of that."

"Then what? That he might tempt you to his side with promises of power," snapped McLaggen, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Perhaps to share his rule over Germany and Austria with you?"

"Not that either," said Albus impassibly, as he stroked his long beard. "I've long ago learned that I'm the worst suited wizard to have any position of power. I wouldn't make that mistake. No, what he has to offer is… knowledge about some matters, clues about something that tempts me, that I desire, but I know that I shouldn't have – and neither should he."

"And now you speak in riddles!" burst out the Minister, at the very limit of his patience.

Albus didn't shoot him an apologetic glance, he merely stared at him as if conferring that that was as good as it could get. And that he certainly wasn't about to disclose any secrets to him.

"I believe I've said enough," remarked Albus calmly, before he skewered him with an intense gaze. "In the end, then, you will do nothing about the war nor the Jews, Charlemagne?"

"I've already answered that," said McLaggen crisply. "You know where I stand."

"Very well," said Albus gravely, nodding his head once. "Then I'm afraid we have, indeed, reached an impasse. You leave me no choice. I will keep pushing for my law to be passed. It is tantamount that we join the war as soon as possible, if not, all is lost."

McLaggen bristled and jumped to his feet, as he hissed out, "Just put me to the test, Dumbledore. I'm itching to clash swords with you once again. But this time, make no mistake, I'll use all available means at my disposal. I will veto your proposed law in the Wizengamot, as many times as I have to. I will drag your name through the mud by disclosing your former liaison with Grindelwald."

He took threatening steps around the table, and when he reached Albus, he leaned down to hiss in his ear, "And if it comes to the point I have no other option but to surrender and reach a peace agreement with Grindelwald and you do anything to endanger it - if even the vaguest rumor reach my ears that you have done anything to countermand my decision and thus put in peril the lives of British wizards- I'll have you branded as a traitor, judged by the full Criminal Court of the Wizengamot and carted off to Azkaban in the blink of an eye. Perhaps I'll have you thrown into the very cell in which your father died, hmm? Wouldn't that be nice?"

And with those last words he spat out, the Minister of Magic pulled himself up to his full height, slammed several golden galleons on the table and then briskly strode away.

Not at all daunted by McLaggen's threats, Albus sadly shook his head as he watched how the wizard left Dionysius' Abode.

There was much to be done, now that Albus had ascertained that they would find no support in the Minister of Magic. Indeed, his mind was already filled with all that had to be discussed in that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. So much to do, so much to prepare for and organize, and so much to decide.

With a weary exhalation of breath, Albus flicked his wand once, his eyes growing wide when the sparkling numbers that floated in front of him indicated how late the hour had become.

Suddenly remembering his other chore of the day, the wizard patted his pockets, feeling the bumps of the two letters he had to deliver. He quickly stood up, left his galleons on the table, and dashed as quickly as possible out into Leisure Alley.

Hopefully, the visit to the orphanage would be an easy and quick one. Besides giving the letters and explaining about the existence of the magical world to the boys, it was just a matter of seeing why one of them didn't have a surname, after all.

Yes, it would be quick, and then he could concentrate on vastly more important matters.


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers!

Now, clarifying some points:

I didn't blindly choose to have a McLaggen as the Minister of Magic. Indeed, in canon, Slughorn should have said something to Cormac McLaggen -in the meetings of the Slug Club- about the boy's relative who once was the Minister of Magic, but he didn't. So there must be a reason why Slughorn didn't mention Charlemagne McLaggen and why he didn't fawn over Cormac due to his relation to the man.

Hint: Slughorn ignored Draco Malfoy…. Enough said, lol ^^ We'll see what becomes of Charlemagne McLaggen. But don't be too hard on him, the man means well - what he does is for the sake of British wizarding kind, in his opinion.

Also, for certain matters I'm following the timeline of Harry Potter Lexicon. Thus, Tom Riddle was born on December 31, 1926 and he'll be attending Hogwarts in 1938 (current present year in this chapter). But whether Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald in 1945 or not, remains to be seen, because Harry's presence will surely change many things.

**IMPORTANT**: I couldn't fit in another word in the summary, so for those who are asking, this fic will have **M/M**, I don't think there will be explicit things though, and **NO Mpreg** either.

**Note:** I couldn't fit in all the scenes I wanted in this chapter, it would have been too long. I'm sorry, it will come in the next chappie – and it won't be more than a week or two before I write and post it.

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**Part I: Chapter 7**

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Alice Jones had finished all her chores for the day. The children were in their respective bedrooms, packing the things they would take along with them the following morning for their excursion to the seaside. And Kathy was in her office, no doubt going through the orphanage's accounts and having a glass of gin to relieve her tiredness.

Meanwhile, Alice was standing at one corner of the empty playroom, right in front of a rackety table holding the wireless – or 'radio', as some people called it– which was Mr. Robert Hutchins' latest donation to the orphanage.

Her ears were focused on the voice of the BBC's newscaster and her eyes darted now and then towards the window, in the hopes of seeing Robert striding towards the orphanage, to pay her and the boys a visit that evening.

Much had happened in the last years, and many things had changed in the orphanage and in her life.

Life at the orphanage, in particular, had changed drastically ever since Kathy had become the Matron. And though Alice was very glad for it -because her friend was an excellent administrator and no longer did the children go around wearing rags or without having milk or meat for whole months- she couldn't say that Mrs. Sharpe's parting had been a happy occasion.

It had all changed nearly three years ago. At first, taking a turn for the worse after the incident of the blow up of the window in Mrs. Sharpe's office. Mr. Jenkins' wounds, caused by the volley of glass shards, had been grave. They had been forced to call for a doctor, who hadn't managed to salvage Mr. Jenkins' right eye nor prevent the man's face disfigurement.

If Mr. Jenkins had been a foul man before, after that, he became unbearable. For two weeks he had lashed out at the children, his temper becoming increasingly violent and markedly focused on Harry and Tom in particular, more than ever.

The man had used any excuse to dole out punishment to the Riddle brothers – for raising their voices too high, for being too loud when playing, for running along the corridors, or for walking too slow or being too silent. Even the feeblest of reasons became an excuse so that the man could can them.

And Harry, who back then hadn't yet suffered such punishment, came to know what it was to be brutally canned on the buttocks and what it was to spend a whole day and night in the small, dark, Punishment Room.

The other children had been terrified; barely speaking, keeping their eyes cast down, their faces pale, barely moving so that they wouldn't make a noise that could catch Mr. Jenkins' attention.

Those two weeks had been sheer torture for Alice as well, since she hadn't been able to do much about it. Both her and Kathy had appealed to Mrs. Sharpe several times, asking her to restrain him in some way, even imploring her to fire Mr. Jenkins before something truly grave happened. The nasty old woman had refused, siding with her old friend.

And then, one day, when Alice had been in the kitchen preparing the children's meals, she had heard an ear-splitting scream of pure fear.

Alice had run as she had never run before, and she had been the first to reach the entrance of the orphanage, to see Mrs. Sharpe taking her last tumble down the stairs, her body crashing on the landing, right in front of the entrance door.

Alice had shrieked then -just when Mrs. Sharpe's scream abruptly ended- when she could see nothing but the old woman's neck twisted in an impossible angle, her knees unnaturally bent, one of her elbows grossly sticking out.

And then, still shrieking, because she had seemed unable to stop the sounds coming out of her mouth, she had glanced up at the staircase's landing on the first floor. And there she had seen him: Tom Riddle, standing like a statue, fixedly staring down at Mrs. Sharpe's body.

In the next instant, when Kathy and the children had arrived at the site, Tom had vanished. But even when Kathy shook her shoulders and frantically started asking her question, Alice's eyes had remained riveted on the empty space Tom had left behind – still in shock.

That day had been pure chaos; the children screaming and crying, Kathy having to take them away so that they wouldn't keep staring at Mrs. Sharpe's body... Alice, after Kathy slapped her out of her daze, had run to the nearest police station. And soon after, two policemen and an ambulance had arrived.

Mrs. Sharpe's body had been taken away, the police officers had asked her questions, and she had recounted the little she had seen but had been unable to mention Tom. But something had been gripping her heart with fear, and that night, for the first time, she had purposely invaded the privacy of the Riddle brothers.

She had had to know. Over the years she had allowed many things to happen, she had protected the boys in many ways, but murder –no matter how much she loved Tom- was something she couldn't turn a blind eye to. As much as it would deeply pain and wound her, she had been prepared to turn him to the police if she discovered that Tom was the cause for Mrs. Sharpe's death.

After the ambulance took away Mrs. Sharpe's body and the children were ordered to go to their rooms and remain there, Alice had followed Tom and Harry at a prudent distance, so that she wouldn't be detected. She had seen in Harry's expression -as the boy took Tom by the arm and pulled him along with a firm grip- that Harry would be questioning his brother as soon as they were alone.

When they had closed the door of their bedroom behind them, Alice had come forth and had pressed her ear against the door.

At first, there had seemed to be a tense silence in the bedroom. Then, a shuffling sound, as if one of the boys had taken a seat on a bed. And at last, she had heard Harry's voice, low and quiet.

Inside the room, a seven-year-old Harry had been standing before his brother, who was placidly lounging on his bed, eyeing him both expectantly and challengingly, Tom's lips upturned into a faint smirk.

"Did you do it?" piped little Harry, biting his lower lip as he pierced his bright green eyes into Tom's dark blue ones.

"Do what?" drawled Tom, a hint of mockery in his tone as he arched an eyebrow.

"You know what," snapped Harry impatiently, huffing as he uneasily carded his fingers through his unruly hair. He glowered at him as he whispered harshly under his breath, "Kill her. Did you do it?"

Tom's arched eyebrow rose even higher, though his smirk seemed to spread on his face, bellying the impassive tone of his voice as he said, "Why would you think I had anything to do with that? You heard the policemen. It was an accident."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, clearly seeing that he was being taunted. "You left the playroom, you told me you were going to our room to fetch a book, remember? You didn't come back, and some minutes after that-" he shuddered slightly, his eyes losing their focus "-we all heard that… that scream. And then we rushed out and saw Mrs. Sharpe…"

The small boy trailed off, unable to recount the sight of her… her head and limbs bent so awkwardly. Harry shuddered again and swallowed thickly, before he pinned his brother with his gaze, adamantly.

Tom scoffed loudly, waving a hand dismissively. "I cannot believe you can accuse me of…" He shook his head, and then said curtly, "I did see what happened, but I had nothing to do with it. I was coming out of our room when I saw Mrs. Sharpe in the corridor." He shot Harry a sneer, as he continued, "She was hiding her bottles of gin. You know where, in that broom cupboard she uses. And she was drunk. I saw her taking the first steps down the stairs, and then she lost her balance and tumbled down. That's all."

A deep exhalation of breath was let out by Harry, his expression clearly relieved as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. In the next second, he plopped down on the opposite bed, relaxing and grinning at Tom.

"I suppose, if I had run very fast," said Tom, his expression mussing in a clinical, analytical way, displaying no remorse, "I could have perhaps grabbed her before she fell…"

Little Harry nibbled on his bottom lip but said nothing at that. He simply shot his brother a glance, and shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

Tom widely smirked at him, and simply said, "True."

Behind the closed door, Alice –as Harry had done before her, seconds ago- had exhaled with relief. Thanking God that, indeed, Tom was blameless. It had pained and disappointed her that the boy hadn't tried his best to save Mrs. Sharpe from her fall to death, but it was hardly a crime.

Thus, with her conscience clear, Alice had stopped eavesdropping on them and retired to her own room.

However, inside the Riddle brothers' bedroom, matters hadn't ended there.

As he heard the sound of footfalls becoming fainter, Tom's eyes flickered away from their closed door and he smirked as he stood up to his feet.

Quickly, he moved forwards until he was towering over Harry; looming over, forcing a startled and wide-eyed Harry to lie back on his bed, supporting himself with his elbows.

"Wh-what is it?" stuttered Harry, perplexed by his brother's weird actions and the strange, kind of sinister glint in Tom's dark blue eyes.

"What if I said now that I haven't told you the full truth?" said Tom, his smirk widening when a baffled expression crossed Harry's face. He leaned down even further, his nose nearly touching Harry's, as he whispered quietly, "I wasn't just leaving our room. I was much further along the corridor. Mrs. Sharpe had her back turned to me. She didn't see me. When she tripped, I was just one step away from her. I only had to stretch out my hand, and I could have grabbed her. But I didn't."

He paused, for a brief moment, before his eyes gleamed, almost feverishly. Licking his lips, he breathed out heavily, "And I enjoyed watching how she fell and hearing her screams. And when she crashed, I stared at her and I knew she had died, and it made me feel happy."

Harry stared at him, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, his heart pumping hard and fast in his chest, his breath hitching.

Tom shot him a glance, before he abruptly pulled away and stood up to his full height. "What do you say now?"

Harry gaped some more, and then blinked - not quite sure of what he was being asked. At last, he quickly sat up on his bed and then frowned, glancing up at his brother yet remaining silent.

A hard expression spread on Tom's handsome face as he crossed his arms over his small chest, his eyes narrowing and pinning Harry, as he demanded, "Well? Are you going to do anything about it?"

Harry's frown deepened as he gazed down at his lap, his fingers fretfully playing with the hem of his shirt.

Now he did understand what his brother wanted. It wouldn't be the first time that Tom tested him in that way. Always, when Tom had done something Harry felt was wrong, his brother wanted to see his reaction. Tom wanted to see if Harry would turn on him or accept him for what he had done.

Harry had never understood it – the need Tom had to be reassured by him. As if Tom thought that their relationship as brothers was a feeble and easily breakable one – as if Tom feared that it could be so, and also feared that due to it, that Harry could turn away from him if Tom went too far. But Harry never would, and he couldn't understand how Tom didn't know that already, since he implicitly expected the same loyalty from Tom, and knew he had it as well.

"I won't tell on you," said Harry finally, his tone of voice firm, despite the wariness he felt with Tom's confession – that his brother had enjoyed watching as Mrs. Sharpe broke her bones as she went down and hearing her screams of terror…

Harry shook his head at himself. It didn't matter. It filled him with apprehension and he couldn't understand how on earth Tom could enjoy such things, but Tom was his brother.

He had always accepted Tom as he was, with all his weird quirks and all – and his brother had many of those. And Tom accepted him, even if Tom complained much about his loudness, and chatterings, and whinings.

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits, his posture unchanged, as he bore his eyes into Harry's even more intensely than before. His lips contorted as he sneered acidly, "She died because I did nothing. I might as well have shoved her, no? It's almost the same, isn't it?"

"Maybe," mumbled Harry, glancing away from him, a hint of uneasiness resurging with Tom's pressing.

"So?" bit out Tom impatiently, clearing expecting Harry to say something more - perhaps to rail at him, or chastise him, or say how awful and monstrous he was.

Little Harry fiercely scowled at him and snapped, miffed, "So nothing! She's dead and I'm going to sleep!"

And with a huff, he yanked his bed sheets to a side and jumped under them -in his day clothes and with shoes and all- instantly rolling over to turn his back towards Tom.

As he firmly slammed his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep as quickly as possible, he heard Tom snorting contemptuously. Yet his brother seemed satisfied, since he no longer pressed the issue.

Some minutes of blessed silence led Harry to believe that he would, at last, be left alone. However, he heard his brother speak again, but it was in a quiet, subdued whisper.

"We won't have to worry about Jenkins anymore. That's why I did it."

Harry wouldn't understand what his brother had meant by that until two more days had passed. And Alice herself would remain ignorant of the fact that events after Mrs. Sharpe's death unraveled precisely how Tom had expected and planned.

Indeed, two days after, a man from the government visited the orphanage and then asked questions around the neighborhood. In the end, the man offered to Kathy the post of Matron, which she had accepted with great aplomb, much to Alice's joy.

"How little everyone knows him!" had bitterly grumbled Kathy to Alice about her horrid husband, after the man from the government had disclosed that it was the favorable remarks about her well-respected husband from the people of the neighborhood -as well as Kathy's long years of service in the orphanage- which had led him to choose her as the new Matron.

Mrs. Cole's first measure as Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage had been to lay off Mr. Jenkins, which was met with everyone's rejoice. One small boy in particular had gazed at his brother with sudden understanding, and with wide, green eyes filled with loving admiration and gratefulness.

With Mr. Jenkins' wage, Kathy had afforded to hire two new caregivers – young neighborhood girls who had instantly fit in, their sweet temper much like Alice's.

And thus, all their lives had taken a turn for the better, even if Alice had heard that Mr. Jenkins was still living in their neighborhood, now working at the docks.

What had caused some problems was that the resentful, odious man had taken to heavy drinking, spending his evenings at the pub, where he told to everyone who would listen that his disfigurement was the Riddle boys' fault.

Indeed, those who had forgotten about Father Patrick's ramblings, now had reason to remember it once again, and this time, including Harry.

To Alice's pained frustration, she had seen how once more Tom was eyed with wariness and dislike, and how even some cast such glances at Harry as well. And she had seen that, even though Tom was utterly unaffected by it, or appeared to be so, it did cause a shadow of hurt to emerge in Harry's normally cheerful green eyes.

On the other hand, a positive influence had entered the boys' lives. Indeed, Mr. Robert Hutchins' association with not only Alice but, through her, with the orphanage as a whole and the Riddle boys in particular, had deepened.

It had started the day in which Kathy's suspicions -regarding all the times in which Alice took Harry along with her to shop for groceries- had reached a peak. That day, Kathy had followed them, and her lips had pursed when she had seen them entering Mr. Hutchins' shop.

Not really surprised, since she had already heard ill-natured rumors about it, Mrs. Cole had swept inside the store. Her eyes had narrowed, seeing Alice cozily chatting with Mr. Hutchins while little Harry was playing with some toys on a shelf.

Kathy had stomped her way to the pair, catching them unawares and then startling them, when she had boomed, "Vile tongues are already wagging, and I will not have it - Alice has a good reputation to maintain! If you wish to continue seeing her, you will do it properly."

"Kathy!" had squawked Alice, utterly mortified.

Alice had known that her friend watched over her like an older, protective sister would, even if there was only two years of difference between their ages. And she also knew that Kathy feared that she would make the same mistake Kathy had, when choosing a husband.

Nevertheless, Alice's face had reddened and she had shot Mr. Hutchins an apologetic glance as she attempted to grab Kathy to pull her away.

But neither of them had paid any attention to her. Mr. Hutchins had looked amused for a brief moment, though he had been wise enough to wipe such expression from his face the moment Kathy scowled at him.

"Properly chaperoned," had continued Kathy in the same stern tone of voice, as she pointedly shot a glance at little Harry, who was by then gawking at the squabbling grown-ups. "Not by a child, but by me."

Instantly, Mr. Hutchins had held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a small smile tugging his lips as he had said candidly, "I'm willing to abide by your rules, and I'm open to suggestions."

Kathy had seemed startled for a moment, clearly not having expected such easy victory. She had eyed him closely, as if reshaping her previous opinions about the man.

Finally, her shoulders had relaxed as she had said curtly, "Very well. I give you leave to visit Alice at the orphanage during the evenings – after you close your shop, if you will."

Robert Hutchins, or Bob as Harry called him, had immediately agreed, more than gladly, sharing a joyful smile with Alice.

And so it came to happen that the man became a fixture at the orphanage. Not only playing with the children, and sometimes helping Alice with her last chores of the day, as well as repairing whatever needed to be fixed, but also giving little gifts for the enjoyment of the full house– the latest of which would be a brand new radio.

He had even found a solution for a problem Alice had one day found herself with. Indeed, she had been noticing that her fairy tales no longer satisfied the children. The girls still seemed to enjoy them, but the boys had lost interest, even Harry.

She had been a bit flummoxed, and it had been Robert who had chuckled as he said, "They're growing up, Alice. They need something with more adventure and fights in it. I think I have just the thing."

His clear blue eyes had sparkled, and the following day he had arrived at the orphanage with two books in hand: The Iliad and The Odyssey. Alice had gaped. She had heard about them, and indeed, once she had even attempted to read one of them, but had found the archaic poetry impossible to understand.

She had at first thought that perhaps the man had taken leave of his senses. Yet, he hadn't read from the books but used them as reference, as he started telling the stories in his own words, easily understood by any child.

So it was that, in the evenings, while Alice did her story-telling with the girls, Robert took charge of entertaining the boys. Harry soon came to worship Mr. Hutchins, and the boy couldn't stop babbling and asking to be told more about Ulysses and his adventures with cyclops, sirens, the six-headed monster Scylla and the witch-goddess Circe, or about the interfering Greek gods and their quarrels, or about Achilles and his good friend Patroclus, King Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus, Paris and his beloved Helen...

Not much later after that tradition had begun, Robert had come up with another brilliant idea.

In those months he had been expanding his business. His shop had been doing extremely well and he had been able to afford to buy two used Ford Model A station wagons, with which his store could deliver its wares and foodstuff directly to homes and other shops.

One late evening, when Alice, Kathy and Robert had been sharing some cups of gin in Kathy's office, he had musingly proposed, "I have an old friend who lives two hours away - we worked together in a factory up North. Now he lives and works in a charming town by the seaside, and he absolutely adores children. We could all go together to visit him one of these weekends, and the children could play in the beach. I can drive one wagon, and I can ask one of my lads to drive the other, and between the two wagons, we should all fit together… Some other month, we can go to the countryside. Fresh air will do the children good."

Both Alice and Kathy had readily agreed. Indeed, even Kathy had come to grudgingly warm up to the man.

From then onwards, at least twice a year the children of the orphanage were taken to Southend-on-Sea, where they were always warmly welcomed by Mr. Hutchins' friend, Old John Bryce.

On sunny days, the old man's son, twenty-one year old Frank Bryce, would take them to the shore. In those occasions, Robert had taken it upon himself to teach the boys how to swim, and even Tom Riddle had participated –with the cheerless determination he applied to master any skill which he deemed could be useful, even if it wasn't a source of joy and pleasure as it was for the other boys.

By sunset, before making the trip back to London, they usually partook of tea and biscuits in Old John's small cottage, all cramped together, with the boys surrounding the old man, sitting crossed-legged as they eagerly prompted him to tell them stories about his days as a soldier, fighting in the Great War.

Alice had been vastly tempted to put a stop to it when the old man gave unadorned details about life in the trenches on the Western Front, about lice, rats and diseases, hunger and despair, about the death of comrades and all other sorts of information which, in her opinion, should not be heard by any child's ears.

Robert had halted her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, "Let the boys hear about it. Let them see war in its crude and cruel reality. It does no good to molly-coddle them, Alice."

However, by the expressions on the boys' faces, it hadn't seemed to her as if they were taking it seriously. Indeed, they had looked as if they were being told of great, fantastic adventures.

"How many Germans did you kill?" had piped in Harry breathlessly, his eyes bright with hero-worship and fascination as he gazed up at the man.

Alice had pursed her lips, not at all liking the turn in the conversation. The last thing the children needed to hear was about gore and murder, about the disemboweling of soldiers who got themselves trapped in barbed wire, about death by asphyxiation from poisonous gases, about dismemberment caused by land-mines and machine guns.

"Wait," had said Robert to her, stopping her from interfering once again. "Old John is a judicious man, you'll see."

At Harry's question, the old man had then spit out his chewed tobacco, his crinkled, aged eyes sweeping through his audience as he boomed sternly, "There's no honor or fun in war, boys! There's nothing noble about killing a fellow human being. War is nothing but senseless death – there are no victors! War means that fellows like me, and like you, when you grow up, are sent to their deaths, for the greed and power-hunger of politicians!"

The boys had looked properly chastised then, most of them lowering their heads and cringing, though after a brief pause, little Harry had persisted in his chiming voice, "But how many did you kill?"

At that, Alice had shot Robert a scowl, to which he had replied with a shrug of his shoulders as he chuckled wryly, "Oh well, boys will be boys. I was the same at that age. When they're older, they'll understand."

Gratefully, for Alice, Tom had then decided to ask questions. He had been the only boy who hadn't seemed that much awed or interested in knowing about fighting and battles. Instead, he had wanted to know about the causes for the war, about the political maneuverings behind the scenes. It had been Robert who had answered. Even if the man had been a young boy in those days, it was clear that he had later studied the matter. And Alice had seen then, in Tom's expression, how grudging respect had been born.

As often happened when someone garnered the affection and attention of Harry, Tom had always scowled every time Robert spent time with his brother. But from that day onwards, when both Tom and Robert had discovered that they shared similar intellectual interests, Tom had seemed to come to tolerate the man's presence in both his and his brother's lives.

Indeed, after that day, Robert had started bringing books and newspapers to the orphanage, for Tom, and he had begun spending alone-time with the boy, discussing God knew what. They seemed to have formed a frail, tentative bond of some kind, just as Robert had formed a deep one with Harry.

Nevertheless, although Alice had brimmed with joy as she saw that Robert started to love the Riddle brothers as much as she did, there had been two instances in which she and Robert had had vastly differing opinions of how boys should be raised.

The first had been when Robert had learned about Harry's fascination with motorcars, which had only increased with the years. And when the man had decided to use some weekends to teach Harry how to drive, Alice had argued against it – worried about the boy's safety and considering that he was too young for that.

In the end, she had relented, but she hadn't liked it nonetheless.

They would use one of Robert's station wagons, with Harry siting on the man's lap as their drove around the neighborhood, the boy shrieking with joy and waving at passers-by, with his short legs dangling on top of Robert's without reaching the pedals, but nevertheless guiding the car with one small hand on the wheel and the other on the stick.

The second occasion had been when, one late evening after story-telling time and when the children had been ordered to go to their rooms for their night of sleep, Harry had approached them.

"Can you teach me how to fight?" he had asked Robert, peering up at him with eager anticipation and with wide, innocent green eyes that had the ability to cajole anyone into doing anything.

However, Alice had seen the quick side-glance that Harry had shot at Dennis Bishop as the older boy left the playroom, and her lips had pursed into a flat line.

For some time, it had seemed to her that Dennis had stopped bullying Harry. Indeed, for some reason, the older boy seemed wary to attempt to do so; he even seemed to fear to be around Harry or Tom. But that peaceful period of time had only lasted for a few years.

Lately, she had caught Dennis tripping Harry, or painfully yanking his hair or insulting him. She always chastised the older boy, most sharply and sternly. And even though it was clear to her that her words didn't have much effect on Dennis, Harry's request could only lead to further trouble.

"Absolutely not," she had snapped, before giving Robert a chance to speak first.

"I will," had interjected Robert, beaming at little Harry and utterly ignoring her angered expression. He had mussed Harry's wild mop of hair, conspiratorially grinning at him. "I can teach you how to box - how to fist-fight. Will that do?"

"Yeah!" had burst out Harry, with an utterly excited expression on his face and a satisfied, mischievous glint in his green eyes that could bode nothing good.

And with that, the small boy had cheerfully gone back to his brother's side so that they could leave the playroom together.

Alice had instantly rounded on Robert, but the man had raised a hand, halting whatever she had to say in order to be allowed to speak first.

"I was also the runt of the litter at his age. I had to learn how to defend myself from bullies. You cannot protect him from it - it would do him more harm than good in the long-run. Let them fight it out and settle their issues between themselves."

Alice had not agreed with him on that matter, but as often happened, Robert –just as Harry– had the uncanny ability to persuade her of just about anything.

Months later, during which Robert had taught Harry his lessons of how to fight like a 'man', Alice had seen the consequences of it.

One evening, when Kathy had been locked up in her office working on the orphanage's accounts, and when Alice and the two young caregivers had been preparing dinner for the children, they had heard loud shouts coming from the playroom.

Robert had been with them, helping them out, and he had jumped to his feet, a vague smile on his face as he said, "Stay put. I'll see to it. I'll make sure that neither of them seriously injures the other."

The man obviously had an inkling of what was going on and had clearly been expecting it. Alice had frowned with dissatisfaction but allowed Robert to take care of it, since she herself had had her hands full with taking care that the chicken casserole they were preparing wouldn't burn in the oven.

Twenty minutes later, when Alice had been about to wipe her hands clean on her apron so that she could go to the playroom and firmly put at end to it –since the encouraging shouts and the yells of the children had only gotten louder- silence had abruptly reigned in the house, and then the sounds of faint, congratulatory cheering.

A few moments after, Robert had stridden back into the kitchen, with one hand on Harry's shoulder, a look of pride on the man's face.

Alice, for her part, had gaped in horror as she caught sight of the small boy – Harry's lovely face covered in bruises, his mop of hair drenched in sweat, his pouty lips split in the middle, bleeding, one of his beautiful eyes swollen to such degree that it was clamped shut with black and yellow around it.

"I won, Alice!" had proudly declared Harry as he ran towards her, visibly limping in one leg. He had then peered up at Robert. "Didn't I, Bob? Dennis looks much worse than I do, right?"

"He sure does," had said Mr. Hutchins, warmly smiling down at the boy as he patted him on the back. "You're a young man now. You fought very bravely."

Harry had positively beamed, and had then turned around to face Alice once more. He had widely smiled at her, a wide gap in his row of teeth. Then he had brought up an open hand, with a small white tooth lying in the middle of his palm, as he asked her, "Um - can you glue it back?"

Alice had nearly fainted.

Robert, in the meanwhile, had chuckled and then tenderly gripped the boy's chin to inspect his mouth, as he said at last, "It's a milk tooth. Don't worry, Harry, the real one will grow at some point."

Little Harry had nodded, seemingly not too concerned if the tooth grew back or not, but he carefully pocketed the one he had lost, as if it were a treasured trophy representing his victory and his passage into adulthood.

Alice had then finally gathered back her wits and had barked out orders for the two caregivers to take Harry to his room and tend to his injuries, and to do the same with Dennis Bishop. When they were gone, she had instantly given Robert a piece of her mind.

Nevertheless, despite that they didn't see eye-to-eye about such matters, Alice had known that he was the man for her.

It had been one day, when Alice's eyes had strayed to watch how Robert play-acted the battle between Prince Hector of Troy and Achilles –making Harry play the part of Achilles, causing the small boy to beam and then shriek with joy as they mock-fought with sticks for swords- that she had known that she had fallen utterly and irredeemably in love with the man.

And somehow, they had started speaking of themselves as a couple. And at some point, they had openly started to discuss the possibility of their marriage and their wishes for the future.

"I can give you a good life," had said Robert to her, tenderly cradling her hands within his large ones, one day in which they had found themselves sitting alone in the kitchen. "And I can provide a good home for those two boys as well."

Alice had gasped, misty-eyed as she stared at him and saw the loving expression on his handsome face. It had become clear to her, then, that he had seen the longing and yearning in her eyes when she had been watching him interact with Tom and Harry – that he already knew what she dreamed about.

"Both of them are extraordinary in their own ways," had continued Robert, then shooting her a warm, knowing smile. "And I love them already as a father would his sons. We can both give them a good home-life. After we marry, we can adopt them, and then we can have other children of our own."

After that, Alice had been in a state of perpetual joy, walking on clouds, humming songs and with such high spirits that nothing seemed able to dampen her mood.

However, it all started to crash down when Austria had been annexed to Germany.

"It's a breach of the Treaties of Versailles and St. Germain!" had boomed Robert irately, in such a fierce state as Alice had never seen him before. "And no one is doing anything about it– they're letting the Nazis do whatever they want! Even Churchill does nothing – I expected more from him!"

He had jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, angrily, as he spat out, "Last year Churchill said that if he had to choose between Communism and Nazism, he would choose Communism, but he sure isn't acting like it! The League of Nations opposed Japan's invasion of Manchuria, yet Churchill viewed it favorably because, according to him, the Japanese have the menace of Soviet Russia on one side and the 'chaos' of spreading Communism in China, on the other. Now the Japanese have signed a pact with Germany and they have taken over Shanghai and Nanking, killing hundreds of thousand Chinese civilians. And Churchill turns a blind eye, and he's even been praising Mussolini, of all people, until recently. And he's saying that the Spanish Republican government is a Communist front and he's praising Franco for starting a civil war there. And now he's doing nothing about Austria!"

Alice had gaped at him, not understanding what Robert was so indignant and angered about, and she had stuttered, "But the Austrians voted in favor-"

"Don't be naïve, lass!" had snapped Robert with frustration. "Their votes have no validity – they were already invaded by Nazi troops!"

Alice had decided not to argue about it. Indeed, she no longer shared his opinion about some of his views. For starters, in the last couple of years, she had seen no mention in the newspapers about Jews, homosexuals and other kinds of minorities being persecuted in Germany and being carted off who-knew-where. Not a word was said.

Thus, she had come to believe that Robert and his fellow Communist friends had to be wrong regarding their suspicions. Surely if something like that had been going on in Germany, everyone would know about it by now! After all, the newspapers did write a lot about Stalin and the prison camps of forced labour he had, condemning the man for it and for a whole load of other things.

Robert's beliefs now sounded like ridiculous conspiracy theories to her and she wished she could persuade him to stop attending secret Communist meetings – those people were only filling his head with nonsensical ideas.

Not much later after that, news had come about Germany occupying some region of Czechoslovakia she had never before in her life heard about. That day, when Robert had visited the orphanage, he had asked to talk to her in private. There had been a very grave, strange expression on his face; somehow, he had looked satisfied but also sorrowful.

"I'd marry you right now if I could," he had said to her when they had been alone. "But what kind of selfish man would I be if I married you just to abandon you in the next second to go to war, when I could give you no reassurances that I'd come back a whole man or even alive. I won't have you chained to a cripple you'd have to care after for the rest of your life, and I wouldn't want you to know the grief and sorrow that comes with widowhood. I can't marry you until the war in Europe doesn't end-"

"But there's no war!" had cried out Alice, utterly perplexed, hurt and fearful.

Robert had shaken his head, saying softly, "Don't be silly, girl. Now everyone can see that the Germans are not satisfied with only having Austria. Now that they have occupied the Sudetenland, Britain and France will have to take action. They will surely declare war on Germany."

Alice had pleaded and sobbed and done her best to change his mind, with no success. Yet, she didn't care if he had to go to war; she would wait and marry him no matter in what condition he came back.

Moreover, secretly, she hoped he wouldn't have to go to war at all. She hoped that if it came to that, that the British Army wouldn't take him because of the two fingers he had missing in one of his hands - how could he properly hold a gun or whatever other weapon when he had such disability? But she couldn't be certain that it would work as she hoped.

Thus, at present, she was listening to the radio with fierce intensity, as she had done for the last couple of weeks, glued to the contraption every single minute of spare time she had. She was waiting to hear the news that would define her life.

Their Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, had sent Lord Runciman to Czechoslovakia in order to see if he could obtain a settlement between the Czechoslovak government and the Germans in the Sudetenland. The Lord had returned without accomplishing anything.

And now every newspaper and radio station was speculating that soon, the Prime Minister himself would have to travel to personally negotiate with Hitler.

For Alice, she believed it could mean two things: that Chamberlain wouldn't reach an agreement and thus Britain would declare war and she would lose Robert and have to wait to marry him until he came back; or that the Prime Minister would convince Hitler to withdraw from the Sudetenland, and thus there would be peace in Europe and she could marry, adopt the Riddle boys, and lead a happy life.

"…the Duke of Windsor and his Duchess, the once Wallis Simpson, twice divorcee American who aspired to become our Queen and for whom the Duke abdicated as King Edward VIII, have been seen fraternizing with Nazi…"

Alice bit her lips with sheer exasperation and turned off the wireless – evidently, no news regarding Chamberlain's expected trip would be coming forth that day.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eyes, something of a flashy yellow color caught her attention. A man? She blinked as she peered out the window. It had started to rain heavily, and she couldn't see well, but it had to have been her imagination. There was no one outside.

Abruptly, the doorbell rang loudly and Alice nearly jumped out of her skin. Befuddled, wondering who on earth could be at the orphanage's doorstep at such an impolite, late hour in the evening, she made her way to the entrance and briskly pulled the door open.

Then, her jaw dropped and she simply gawked.

Before her was some kind of one-man macabre spectacle – wavy hair and beard of a coppery red both reaching the man's waist, a suit of blinding canary yellow, pinstriped with …violet lines? And the material was velvet, of all things. Her eyes swiveled along the man's frame as she attempted to take him in. He was not carrying an umbrella, yet, that velvet looked dry…

The man cleared his throat and Alice's eyes snapped up to meet his bespectacled gaze, her mouth still hanging open.

"Good evening," said the man pleasantly, his eyes looking kind and with a faint expression of amusement crossing his features, perhaps due to her reaction to him. "I would like to have a word with the Matron – Mrs. Cole, I believe. Is she here?"

Alice was still bewildered and dazed -all that bright yellow…- but not to such degree that the man's eccentric appearance didn't raise some alarm bells in her mind.

Who was to say that the man wasn't some kind of lunatic, perhaps a violent one. And they didn't have a man in the house to protect them, as Mr. Jenkins could have once done - not that she regretted one bit that the odious man was gone. And if Robert wouldn't be visiting her that evening…

Biting her lower lip with apprehension, her hands clenched the wooden door, as she inch-by-inch attempted to close it before the man could realize it.

Abruptly, Alice suddenly felt very calm and warm. And she shook her head, frowning at herself. What had she been thinking? Obviously the man represented no threat.

She peered at him, seeing nothing but benevolent eyes gazing back at her, patiently and kindly.

"Yes, of course," said Alice when she found her voice, opening the door wide open as she gestured at him. "Please do come inside."

As the man entered the hallway, she turned her face to a side to call over her shoulder, "Kath- er, Mrs. Cole, you have a visitor!"

She closed the door and turned around to stare at him, prompting, "Your name, sir?"

"Mr. Dumbledore."

"A Mr. Dumby-"

"Dumbledore."

"Right," said Alice, blinking once at the weird name, before she yelled once more, "Um - a Mr. Dumberdoor!"

"Show him in!" came Kathy's muffled voice from a distance, sounding as perplexed and curious as Alice herself felt now regarding their unexpected visitor.

"If you'd follow me…." mumbled Alice, trailing off as she started down the corridor.

When they reached the door of Kathy's office, she knocked once and then opened it without waiting for a reply.

The man with the strange name, and an even more bizarre appearance, thanked Alice before he crossed the threshold.

Alice was bursting with curiosity, and she shared a glance with Kathy, but she nonetheless closed the door after the man entered the office and granted them privacy.

* * *

Kathy, seated behind her cluttered desk, stared at the man before her, astonished and blinking repeatedly.

"Good evening," said the man, whose name Kathy couldn't remember, as he took a seat on the rackety chair before her desk and then held out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"Er…" Kathy shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs and then shook the man's hand briefly, before she frowned and started searching for something on her desk, as she muttered, "Did we have an appointment? I don't recall…"

"I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Kathy blinked at him. "Did I?" But then she sighed and stopped perusing her cluttered, swamped desk. "I apologize, I don't know where I have my head nowadays, I've been very busy-"

"No need to apologize, I understand," said the man cordially, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle's and... Harry's arrangements for their future."

At that, Kathy snapped her head up to pierce him with her eyes. She frowned deeply. If she had received a letter about them, she would certainly remember.

"I'm a teacher," continued the man –Mr. Bumble-Dumbyby, or whatever the man's name was– as he placidly eyed her, "at a private boarding school in Scotland. I've come to offer them a place there. Their names have been down for our school since birth-"

"Who registered them?" interrupted Kathy, still frowning as she stared at him, puzzled. "Their parents?"

"Yes," replied the man, nodding. "Both their parents did."

"Both?" echoed Kathy feebly, as she felt a wave of apprenhension gripping her. Oh, she had known that someday it would come back to bite them in their arses. How would she explain now what Alice and her had done? How to explain that Harry believed himself to be Tom Riddle's fraternal twin?

"Yes, of course." The man was now frowning at her, as well.

Kathy cleared her throat, squirmed uncomfortably on her seat, and then said, "You know then, who their parents were?"

Mr. Bumbles looked troubled now, and he gazed at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Don't you?"

Kathy eyed him uneasily, but then her eyes narrowed. The man hadn't answered her – he wasn't giving her names. There was something very strange about the whole matter.

Albus stared at her. The haggard-looking woman before him looked jittery and nervous, as well as wary and suspicious. And she seemed to be very concerned about something in particular.

He wasn't the type of wizard who liked to cast spells on muggles - who by nature had no defense against it. And indeed, he always refrained from doing so when possible. But current circumstances seemed to require it.

Albus covertly drew his wand out from his velvet trouser's pocket, and gave it a flick, as he intensely bore his eyes into hers, deciding to find out the reason for her evident worry.

Instantly, his non-verbal Legilimency spell allowed him to see the memory floating at the forefront of the woman's mind – apparently, it was the very root of her apprehension. And without further ado, he plunged his own awareness into it.

The recollection unraveled before his eyes, the sounds and voices echoing in his ears.

There was Mrs. Cole, looking many years younger, and the woman who had opened the door – Alice Jones, it seemed her name was. They were being yelled at by an old woman… then the cry of a baby… the rushing of their feet… the baby on the doorstep…

Oh, he was intrigued now. A blanket depicting flying snitches. The baby's clothes with 'Harry' embroidered and an image of a moving lion cub on it. With those clothes, there was no doubt – the boy called Harry was no muggleborn. He had to be a halfblood, since pureblood parents wouldn't have abandoned him unless he was a squib. And that, he evidently wasn't, or Hogwarts' ledger wouldn't have had him in its list.

And then the nursery, with the other baby…. Ah, he understood now. The decision both women had taken. Alice Jones' reasons for it. Hmmm.

Albus pulled out of Mrs. Cole's mind and frowned musingly, pondering about what to do.

Finally, he quickly decided to let matters lay as they were – he could understand and sympathize with Miss Jones' feelings about the matter. And he would see for himself what had come out of it.

Now eager to see the boys, he picked up a piece of blank paper from the woman's desktop and tapped it with his wand's tip, before he handed it over. "Here. I believe this will make everything clear."

When Mrs. Cole's eyes gazed down at the piece of paper, Albus flicked his wand in her direction, as he said in a deep, clear tone of voice, "The Riddles registered their twin sons at my school before the accident which took their lives."

A small memory adjustment – a necessary lie, Albus deemed, since if not the Matron could decide to tell the boys the truth, believing that Albus would. And he rather not have Mrs. Cole believe that his school knew who Harry's parents had been, either. She certainly was a sharp and inquisitive woman, inconveniently so - with the spell he had cast, she would have no reason to suspect anything or dig into it.

Moreover, if he ever had reason to think that, for the boys' sake, they should be aware that they weren't twins or related, then it was something he could easily undo and fix back.

Yet, the mystery of the identity of Harry's parents, and the decision the caregivers had made regarding how to name him, didn't explain why the boy had no surname in Hogwarts' ledger. Albus felt extremely puzzled.

The woman's eyes glazed over, and then she nodded. "Everything seems perfectly in order." Then her eyes focused back, and she blinked, before she set the blank paper on her desk and offered amiably, "May I offer you a glass of gin?"

Dumbledore hesitated. He was eager to see the boys as soon as possible, since he had little time left before he had to prepare matters for the Order's meeting.

However, seeing the longing glance the woman was shooting at her bottle of gin, he nodded and smiled politely. "Thank you. I would enjoy one."

Mrs. Cole poured both of them a generous measure, and Albus took the opportunity to ask with mild interest, "What can you tell me about the boys?"

"About the Riddle twins?"

Kathy abruptly frowned at herself; there was something not right with what she had just said. But in the next second, she shook off the strange feeling, and drained her glass.

She pondered about what to tell him regarding the brothers. Perhaps how they had been born, yet… Her forehead crinkled. She clearly remembered about the weird-looking woman and how she had given birth to Tom, but after that, she didn't remember about Harry coming out.

Kathy wearily sighed. She had to be more tired than she had thought, and clearly getting old, if she couldn't quite remember that last part. She poured herself another glass of gin and chucked it down in one gulp.

Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks, and she rubbed her forehead pensively.

She could tell him about the many strange things that had happened: about the couple who had wanted to adopt Harry and then had ran out of the orphanage, shrieking with fear; or how Billy Stubb's bunny had died, and she had seen the piece of hair ribbon hanging from the rafters and known that Tom had somehow killed the bunny, and certainly not by 'accidentally stepping on it'; or how she had asphyxiated to the point of fainting and Tom had been standing there, watching, and she knew the boy had been causing it because they had been arguing about something... something she couldn't quite recall; or how Mrs. Sharpe's window had exploded for no apparent reason when Tom was being punished, with Harry in the room; or perhaps how they had found Mrs. Sharpe lying with her neck broken, and Kathy had her own dark suspicions about the matter because Tom hadn't been in the playroom with the rest of them when it had happened; or simply how all the children, except Harry, were scared of Tom and wouldn't go near him.

She could tell him that, and more, but Harry didn't deserve to lose the chance of going to the man's school just because his twin had turned out bad. And Alice would never forgive her if Tom lost the opportunity, anyway.

Her friend had always wanted the best education possible for Tom, in particular. And the man had said his school was a private one, right? It surely had to be much better than the public school in their neighborhood.

Moreover, Mr. Bunderbore had said it was a boarding school, so that meant the boys would only be coming back for their holidays and she could dearly use a respite from having Tom in her orphanage all year round.

So, she finally settled for telling him about the most innocuous of happenings, by comparison.

"Um, well," she began, "some things have happened… nothing serious… some years ago, the children's birthday presents started disappearing, if you know what I mean-"

"One of the boys is a thief?" interjected the man gravely, looking not at all pleased.

"Oh, not Harry, I'm sure!" she blurted out, firmly shaking her head. "And it only happened for a short period of time, then it stopped. And Alice even found her thimble on top of the kitchen's table." Bleary-eyed, she gazed at him and said vehemently, "Harry Riddle is a very good little boy - too energetic, perhaps, but he has a sweet disposition. Tom is… er, a bit odd, but… he's polite."

She felt her cheeks reddening with her lie, more of omission than anything else. And then a sudden hiccup jumped out from her throat. Feeling further uncomfortable under the man's gaze, who was staring at her as if he was about to skewer her with his eyes, she suddenly wanted nothing more but to put an end to the conversation. For some reason, the man now made her feel wary.

Kathy rose to her feet, with surprising steadiness, and prompted quickly, "I suppose you'd like to see them now?"

"Very much," said the man, rising too.

She reached her door and opened it, relieved when she found Alice standing against the opposite wall of the corridor, waiting for them.

"Could you take Mr. Dumberton up to the Riddle twins' room?" Kathy said, wondering why her friend then shot her a quizzical glance, as if she had just said something weird.

"Sure," said Alice, smiling warmly.

Kathy gave her farewells to the man and then locked herself in her office, wanting to finish her work of the day as quickly as possible, since for some reason she felt a sudden headache.

As Albus Dumbledore followed Alice Jones up the stairs, he would use his wand once again that evening, to cast on the woman the same spell he had cast on Mrs. Cole.


	8. Part I: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

**Thanks to all reviewers! Your comments and opinions always motivate me and keep me going! ^^**

Now, there's only one matter I need to clarify; the spell Dumbledore used on Kathy and then Alice, what it did and the consequences of it, for both women.

With the spell, Dumbledore implanted in their minds a fact, what we saw he said out loud with Kathy: "The Riddles registered their twin sons at my school before the accident which took their lives."

He said the Riddles, since it was the one surname he knew had to be correct because it appeared as Tom's surname in Hogwarts' ledger. And before meeting the boys, he had no reason to think that the Riddle name was important. He then believed that Harry was a halfblood of unknown parents, and that Tom could be nothing more than a muggleborn, given his muggle Riddle surname.

But you can see that he employed the Riddles, as if referring to Riddle Sr. and his wife. It's because he doesn't know about Merope Gaunt, and even less suspects that Kathy could know about her (and Kathy doesn't know her name, anyway). But this is obviously Dumbledore's mistake.

In this fic, because he was so curious about Harry's lack of surname in Hogwarts' ledger, he visited the orphanage some time before than he did in canon. And because of that, after meeting the Minister, he already had many things to prepare for the Order meeting.

Thus, he didn't have much time and didn't linger in Kathy's office to ask her a load of question as he did in canon. So, he missed the story of Merope Gaunt. Although, because of Harry, we saw that Kathy wouldn't have told him, anyway, just as she only revealed the thieving thing.

Regardless, you can see that with what he said, Dumbledore was referring to the Riddle couple, both of Tom's parents, thinking Kathy didn't know anything about either of them. So he made up that they had died in an accident, because it was the simplest and most easy thing anyone could believe.

But, unknown to him, Kathy does have the memory of Merope Gaunt giving birth to Tom. So she knows that Tom's mother didn't die in any accident. Dumbledore was unwittingly saved because for her, the statement of 'the Riddles died in an accident', can only refer to Riddle the father and the man's side of the family, which she knows nothing about. Even this doesn't perfectly fit. Her mind adapted to the facts implanted as best as it could.

That's why the spell didn't erase her memory of Merope Gaunt, but only made her feel certain that -since Harry and Tom being twins is now an incontrovertible factual truth in her mind- she simply doesn't remember Harry's birth after Tom's, because the memory is vague due to the passage of time.

On the other hand, one memory that was affected, and part of it erased, was that of when Tom asphyxiated her. Because then they had been arguing about not telling Harry the truth, about not being twins. She remembers the asphyxiation, and that they were arguing, but she doesn't remember why.

Lastly, the memory which was completely wiped out from her mind was that of the day in which they discovered Harry on the doorstep and decided to tell him Tom was his twin.

This memory is the only one Dumbledore thought would be affected by the spell. He isn't aware of what happened with the other memories, since he had no reason to even know about their existence.

This is one more case, in this fic, in which we can see that the wizard isn't infallible or omniscient. I don't like my Dumbledores to be perfect, and very much love him as I pictured him in canon, with many failings, much depth of feeling, weighted down with regrets and with the burden of the responsibilities he puts on his shoulders, which not all of them should be his, but he takes them on nonetheless, because he tries to use his power and brilliancy to help the wizarding world. In the end, he's a man with a core of steel, who has to sacrifice much of himself and of others, but who ultimately means good, no matter the many mistakes he makes and no matter if we think he's seriously misguided sometimes.

Now, as for Alice, her memories were affected just the same way as Kathy's, though probably more profoundly because Alice certainly must have thought about the whole 'twins lie' much more frequently than Kathy.

Regardless, you must see that Dumbledore implanted those facts, and let them spread and act in their minds, modifying accordingly, not because he likes to butt his nose into everything and loves to manipulate people.

No, he did it out of necessity, because if he left Kathy believing that Hogwarts knew who Harry's parents had been –as he assured her when he had to tell the lie that both boys' parents had enrolled them in the school- then he knew that Kathy, as sharp and inquisitive as she is, would have looked into it, more for Harry's sake than anything else.

So Dumbledore, to preserve the secrecy of Hogwarts and even the wizarding world, had no choice. And also, since he sympathized and understood Alice's decision, he decided that the lie about the boys being twins was a good thing, for the boys themselves.

All of this will have further consequences, of course… *winks*

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 8**

* * *

Tom sat on his bed, with an open book lying on his lap as he watched how Harry played with Nagini on the boy's own bed.

Both of them had already packed their things for the trip, in the following morning, to Southend-on-Sea. And in about an hour or so, one of the caregivers would start their rounds through the children's bedrooms to turn off the knob of their oil lamps and order them to go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Tom was mussing about what he would do the following day. During their last trip to the seaside, he had discovered a cave. Well, both Harry and he had.

It had been a cloudy, chilly day, too cold for swimming, so Mr. Hutchins had been playing with Harry and his stupid friends, making sand castles of all things, while the older boys, with Dennis on the lead, had been torturing a stranded starfish with a stick.

Mrs. Cole and Alice had been sitting several feet away from everyone, on the large table cloth they always brought to the beach; Kathy looking stern and grave as she carried a whispered conversation with Alice, while Alice hadn't seemed to be paying her much notice. The stupid woman had been gazing at Hutchins, with that idiotic, love-struck mooncalf expression she always wore when she watched Hutchins playing with the children. He pitied the man, truly.

Out of all the adults, he could say that Hutchins was the only one he respected to some degree. He tolerated him, at least, since Hutchins seemed to be the only one who had half a brain.

The man read a lot and liked the same sort of books that Tom did; non-fiction texts about serious matters, about politics or science, or history and the sort. And Tom somewhat enjoyed his discussions with him.

Nevertheless, he couldn't fully respect him due to the obvious love and affection Hutchins felt for the annoying, silly Alice Jones, and due to the man's beliefs regarding an ideal society where all were equal – such a ridiculously nonsensical and idiotic wish.

Regardless, the point was that that day, Tom had been bored out of his mind. He had miscalculated and he had finished, before expected, the book he had brought to the trip. Suddenly feeling the urge to stretch out his legs, he had stood up and started walking away.

He had smirked when, as he had predicted, Harry had snapped his head up to observe him. Moments later, Harry had run towards him, walking along his side, as he said excitedly, "Are we going treasure hunting?"

Tom hadn't lowered himself to reply to Harry's stupid question and wishful thinking, but he had been satisfied with the proof that, no matter what Harry was doing at the time, he always had half of his attention riveted on Tom.

Indeed, Harry had always rebelled against him in the matter of his right to spend time with his silly little friends. But at least, the boy always dropped them and came to Tom's side if he saw that Tom would be doing something interesting.

Harry may prefer his little friends for playing childish games, but he always chose Tom over them, in the end.

So both of them had meandered along the shoreline, without much hope of finding anything worthwhile. But, when the rest of the people were nothing more than distant black dots to them, Tom had caught sight of something. A few feet away from them, behind a bunch of towering boulders, he had seen a large, wide crack, with waves crashing against it, and with a hissing wind echoing from its depths.

Out of boredom more than curiosity, Tom had started climbing the slippery boulders with some difficulty. Behind him, Harry had seemed very excited, yapping constantly about what he imagined they would find on the other side.

It had been nothing magnificent, just the entrance to a cave. Nonetheless, they had gone inside, the wind howling through the cavernous, dripping rock walls. It had been dark, with only dim daylight spearing through the crack that served as the entrance.

"Look, I'm Frankenstein!" had cried out Harry, making stupid roaring sounds as he moved his arms and hands, forming a grotesque shadow on the cave's walls.

Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' had been, then, the latest story Hutchins had been reading to the boys of the orphanage. Tom hadn't paid much attention to it, just as he hadn't been interested in the tales from The Illiad or The Odyssey, simply because any fiction was a waste of time in his opinion, and those of the fantasy genre were the worst of them all – ridiculous, fanciful and childish.

Though he had been viciously amused when, for weeks after, many of the children had had nightmares, crying and screaming in the middle of the night, waking up the whole orphanage. Due to it, Alice's reprimanding yells at Hutchins, in the following days, had been vastly entertaining.

The only one who hadn't had nightmares, besides Tom of course, had been Harry. Not that it had surprised Tom; his brother did seem to like his monsters, even gross, murdering ones like Frankenstein's. Harry thought It was fascinating.

"Dr. Frankenstein's monster," Tom had corrected absent-mindedly, as he observed the shadows, which, in truth, did look scary and ominous. The whole cave -though they hadn't had time to explore it into its depths- had a spine-chilling and eerie quality to it.

His idea about how to use the cave had been born then, even more so when Harry had suddenly paled and stopped flailing his arms around in that stupid manner.

"What is it?" Tom had snapped, when he saw that Harry had been staring at him, with a look akin to fear.

"Nothin'," his brother had mumbled, looking wary and uncomfortable. "It's just that – for a moment- I thought I saw… I imagined, it was a sort of flash…" He had trailed off and then finally muttered, "The red eyes."

Tom hadn't needed to ask him what he was referring to. Harry's nightmare about a green light and red eyes had become less frequent during the years, but the boy still had them. And it still annoyed Tom, because it was simply stupid. Though he hadn't missed how Harry had been fixedly staring into his eyes right then, as if what the boy had seen was Tom's eyes being red, like those of the nightmare.

And Tom had smirked at that, having one more proof of how scary and eerie the cave could be since it affected his brother to the point that the boy was imagining such imbecilic things. It would be perfect for his plan.

Thus, at present, Tom was pondering how he would carry it out. He would have to ditch Harry and be careful of not garnering Kathy's attention –the nasty old bat had a very sharp eye. But he already knew who his victims would be and what he would say to them to cajole them into following him into the cave - and what he would do to them once they were inside.

Choosing his victims had been easy. It would be the three who annoyed him the most:

Amy Benson because the thirteen-year-old girl –the prettiest and sweetest in the orphanage! according to everyone- was a pest. Always fluttering her eyelashes at all the boys, simpering and smiling coyly.

He despised her, further, because her interest in Harry had only increased with the years. She was always around his brother, hanging from his arm, giggling and flirting obnoxiously. And Harry was a dunce and didn't shove her away in disgust, as he should.

Billy Stubbs because the boy was older now and seemed to have gained a modicum of self-confidence - and even a backbone. Billy needed a reminder of why he feared Tom, and also, after three years, the boy needed to remember what he couldn't blab about and what would happen to him if he even tried.

All of Harry's friends had forgotten about the 'fantastic' things Harry had done and displayed, long ago during those months when Tom had ignored his little brother. And Harry, just as Tom had ordered him to, had never attempted to do anything like that again.

Nevertheless, that meant that Billy Stubb's memory about what Tom had demonstratively done to Puffy the Bunny had also lost some of its strength. And Tom was more than willing to remind him about it, with full details.

Lastly, Dennis Bishop, because the boy was a bully and still shot Tom nasty, hateful glances but was too much of a coward to do anything to him. Also because the boy would soon be turning eighteen and thus would be leaving the orphanage, and it would be his parting gift to the boy.

Moreover, because Tom didn't like all the attention Harry gave the bully. Ever since Hutchins had taught Harry how to fight, his brother had been planning and vying to find another opportunity in which to fight Dennis without the caregivers noticing or interfering.

Ever since Harry's first victory against a boy much older than him – and Tom hadn't expected Harry to win when the boy was tiny compared to Dennis, though it seemed that technique, practice, and flash-like reflexes had trumped brute strength in that occasion- his brother had more than once ignored him whilst planning how to beat Dennis to a pulp once more. And Tom didn't like to be ignored.

Tom let out a displeased grunt at that thought, and Harry turned around to glance at him, cocking his head to a side when he saw his brother's expression; one that indicated that Tom was up to something - something he wouldn't like.

Harry was about to open his mouth when he caught sight of the book resting on his brother's lap. It was the one Tom had filched from the latest bookshop in which they had carried out their little act, about two months ago during the orphanage's incursion into commercial London. It was about 'Herpetotogy', or something of the sort – in essence, about snakes.

He huffed and turned back to scratch Nagini's scales, making her hiss contentedly. Tom believed that there was something wrong with their friend, that was why his brother had filched that book.

According to Tom, it wasn't normal that Nagini hadn't grown a single inch -neither in length nor width- during the many years they had known her. But Harry was quite happy about that, since he could easily carry her under his shirt, coiled around his forearm.

But then, when some of her scales had turned black or violet, beginning to form some strange pattern along her thin body, Tom had been further flummoxed because he couldn't find out what kind of snake she was. Her 'species' didn't appear in his book, at least not the pattern which her scales now formed.

Furthermore, once, when Harry had gone to the bathroom to brush his teeth and also wash his feet – because Tom wouldn't let him inside his bed if he didn't, the prissy bastard- he had returned to their bedroom to find Tom with a strange expression on his face.

Nagini had been placidly dozing off on Harry's bed, and according to Tom, he had, for a second, seen how her scales had turned grey, camouflaging with the pillow. Something only chameleons and such could do, his brother had said.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't see why his brother frowned because of that. They had 'special abilities', so why would it be so surprising if Nagini could do strange things too?

However, Tom seemed… 'skeptic' – that was the word, the one he had overheard Alice using when she had been arguing with Kathy, because Tom still refused to go to church and Harry wouldn't go either if his brother didn't. Alice had bemoaned that Tom didn't believe in God and had called him a skeptic, but had said that they shouldn't force them to attend church, regardless.

Harry scratched the soft, small scales under Nagini's jaw –her favorite petting place- and then tugged the hem of his pajama top, scowling with annoyance. The pants didn't reach his ankles and his top hung loosely from one of his shoulders, displaying it, and was also too short, showing a bit of his midriff.

Oh, he was proud that he had had a growth spurt, at last, but it had been way after the rest of the boys, and even girls, had already grown taller. And even though he had gained some inches in height, he remained skinny, and Tom was still nearly a full head taller than him.

'A late bloomer', Alice had called him, thinking it was endearing. Harry had glared at her, not finding it amusing, at all. It galled him.

Even the grandmotherly coos of old matrons had started vexing him – as if he was some kind of pretty-faced doll. And the way they pinched his cheeks with sharp fingernails –calling him 'so handsome', and 'sweet' and 'cute'- truly hurt.

Why didn't they do that to Tom as well? His brother was called 'handsome' too, but no old lady dared to pinch Tom in any way or place.

Harry didn't think it was fair, not at all.

It highly miffed him nowadays, though he forced himself to put up with it, because he was aware that his still 'adorable' looks gave him a free rein, allowing him to do many things, unsuspected and unpunished, he otherwise wouldn't be able to.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on their door, and with his eyes growing wide in alarm, Harry instantly yanked his bed sheet over Nagini, as he hissed urgently, _"Don't move – and keep quiet!"_

He shot Tom a panicky glance, because no one had ever discovered her thus far, but he knew it wouldn't go over well if they did. And they should still have an hour before they were told to turn off their oil lamp!

Alice didn't like snakes; no one seemed to, though Harry had no idea why. It wasn't as if Nagini was dangerous – she did have a vicious streak and liked to torment and play with her food before eating them, but that was hardly cause for concern. She was a snake, after all.

But no, it wasn't even that. The reason he panicked was because Nagini was a willful creature and he wasn't sure she would obey him. Most times he was glad that she didn't – he didn't want to be called 'master' and be treated as such, as she did with Tom. But now, Tom wouldn't have the time to issue his own orders to her.

Indeed, just as Harry fretfully jumped to his feet, hiding with his body where Nagini laid coiled under the bed sheet, their door opened.

As Alice entered their room, he plastered a wide, innocent smile on his face. Though, in the next second, he frowned a bit when he saw her rubbing her forehead, as if it ached.

Though any concern for her evaporated when he caught sight of the man who walked in, right behind her. His green eyes nearly bulged out, round as platters.

"Tom, Harry, you've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberdoor-"

"Dumbledore," interrupted the man, warmly smiling, his eyes even seemed to twinkle behind his half-moon glasses as he swept his gaze over them. "Albus Dumbledore." He then turned to Alice as he added very kindly and politely, "I would like to speak with them in private, if it would not be too much of an inconvenience."

"Oh." Alice blinked at the man, and then mumbled, "Yes, of course - certainly."

She looked disappointed, but then shot Harry a smile that looked tense to him, and left the room, closing the door shut behind her.

The man did a strange thing then, he waved his hand at the door – as if he was doing something, but nothing happened. However, he seemed satisfied as he turned around to gaze at them once more.

Harry shot his brother a bewildered glance, seeing that Tom had also stood up, though his brother's shoulders were stiff and tense, and he seemed to be skewering the man with narrowed, dark blue eyes.

"Who are you?" demanded Tom, in that chilly tone of voice he used when he was ordering people around – and which made most cringe as if they had been struck by a blow.

"As I've said, my name is Albus Dumbledore," said the man placidly, not looking at all ruffled by Tom's tone, though by the way he spoke, he seemed to be in a hurry. "I'm a professor at a school in Scotland, called Hogwarts-"

"Professor?" piped in Harry then, shooting his brother a quizzical glance. "That's a teacher, right?"

Tom nodded in response, very briskly and briefly, but didn't peel his eyes away from the man.

His brother didn't say a word, but a fearful suspicion then crept in Harry's mind. The wary way Alice had looked, how tense Tom was now… And he remembered how, so long ago, Tom had warned him that if he kept doing strange things in front of others, someday someone could come from an asylum to take them away.

He hadn't done anything in years -not unless he was in the privacy of their bedroom- but the explosion of Mrs. Sharpe's window three years ago had been his fault. And he had overheard Alice tell Kathy that Jenkins had been going around the neighborhood blaming him and Tom for it.

His heart pumped fast and hard with fear, and Harry quickly reached Tom's side, fisting his small hands, ready to do anything in their defense.

He didn't think he could take down the man before them, but he could land some blows.

If Alice and Kathy were behind this –and it hurt and pained him to even think it, he felt so deeply betrayed- then he would shout and scream, and make them run into the room. And he would put his most pathetic and wounded expression on his face, and he would sob so heart-wrenchingly that he knew he would be able to make them change their minds.

At last, with all the bravery he could muster and ready for battle, he snapped, "You don't look like a teacher." Which was true, since the man seemed to belong to an asylum rather than work in one, given how he was dressed. Nevertheless, he continued sharply, "Are you a doctor – from the asylum?"

The man –Dumbledore, Harry reminded himself- looked surprised at that. He shook his head and said kindly, "I am not from an asylum. I work at a school called Hogwarts and I've come to offer both of you a place there – in your new school, if you would like to come. If you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts."

Mr. Dumbledore stared at them expectantly, though Harry noticed how the man's bespectacled gaze lingered on his scar, as if he was curious and perhaps puzzled about it.

His brother must have noticed too, because Tom clamped a hand on his forearm and pulled him further against his chest, making them take several steps backwards.

Tom was evidently leaving room for the man to sit on his bed, but remained standing. And his grip prevented Harry from doing anything else but stand next to him.

It didn't escape Harry's notice how Tom had angled their bodies, with their calves hitting Harry's bed, thus making sure Mr. Dumbledore wouldn't sit on it, where Nagini lay under the sheets.

"Hogwarts," continued Mr. Dumbledore, once he had placidly seated himself on Tom's bed, seemingly not minding that they were too suspicious of him to do the same, "is a school for people with special abilities -"

"Special abilities?" blurted out Harry, his eyes round, suddenly feeling a sense of exhilaration rushing through him. He snapped his head up to gaze at his brother. "Tom! He knows! He's talking about-"

"Shut up!" snapped Tom at him, looking angered as he shot him a brief glare, before he narrowed his eyes at Mr. Dumbledore once more, adding harshly, "We don't know yet what he's talking about."

Mr. Dumbledore remained silent for a second and then peered at them over the brim of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm talking about magic – what you can both do."

"Magic!" Harry cried out, at the same time that his brother did. Though while Harry had nearly jumped in the air with excitement, Tom had sneered the word out, glaring and scowling at the man seated before them.

"You mean it's magic what we can do?" rambled Harry joyously, waving his hands around. "Like in Alice's fairy tales and all-"

"What can you do?" prompted Mr. Dumbledore, gazing at him gently.

"Oh, many things," chirped Harry happily. "We can move things around, and once I disappeared from one spot and appeared in another – though Tom didn't let me try again. And we can also-"

"You're lying," said Tom then, acidly, cutting short Harry's ramblings as he pierced Mr. Dumbledore with eyes narrowed to slits. "My brother believes you because he's stupid. But I know there's no such thing as magic-"

"How do you explain, then, what your brother and you can do?"

Tom's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer and Mr. Dumbledore gazed at him indulgently, before he said firmly, "I assure you, Magic is very much real, as is the Magical World where wizards, like me and like you, live-"

"Wizards… we're wizards… Truly? Really?" breathed out Harry, peering at the man with wide, hopeful eyes.

Mr. Dumbledore warmly smiled at him, nodding his head.

Harry instantly rounded on his brother, digging an elbow into Tom's ribs, feeling revindicated as he laughed, "See, Tom! And all the times you called me an idiot because I thought that perhaps Alice's tales might be right. And when I told you that there had to be other people like us, and when I said that-"

"That doesn't mean you were right," bit out Tom, shooting him a dark glare, before he transferred it to Mr. Dumbledore. "And I still don't believe it. Where is this 'Magical World', then? We've never seen it, nor a single thing, sign or clue, that-"

"The Magical World is kept hidden from muggles-"

"Muggles?" snapped Tom instantly, demanding an explanation and clearly peeved that the man was using terms he didn't know.

"Non-magical people," said Mr. Dumbledore succinctly.

"Muggles…" repeated Tom under his breath, and Harry shot him a glance at that, due to the tone of voice his brother had used; as if 'muggles' represented a lowly thing, as if Tom felt reassured by the fact that there was a tag for such people, since it proved what his brother had always believed, that they were both –and Tom in particular– superior to the people around them.

Nevertheless, Harry was far too giddy to be bothered with that, and he focused all his attention back to the man, as he rambled eagerly, "And what kind of place is this Magical World? Do you have castles and knights? Dragons and princes, and do people fly with wings, and are there houses made of chocolate, and is there-"

He was interrupted when Mr. Dumbledore chuckled under his long, auburn beard, looking amused, his eyes twinkling warmly as he gazed at him. "We don't have knights nor princes or princesses. We have no monarchy. But we do have enchanted castles – Hogwarts is a good example of one. We do have dragons, cared for and looked after by wizards, in reservations. And wizards and witches are able to fly, but aided, usually with broomsticks." He stroked his beard, and chuckled again. "We don't have houses made of chocolate or candies, but I think it's an excellent idea. I see that one of your caregivers must be a Grimm brothers fan."

"Oh…" breathed out Harry, with an entranced expression on his face, his wildest dreams already coming true by the mere mention that people could fly –and with broomsticks!– and that dragons really existed.

"You can learn about all of this, and much more, if you choose to attend Hogwarts-"

"Of course we do!" piped in Harry instantly, nodding repeatedly and most vehemently, nearly bursting with enthusiasm and elation– he couldn't wait!

When his brother said nothing, he spun around to peer up at him, wondering what was wrong. Tom was still fixedly staring at Mr. Dumbledore, his expression hard and grave.

"You could be making everything up – trying to trick us," said Tom sharply, dislike and suspicion for the man dripping in his every word. "We know what we can do, but we don't know that you're like us. Do something to prove that what you say is true."

Mr. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I will, if you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"

"Prove it first!" commanded Tom with ringing force, like a reverberating whiplash.

Mr. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed minutely, evidently not pleased at the boy's tone of voice, but then his gaze flickered across the room. He seemed to be looking for something, for a particular reason, though Harry couldn't fathom what he was searching for.

There was nothing in the room except their small nightstand with the oil lamp, their two beds against opposing walls, and their old, rackety wardrobe. The man seemed interested in the latter, since his eyes fixed on it, a grave expression growing on his face as if he was about to chide them for something.

The man stood up and pulled a stick of some sort from his pocket, aiming it at the wardrobe, and then, a second later, flames erupted.

Harry cried out in alarm and shock, as he leapt forward to attempt to stop the fire, somehow. "No! All our things!"

However, in the next blink of the eye, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Harry stared, and blinked, and then gaped as he spun around to glance at Mr. Dumbledore. He frowned slightly when he saw that the man looked puzzled – the man's eyes once more roving over their bedroom, looking for who-knew-what.

Meanwhile, he saw that his brother was standing there, with a fascinated and greedy expression on his face - he looked almost feverish.

"What's that?" demanded Tom, his eyes gleaming as he pointed at Mr. Dumbledore's stick.

"A wand. Wizards and witches use wands to channel their magic, and thus cast controlled spells-"

"Where can we get them?" interrupted Tom instantly, clearly at present not too interested in explanations.

Mr. Dumbledore peered at him, intently, over the top of his half-moon spectacles. There was no warm smile on his face or twinkle in his eyes, as he said, "If you both accept your place at Hogwarts-"

"We do!" snapped Tom impatiently, glaring at him as if the man was purposely keeping the information regarding where to get wands as some sort of blackmail material to be used against him.

"Then you will address me as 'sir' or 'professor'," continued Mr. Dumbledore as if Tom hadn't interrupted him at all.

Then, Harry felt it; something shifted. His brother and the man stared at each other, for a fleeting moment, as if they were having a fierce battle of wills. Though it didn't surprise him one bit when Tom's whole countenance changed, abruptly.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore. I apologize," said Tom very politely, looking properly chastised.

Harry swallowed his snort of amusement, as he saw that Mr. Dumbledore believed that Tom was being sincere, just like everyone else who had been duped by his brother when he employed such tactics. Though, perhaps not – the man didn't smile again.

Nevertheless, Mr. Dumbledore didn't seem to hold a grudge, as he then said pleasantly, "You can buy your wands and spellbooks at Diagon Alley."

The man plucked out two leather pouches from his pockets, along with two thick envelopes. Mr. Dumbledore handed all of it over to them, as he went on to explain about Hogwarts' fund for those who needed monetary assistance and about how to get to Diagon Alley. When the man mentioned 'Tom' the bartender, he didn't seem to catch his brother's thinning and twist of the lips.

Harry was tempted to say something about it, to taunt his brother about how he thought 'Tom' was a common name. But he remained silent out of loyalty, and also because another reason his brother despised his own name was because he shared it with Mr. Jenkins – and that was no laughing matter.

Furthermore, Mr. Dumbledore seemed to have other things on his mind, and the man's gaze was starting once more to flicker to his scar.

Harry didn't open his envelope or his leather pouch, neither did Tom. It was clear that they were of the same mind – they would do it when they were alone, to be able to freely discuss the whole affair.

"May I ask how that wound on your forehead was inflicted?"

Harry had expected Mr. Dumbledore's question, given the man's lingering gaze. However, what he didn't expect was that the man would stretch out a hand as he spoke, intending to touch his scar.

Instantly, Harry recoiled away from the fingers, almost violently.

He never allowed anyone to touch it, except Tom of course, who could soothe it for some reason. Even in his earlier memories, when Alice used to touch his scar before he harshly told her not to, the scar had prickled most unpleasantly, badly reacting to her touch.

And just as Harry had taken a step away from the man's hand, it seemed that his brother had been thinking along those lines as well, since Harry abruptly found himself being pulled back against Tom's chest.

His brother wrapped his arms around Harry from behind, nearly crushing him with a sort of possessive protectiveness, as he hissed out furiously, "Don't touch him!"

Mr. Dumbledore's reaching hand hung in mid-air, and a mesh of expressions crossed the man's face for a brief moment, displaying puzzlement and apprehension, Harry thought; as if there was something bad and wrong about his scar, which the man felt but couldn't quite explain to himself.

It was very strange, and Harry didn't like the man's reaction at all.

At first, he had been suspicious and wary of Mr. Dumbledore, but then, when the man had chuckled and gazed at him warmly as he told him about flying on broomsticks, dragons and how houses made of chocolate was a good idea, Harry had started to truly like him, thinking he had found a kindred spirit.

Now, however, he wanted the man gone. Also because his scar was starting to throb painfully, and he could feel that it was due to Tom; it felt like when Tom had punished Dennis and made the boy hurt.

Harry was convinced that Tom was prepared to do the same to Mr. Dumbledore, and the man seemed to sense something of the sort, because he was staring at Tom with a grave expression on his face, as if appraising him and not liking what he found.

"It's just a scar – I've always had it," muttered Harry, gently rubbing his forehead, still within the protective fold of his brother's arms, as he tried to ease the situation and satisfy the man's curiosity so that he would leave.

Mr. Dumbledore dropped his hand and stopped scrutinizing Tom, and some of the tension seemed to dissipate as a calm and placid expression spread on the man's face. He nodded, looking as if he accepted Harry's reply.

"Very well," he said, "I believe everything is settled, then." He shot them a glance over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "If you are certain you don't require my escort to Diagon Alley, for the day you decide to go-"

"We don't," snapped Tom curtly, from the top of Harry's head. "We know our way around London. We don't need your help – we'll find it."

Mr. Dumbledore said nothing and merely nodded once more, giving them a parting bow of the head as he moved towards the door. Harry exhaled with relief – but he did it too soon.

Just then, their friend decided to remind everyone of her existence, that she was still there, and wanted some attention and would have it.

And Harry blamed Tom for it, because she had adopted some of his brother's worse personality traits, one of them being getting irritated when she was ignored by Harry for too long.

From under the bed sheets, coming out as muffled sounds, Nagini started hissing some annoyed and complaining nonsense, and Harry –with his nerves already frayed and being too tired to think straight- reacted automatically.

"_Keep silent!"_

Harry froze the moment he realized what he had done – that he had not only said it, but also hissed it.

He didn't think that this ability of theirs was particularly important and even less, special, but Tom had interrupted him when he had been telling Mr. Dumbledore about the things they could do. And he didn't think it had been an accident. It was clear that Tom hadn't wanted to give the man more information about them than necessary, and this certainly wasn't something the man needed to know, either way.

Feeling as if he had let down his brother, he bit his bottom lip and dared to peer up at Tom, expecting to see him glaring down at him. But Tom wasn't looking at him, and his arms -still wrapped around Harry- hadn't tensed nor were they squashing him painfully as punishment for his slip of the tongue.

Harry realized what was going on when he saw that Tom was staring, with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes, at Mr. Dumbledore, who seemed to have spun around the moment he had heard the hissing.

The man was now piercing Harry with his eyes, with such intensity as Harry had never seen before. Mr. Dumbledore's sky blue eyes were roving over Harry's features, inspecting them, as if looking for some kind of clue.

Then, the man gestured at Harry's bed, where all of them could see a lump moving fretfully under the sheets. "May I?"

"Go ahead," said Tom coolly, still without peeling his eyes from Mr. Dumbledore, as he pulled Harry to a side to give the man space.

Mr. Dumbledore grabbed one end of the bed sheet and pulled it away, carefully and even gently, but that didn't change the fact that it revealed their little friend to his eyes.

"_Can I speak now?"_ hissed Nagini, her tone of voice showing her extreme annoyance with them. She then coiled her tail, using it to prop herself up so that her head rose and she could peer at the man staring back at her. _"Who's this? The human who's been yapping all this time?" _

She blinked slowly, flickering her forked tongue out. _"What is he wearing?"_ She sounded as horrified as Harry had felt when he had seen Mr. Dumbledore's velvet, yellow suit. But her interest in the man didn't last long. She flicked her tail, as if dismissing him as being below her notice, and then reared her head back to skewer Harry with her golden eyes, as she bit out accusingly, _"And why were you ignoring me? I was cold!"_

The damage was already done, so Harry simply sat on his bed, rolling his eyes at her attitude, and then offered his forearm. Nagini didn't waste a second. She slithered up and squirmed and shifted until she was cozily wrapped around his forearm, leaving only her head popping out from under his sleeve.

"You can speak to snakes?"

Harry glanced up at Mr. Dumbledore at that, thinking it was a pretty stupid question, all things considered.

"So can I," decided Tom to inform him. But when Harry glanced at him, he didn't see the superiority or smugness he would have expected at that proclamation; because of course Tom wouldn't want the man to think that Harry could do something that he couldn't.

But since Tom wasn't acting as Harry thought he would, he knew something was going on; something which Tom had noticed and he hadn't. Indeed, Tom hadn't stopped staring at Mr. Dumbledore. So now Harry observed him as well, and he saw that after Tom's declaration, the man looked even more wary and befuddled than before.

"Both of you?" Mr. Dumbledore said, as if he needed to reiterate on the point because it was too impossible to believe.

Harry's opinion about the man's intelligence was dropping fast. They were twins, so if Harry could speak to snakes it wasn't too surprising that Tom could as well! And yet, the man looked gobsmacked.

"Is it normal for a wizard to be able to speak to snakes?" asked Tom coolly, his manner nonchalant.

"It is… unusual," said Mr. Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, his expression quickly having changed to a calm one, "but not unheard of."

Tom's eyes narrowed, and Harry didn't miss either that by the sound of it, and due to the man's pause, there was much that Mr. Dumbledore wasn't telling them about, regarding the matter.

Mr. Dumbledore's eyes once more moved curiously over Harry's face, and then also over Tom's. He seemed to want to linger there with them for some more time, but then he looked hurried once again.

He shot them parting nods, as he intoned pleasantly, "Good-bye, Tom, Harry. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

And with that, the man left and closed the door behind him.

Harry let out an exhalation of breath, carding his fingers through his hair as he glanced up at his brother. "What do think _that_ was all about?"

Tom wore a pensive expression on his face as he sat beside Harry. "He didn't like it, that we could speak to snakes." Harry nodded, since he had felt the same, though his brother continued, now with a gleam of relish in his dark blue eyes, "He fears it."

Harry shot him a frown. He hadn't noticed anything that would imply that much. Mr. Dumbledore had been uneasy- but fearful? Though he wasn't surprised by his brother's reaction if it was true. Of course Tom would revel in the notion that Mr. Dumbledore -a full-grown wizard who thus had to have more special abilities than they did- was scared of him.

"Why would he fear it?" piped in Harry, his frown deepening.

Tom shot him a smug smirk. "That's something we'll have to figure out, won't we?"

"Right." Harry rolled his eyes; he should have seen that one coming.

Then he stood up and grabbed Tom's envelope and leather pouch, since he already had his in his hands. He took one step forward, to the very center of the small space between their beds, and then used the tip of his toes to wrangle with the loose floorboard.

The rectangular piece of wood came off and Harry crouched down to look at the secret hiding place where they kept all their 'treasures' – all the things they had filched from stores, throughout the years.

It had been Harry who, long ago, had complained that they couldn't keep all the stuff in their wardrobe. Because every time he had to pull out a shirt, Tom's countless stolen books came tumbling out.

So one day Harry had chosen the floorboard that creaked the loudest when he stepped on it. And for a whole week, he had stomped and jumped on it, until one edge chipped and he was able to yank it off.

The dusty space under it wasn't too deep, but it was large, horizontally. He only had to stick in his arm, up to his elbow, and he could reach all the things they had stuffed in there.

Of all the things they had filched from stores for Harry, not much was left except a motorcar toy and a model of an airplane of the Great War – Harry's most cherished possessions. This was simply because other than that, and some story books, Harry usually made Tom filch food, candy or chocolate for him, while he acted his part.

And thus, the space was mostly occupied by Tom's innumerable books – his brother only wanted that from stores. Even Tom's once cherished cardboard box was still there, though the boy hadn't opened it in ages and Harry knew that his brother didn't value its contents anymore, not since he had made Tom give back Alice's thimble.

As Harry stuck their envelopes and leather pouches inside, he said idly, "We can open them tomorrow. We don't have time now - soon someone will come to check if we're asleep."

Much of his excitement, caused by Mr. Dumbledore's disclosure about magic and its world, had significantly dimmed after the strange things that the man had done – Dumbledore's reaction to his scar and about the whole speaking-with-snakes ability.

Oh, Harry was still a bit dazed and giddy, but he was wary too.

He turned around as he put the floorboard back in place, just to see Tom nodding at him in agreement.

As he stood up again, a mighty yawn escaped from Harry's mouth, and he didn't give Tom a chance to fight him.

Tom was still seated on Harry's bed, they were both in their pajamas, and Nagini was already dozing off, curled around his forearm. Thus, Harry shoved his brother unto the mattress –making Tom let out a startled grunt- and he quickly plopped himself down by his brother's side, as he found the bed sheet Mr. Dumbledore had thrown to a side, yanking it up to cover them.

"We'll sleep in my bed tonight," he mumbled sleepily, as he snuggled up to Tom's warm body, very much like Nagini always did with him. His brother could be a very cozy, fluffy pillow when he let it happen.

Tom grumbled about something under his breath, but he didn't protest any further at the use Harry was making of him. The taller boy simply stretched out a hand towards the nightstand, to turn off the oil lamp, and then allowed Harry to happily wrap himself around Tom as he pleased.

Nevertheless, Harry could still see his brother's face under the dim moonlight that speared through their thin, frayed curtains. Tom didn't look as if he would be falling asleep anytime soon – he had that expression on his face which told Harry that he had many things on his mind he was musing about.

Indeed, his brother looked conflicted, and Harry had an inkling about why. Sometimes, Harry didn't understand Tom at all, not his motives or reasons. Other times, like then, he could read his brother like an open book.

"I was right and you're not happy about it," remarked Harry, a bit of a taunting tone in his voice, as he tilted his head up –which rested on Tom's chest- to peer at him. He even shot his brother one of those smug smirks Tom so liked to use on him.

Tom merely graced him with an annoyed scowl before he went back to stare at the ceiling.

Undaunted, Harry continued, now trying to soothe his brother's ruffled feathers, "But you know, it's not a bad thing that there are others like us. It doesn't mean we're less special – that's what you don't like, right? That we're no longer unique?"

His brother grunted as a mode of response – Tom clearly wasn't in a mood for much chatter.

"But once, long ago when we discussed the possibility," added Harry softly, "you said that there was one positive thing if there were others like us – that we could learn from them more about our special abilities. Well, you were also right, then. You see?"

Tom scoffed, and for a moment Harry was disappointed, thinking that would be the only thing he would get from him.

However, his brother cleared his throat and then said superiorly, a tone of voice that some times irritated Harry but which now felt comforting simply because it was pure Tom, "Of course I was right. We'll go to this Hogwarts school and see what it has to offer. If I think-"

"If _we_ think," corrected Harry pointedly, shooting him a dark glare.

Tom scoffed once again, this time sounding snide and dismissive. But then he smirked and mussed Harry's hair, as he said placidly, "Of course, little brother. If _we_ think that what they have to teach us is useful and worthwhile, then we'll stay. We'll learn as much as we can and then make our own way in the world."

Annoyed, Harry swatted his brother's fingers away from his hair. His brother always mocked him for having wild, unruly hair, but then Tom always enjoyed messing it up even more.

When he stopped battling against his brother's fingers, he asked in a deceptive, mild tone of voice, "Then our plan of escaping and going to America when we turned fifteen…?"

"Postponed," said Tom curtly, leveling at Harry a hard gaze, as if he was readying himself for a fight.

But his brother had nothing to fear; he had replied exactly what Harry had wanted to hear.

He shot Tom a wide grin, and chirped loftily, "Good. And by the way, tomorrow we won't be going to Southend-on-Sea. We'll stay put, and when everyone's gone, we'll slip away from the orphanage. We'll go to Diagon Alley – I can't wait to see what this 'magical world' is like."

Much to his surprise, Tom did put up a fight regarding that. It made Harry very suspicious. Tom was the one person who didn't find much enjoyment in their trips to the country or seaside, and now he was arguing against missing it.

But in the end, Harry won, just as he knew he would because he had ways in which to make Tom end up doing whatever he wanted. It never failed.

He cajoled and whined and peered up at him with wide, hurt, teary eyes, and all together made such a nuisance of himself that Tom had no choice but to relent, because his brother was well aware that Harry could easily and effortlessly nag him during the whole night and not let him sleep a wink.

It was simply a matter of who, out of the two of them, could be more stubborn and bothersome. And Harry always came on top, in both aspects.

And so, Harry fell asleep, hiding a small, smug smirk against his brother's chest, his thin arms wrapped around him as if Tom was his very own cuddly teddy bear.

* * *

Nearly one hour before, Albus Dumbledore had left St. Jerome's Orphanage, his mind swirling with countless, puzzling thoughts.

After seeing Mrs. Cole and before meeting the boys, he had simply thought that Harry had to be a halfblood and Tom a muggleborn.

Even if Horace had been of the opinion that 'Marvolo' had to be a wizarding name, Albus hadn't given it much importance. It wouldn't be the first time muggles came up with a strange name that sounded like the ones used in the wizarding world.

Moreover, the name 'Marvolo' didn't ring any bells. He had never been acquainted or heard of a wizard called such, and it wasn't one of the many names that certain wizarding families liked to bestow on their children, as per tradition of their lines.

However, after seeing the boys, Albus was now certain of a couple of things and was in the dark about many other.

Regarding their personalities, he could only find fault with Tom's, which left much to be desired. Even the boy's possessiveness over Harry had made him inwardly raise an eyebrow. However, there had also been protectiveness, and thus, he couldn't find fault with Alice Jones' decision of making them believe they were twins.

Indeed, he shuddered to think how a boy like Tom would have turned out if he hadn't had someone as a trusted and constant companion -as Harry seemed to be- in a setting such as the orphanage. Hence, for now, he believed that his decision to protect them from the truth, regarding their lack of relation to each other, had been the right one.

On another note, Albus Dumbledore had many extraordinary magical abilities, many of which he kept a secret. One of them was his uncanny sensitivity and perception of the magic around him and within wizards.

From the start, as soon as he had been in the boys' presence, he had felt it. Tom Riddle's magic was dark by nature. If left unchecked and unguided, the boy would naturally feel akin to and inclined to the Dark Arts, and very possibly delve into them.

It was something, of course, that he couldn't let happen, for the boy's own sake. So many had lost and ruined themselves due to the Dark Arts. And the teachers at Hogwarts had the responsibility of saving their pupils from such fate.

Nonetheless, that Tom Riddle had had at least one parent from a dark magical line was now obvious.

Then, there was Harry, whose magic had felt light, but which had a taint of darkness within it. It was that taint which could make the boy lean towards the Dark Arts. The boy was in danger due to it, just like Tom Riddle.

When Albus had seen the boy's scar, he had suspected it was the cause for it.

The scar had instantly caught his attention – it had looked fresh, as if it had just then been inflicted and as if it would never heal properly. It even looked as it could split open and bleed again at any moment. And the feeling it had given him…

It was for a reason that Albus had attempted to touch it without asking for permission first; not because he wanted to be inconsiderate, but because he had needed to test it.

And then, when his fingers had been but an inch away from the scar, he had felt it most potently – a tendril of dark magic, lashing out. It had been strong, intense, as if it had a mind of its own, and as if it had been reacting to Albus' own powerful light magic, deeming him a threat.

Never had he encountered such a thing.

Oh, there were several dark curses that could have left such a scar, and even left it with a lingering buzz of dark magic – but not that powerful. And certainly not with dark magic that seemed alive.

Moreover, the fact alone that the boy had been cursed was already cause for concern. From what Harry had said, it must have been when the boy had been very young, perhaps even a baby, since the boy couldn't recall how or when he had gotten the scar. And the boy clearly didn't know he had been cursed at all.

Then there was the matter that the boys were parselmouths. One of them alone being such would have startled and puzzled him. The two of them, when he knew they weren't twins… well, it was mystery of such magnitude that Albus felt completely out of his depth.

He wasn't an expert regarding the parselmouth trait, but he had a pretty good notion regarding it, from historical records he had once perused out of sheer curiosity. Nowadays, it was not simply uncommon, it was unique.

The magical ability had originated in some few pureblood lines in India, from which only a couple of descendants remained and none of them with the trait. It was a magical trait that was hard to pass down in a bloodline, usually too weak to manifest itself.

In Europe, the only case of parselmouth ability had been Salazar Slytherin, and his descendants through his bastard son. In that case, for some inexplicable reason which was still undiscovered, the trait had bred true and strong in all descendants.

And yet, by all accounts, the bloodline had died out several centuries ago. Thus was the mystery of how two boys, who were not brothers, could both be parselmouths in such day and age.

It was clear to him that, firstly, the boys could be distantly related to each other. And secondly, that perhaps he would have to look into the only possible origin of their ability – that of the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin; to see, as it was widely disbelieved, if some had survived to present day.

However, even if he added the mystery of Harry's lack of surname in Hogwarts' ledger, to that of the dark magic in the boy's scar and to that of both boys' parselmouth ability, they were still just boys.

They were children who needed to be guided gently, and not unfavorably conditioned and affected by his own wariness. Simply because of what he had discovered about them, as much as it was worrisome, he didn't think ill of them.

It was hardly their fault, and Albus Dumbledore was not a prejudiced wizard, either.

Nevertheless, he was a prudent one.

He would watch them closely during their years at Hogwarts, and be there for them, to guide and help them if solicited and welcomed.

No matter what kind of blood a wizard was born with, in the end, it was a matter of choice whether a wizard turned to the Dark Arts or not. Choice and will could always trump inherited nature.

If he had reason to be concerned about the boys and the choices they made, then he would fully delve into the matter of Harry's scar and the origin of the boys' parselmouth ability.

That decided, with several more things to keep tabs on -just as he kept tabs on many other people, like Maximilian Malfoy, but only acted and interfered if deemed necessary- Albus focused his mind on the Order meeting that would commence in a few minutes.

And with his thoughts thus occupied, as he stood on the muggle street and turned to quickly cast a spell on the orphanage, he didn't notice the eyes that had been observing him.


	9. Part I: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:**

Hello everyone, I'm finally back! Thanks for all reviews and your patience, I do appreciate it.

I'll start by answering questions and clearing doubts regarding the fic, and then I'll make some comments regarding this chapter.

1. There's a good point brought up by one reviewer; What happened with the letter for Harry?

Well, just like I was too lazy and didn't think it was necessary to write what Albus did to Alice, regarding the spell he cast on her – the same one he used on Kathy- I didn't bother either to write what Albus must have done to Harry's letter. But since, when Albus followed Alice up the stairs to reach the Riddle's room, we can imagine he cast the spell on her, we can also imagine that he tapped his wand on the pocket containing the letters so that the Riddle surname was added after Harry's name, since by then he had already made the decision of perpetuating the lie about the boys being twins. He couldn't have done this before then because he still hadn't spoken to Kathy and thus made that choice.

2. Another important point made by a different reviewer; Why didn't Dumbledore recognize Harry as a Potter by looking at him?

Well, I think it's pretty simple. Even if we assume that Harry is a carbon copy of James Potter with only Lily's eyes – which I'm not making it so in this fic – I think it would be quite astounding if Dumbledore had thought Harry was a Potter. Firstly because if Dumbledore has seen anyone, he has seen Harry's paternal grandparents, and given the timeline, both of them are young and unmarried. Thus, Dumbledore would have to recognize in Harry features from a young wizard –Harry's granddad- and a young witch –Harry's grandmother- who aren't married or possibly even a couple, and who certainly cannot look, either of them, identical to Harry.

If anything, Harry must have features from the 4 of his grandparents, maternal and paternal, and Dumbledore certainly doesn't know Lily's muggle parents.

For instance, I don't think I look anything alike any of my grandparents. Perhaps I have the nose of one, the chin of the other, the eyebrows of the third and such, but if someone just knew one or two of my grandparents and then looked at me, they certainly wouldn't guess I was their granddaughter without knowing beforehand. So that's the logic that went through my mind when I didn't make Dumbledore recognize Harry.

3. Charlemagne McLaggen threathened Dumbledore about telling the public about Albus' past liason with Grindelwald because -even though McLaggen thinks there's no proof that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord- it would still be incriminating for Dumbledore because Dumbledore is giving speeches in the Wizengamot saying that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord. So if McLaggen comes out with the story of Albus and Gellert being together when they were young, while Dumbledore is out there saying that Gellert is a Dark Lord, then of course this would stain Dumbledore's reputation and the validity of his claims.

4. On another note, what we see regarding the happenings before WWII we see it through Alice's eyes, and sometimes through Mr. Hutchins and Tom. So of course it's not accurate; it's their opinion and feelings about what's happening. You can't expect Alice to know about what the politicians know or think about the matter, or what other civilians believe, either. There were many who thought that the Austrian annexation had no validity, and we can see this when Robert Hutchins gives Alice his opinion about it. And Alice saw this in the newspapers as well. Nevertheless, she took it at face value, because she is naïve sometimes, but mostly because she wants to believe that everything will go well and that no bad things are happening. And I think there must have been many people like her, back then. From what I've read, no one really believed that another war would start; everyone was still recovering from the consequences of the Great War and the Depression that followed. And after all, the public at large was kept ignorant for a long time. It was only during the Nuremberg trials of 1945 when everything finally came out into the open.

5. Oh, and Tom was born on December 31, 1926, (what Harry believes to be his birthday as well), taken from HP Lexicon. They are starting Hogwarts in 1938 - according to Lexicon timeline- and that's the current present year in the fic. They are turning 11 in New Years. Harry was born on July 31,1980, following canon, and he was thrown into the past when he was one year and three months old, in October 31, 1981, the night the Potters were killed. So Harry is 3 months older than Tom – wouldn't Harry love to know that he was actually the 'older brother'! Lol.

**Note**: **This chapter is for Elelith, Happy belated Birthday! And thank you for always motivating me to write another chapter for this fic – I hope you enjoy it!**

This chapter has no Tom/Harry interaction, it's basically loads of information so I hope you are in a patient mood. But everything is important, and in the next chapter there will be quite a bit more of the same thing, because Gellert and Konrad had been very busy in the last three years and even after reading this chapter we won't know the full extent of it. Thus, the rest will come in the following chapter.

That said, I'm sorry I haven't updated in such a long time. Several months ago I finished my thesis and started working, and let me tell you, I miss my student life! I barely have any spare time and when I do I either sleep or go out with friends, so I haven't had any time to write. But now I'm on my holidays, two weeks of it, so I'm taking the opportunity of writing again for this fic. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter ready in a week or less.

**Enjoy and let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 9**

* * *

The moment Albus Dumbledore disapparated from the muggle street, the blue eyes which had been observing him blinked once more, from a brickwall between a butcher shop and a dilapidated muggle home across the street from St. Jerome's Orphanage. In the next second, the small expanse of wall rippled as a body unmerged from it.

Konrad Von Krauss took a step forward onto the asphalt, his own muscles aching and his skin unpleasantly prickling as he peeled himself out of the bricks. Finally, he stood whole and unharmed, flicking his wand at himself to cast a Disillusioning Charm.

Now invisible to all eyes, he waited a moment as a motorcar rolled past him and then he crossed the street. Standing before the orphanage, he raised a hand and chanted a spell. The magical ward cast by Dumbledore minutes before, appeared before his eyes, vibrating and thrumming. With another muttered spell and an intricate weaving of his wand's tip, Konrad made a small adjustment to the ward which, per Ministry instruction, had to be cast on the homes of muggleborns so that any use of underage magic would be detected. Of course, with his unperceivable modification to the ward, he ascertained that he would be linked to the ward and not the English Ministry of Magic.

Indeed, it was imperative that when the time came in which the boys would have no choice but to break magical laws in order to ensure their own welfare and survival, it would be he who would be alerted and not the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic Office.

Once he completed this task, Konrad carefully stood before the orphanage's front door and trailed a hand over the wooden frame, making sure that the spell which had given him notice about a wizard crossing the threshold was still working. That the greatly vaunted Albus Dumbledore hadn't detected it, with all the rumours there were regarding the man's uncanny magical sensitivity, seemed quite telling to him. There was no doubt that Dumbledore had been in a hurry, but more importantly, it was clear that the wizard had had no reason to suspect that others might be interested in the Riddle 'brothers'.

Konrad himself didn't know all the particulars of why his Lord considered the boys to be important for his plans. Indeed, in the three years he had been spying on them, he still didn't know much.

Oh, he knew the boys were parselmouths; it was the first thing he had discovered, and quite easily too, given that they kept a pet snake in their bedroom. And yet, when he had reported back that most astonishing information to the Dark Lord, Grindelwald hadn't been surprised at all but rather pleased and satisfied, as if that alone proved something vital to him.

Moreover, Konrad knew the little there was to know about the boys' origins; twice he had abducted the caregiver who seemed to be most attached to them.

It had been on two separate occasions that, when the muggle woman by the name of Alice Jones had gone about grocery shopping, he had taken the opportunity to grab her and apparate her into an empty warehouse. Before giving her the chance to scream and attempt to fight back, he had rendered her useless with a Petrificus Totalus and he had delved into her mind, legilimizing every tidbit of information and duplicating every memory she had regarding the boys, sending the recollections back to Grindelwald in small flasks, as per the wizard's instructions. He had taken extra care of obliviating her after he was done, as well as taking her back to the same spot from which he had taken her.

It was also due to what he had seen in her mind that he had been able to establish an 'indirect link to the boys', as the Dark Lord had commanded him to do.

Indeed, one of his missions in England had been to create a muggle persona for himself with enough social standing and resourcefulness as to be able to influence muggle politics in England as well as to form a connection between his muggle identity and the orphanage.

It had been fairly simple to find a muggle 'Lord', as muggle decaying nobility fancied to call themselves, and to pose as the old man's long lost son.

Lord Arthur Ashcroft had been a recluse for many years, living in his country estate with a few servants, ever since his eighteen-year-old son had been reported as 'missing in action, presumed dead' by the British Army during the last year of the Great War. That the boy had died and his mangled corpse had lain, unrecognizable, in some ditch or trench in the Western Front, there was no doubt.

It was for that reason and due to Lord Ashcroft's precarious health, his wealth and his previous useful social connections before shying away from society due to his grief, that Konrad had chosen him.

For a whole month, during his first year in England, he had slipped into the old man's manor and bedroom, working on the muggle's mind as the man slept, creating new memories which supplanted the old. And thus, the man's son, Alistair Ashcroft, had been reborn.

According to the story Konrad had spun in the muggle's mind, by the end of the Great War, the man's eighteen-year-old son had been convalescing in a French army hospital, like so many other British soldiers. After recovering, 'Alistair Ashcroft', traumatized after his experience in the war, wishing to start anew, away from anything that would make him remember the brutality of battle, had written to his father from France, informing him of his decision to travel to America and settle there. Soon after, he fell in love and married a woman from a wealthy family from Massachusetts, as would be expected from someone of Alistair Ashcroft's social standing. Twenty years later, when knowing about his father's ill health, Alistair decided to settle back in England, bringing his wife along with him, to help his dear father and be with him during the old man's remaining few years of life.

Of course, Konrad had been careful to support this tale with years-worth of letters he had created and forged with Alistair's signature, which he had copied from missives the boy had so long ago sent to his father from boarding school. And having seen the many pictures of a young Alistair that Lord Ashcroft kept in his room, it had been fairly simple for Konrad to cast a glamour on his face, looking as Alistair could have possibly looked like, if he had lived to be in his early forties.

The wife had been easily attained as well. One trip to Whitechapel district in London, brimming with filthy, destitute muggle prostitutes, and Konrad had chosen one of them, paid her a couple of pounds, cleaned her up and bought her trunk loads of pretty clothes.

It was thus, with a richly clothed and beautifully groomed whore, clinging from his arm whilst being under his Imperius Curse, that a glamoured Konrad had appeared on the doorstep of Lord Ashcroft's country estate, three years ago. The invalid, doddering, old muggle had received them with open arms and teary eyes, nonsensically blabbering with joy.

Without the need of much persuasion, the muggle Lord had given the reins of his estate to 'Alistair', and Konrad had been quick to assign to himself and his 'wife' the entirety of the east wing of the manor, forbidding servants to enter with the claim that his wife, in her grief after a long succession of stillbirths and miscarriages, preferred solitude and seclusion since she had become a fervently religious woman who did little else but pray and read the Bible.

Indeed, Konrad had little use for her. He kept the whore sitting day and night in a dark room, saliva dribbling from her mouth as she unseeingly stared at a wall, while the house-elf he had brought from one of his manors in Germany spoon-fed her and bathed her from time to time.

After three years under the constant influence of the Imperius Curse, the muggle woman was little more than an empty shell, a puppet whose strings he could easily pull to make her dance to his tune; to make her say the shallow platitudes expected from a woman of her station and to make her behave in public as a 'lady' should, the few times a year in which he made her make an appearance by his side in some muggle social gathering or other.

Mostly, he preferred to make his incursions into the circles of muggle high-society alone, always taking care that his picture would not be taken by any muggle journalist, that Alistair Ashcroft's name wouldn't be mentioned in the papers, and, with Notice-Me-Not spells and the like, that no one would pay much attention to him or remember him later.

He only ensured that his inflammatory words regarding the dangers of German rearmament, and the need to put a stop to it before it was too late, were clearly remembered. In those occasions when he posed as Alistair Ashcroft and expressed such vehement and war-mongering opinions, during soirees and social gatherings in which the muggle politicians, the nobility, and the rich mingled, his target audience had been one man in particular: Sir Winston Churchill.

At first, Konrad had not been pleased that the Dark Lord had chosen that muggle in particular. Indeed, in his second report during his first year in England, he had expressed his serious doubts.

"_He's an uncouth, ill-mannered, bad-tempered muggle_," Konrad had said firmly, trying to make his Lord see some reason, his lips pressing into a thin, hard line, expressing his dissatisfaction and deep dislike. "_He's not the kind of man who the people would choose for a Prime Minister, My Lord. The British muggles fancy themselves to be civilized and expect the same in their politicians, and Churchill is not that. But there are several muggles in high posts that would do_-"

Gellert had shot him that crooked smile of his, the wizard's hawk-like eyes pinning him where he stood, as he interrupted him and said loftily, "_And yet, from what you have told me, the current Prime Minister and those close to him prefer peace at all costs. In your own opinion, they'll attempt to negotiate with the Nazis, and we cannot have that_." He had slapped a hand on Konrad's shoulder, as he added sharply, "_There cannot be peace! Britain must be involved in the war, it's imperative for my plans. You know this._"

"_Yes, My Lord, but Churchill barely has any clout, at present. He's had a disastrous political career, he's never been loyal to any party, jumping from one to the other for years, and it ended with his own Conservative Party excluding him. He had to flee in shame to his country estate_," Konrad had argued in brisk German. "_And after several years living in ignominy and largely ignored, he's trying to resurface in the political sphere. But his attempts are unsuccessful, that is my point. Recently, he has even made another political mistake when the muggle King died and his firstborn and successor married an American woman who had divorced twice! And Churchill publicly supported such horrendous impropriety-_"

"_And Churchill lost in his gamble of which of the King's sons to support when the firstborn abdicated and passed the crown to his brother, yes_," interrupted Grindelwald, his jaded smile widening as his hazel eyes gleamed. "_It is due to that reason and everything you've reported to me regarding the man, that he's the best muggle for the job. He has made many mistakes, he's desperate to clear his name and bring it back from oblivion. He's only loyal to himself, his ambitions and British imperialist interests._"

He had held up a hand when Konrad had tried to speak again, and added sharply, "_He's loud-mouthed and pugnacious, and he has finally started making speeches warning the public about Germany's rise_." His smile curved into a twisted smirk as he continued, now calmly, "_As you know, from the start, I've made sure that there were leaks in the Nazi government. I've ensured that British spies were handed certain information. And you've told me that a muggle in the British Foreign Office has passed down some of it to Churchill. Use your muggle identity and your social connections as a Lord's son to acquire a post in the Foreign Office and use that muggle. Make sure that more secret information reaches Churchill's hands. Let him know about the German factories making guns and artillery, building tanks and airplane parts. Let him know that Hitler is creating the Luftwaffe to rival Britain's Royal Air Force. Let him know about the U-boats and warships being built_."

He had grabbed Konrad's chin, skewering him with his gaze as he continued in an unyielding, commanding tone of voice, "_Follow him to every gathering he attends, fill his mind with ideas, make him believe he can use the conflict in Europe to rise to power. Make him be a rising star again, and the only voice that cries out for war. And when I make Hitler break every promise and terms of peace with the current British government, England's muggles will only be able to turn to Churchill for leadership. And at long last, we will have our Muggle War."_

And Konrad had done precisely that, all of it.

At present, after nearly three years of hard work in the muggle world, he could now say that he had left everything perfectly staged so that, soon, the muggle politician chosen by the Dark Lord would be elected as the next Prime Minister of England.

Furthermore, he had also created a useful connection between his Alistair Ashcroft persona and St. Jerome's Orphanage. In truth, he hadn't quite expected the way in which he would achieve it. Indeed, it had taken him by surprise and he considered it a fortunate coincidence when he had seen in Alice Jones' mind that the woman had a younger sister who worked as a maid for the Carringtons.

As Alistair Ashcroft, he had already been acquainted with Lord and Lady Carrington from the frequent dinner parties the muggle couple liked to throw for their peers, and which he had attended when Churchill was one of their guests.

In every of their gatherings his skin had crawled with disgust, as always happened when he was forced to endure muggle company, adding to that his suffering of having to listen to squashed-faced Lady Carrington as she mindlessly blabbered about her jewels and gowns, and to the porky and obese Lord Carrington, who had little conversation except hunting, the weather, and his precious dogs.

Nevertheless, after his second Legilimency of Alice Jones and having discovered with it about the muggle's sister, he had started paying attention to the maids who served dinner in the Carrington's home. And then he had seen her, Sarah Jones; a pretty little thing, really, quite to his taste if she wasn't a despicable muggle. But more importantly, he had noticed how Lord Carrington's gaze followed the maid as she went around serving the dishes of food.

After that evening's dinner, when the ladies withdrew to the main parlor and the men to the library to share cigars and brandy, it hadn't taken very long for Lord Carrington to slip away. It had been evident to Konrad that the muggle lacked subtlety and any form of restraint.

Indeed, when 'Alistair Ashcroft' had followed him into the kitchens, he had found all servants gone from the place except for a sobbing Sarah Jones pressed against the pantry, who for all her tears, remained still and silent, allowing her employer's lecherous hands to reach every inch of her skin under her shirt, certainly only because she couldn't afford to lose her job.

'Alistair' had loudly cleared his throat, pretending he had been looking for a bottle of cognac, and a flustered and red-faced Lord Carrington had mumbled something or other and fled the scene, leaving a wretchedly sobbing maid behind. Of course, Konrad had seized the chance and had tenderly consoled her, forcing himself to touch her in order to gently pat her back, whispering comforting words to her. And thus, Alistair Ashcroft's 'friendship' with the girl had begun.

During the whole last year he had been a frequent visitor of the Carringtons, several more times interrupting the Lord's unwanted sexual harassment of Sarah Jones, and every time offering to her a shoulder in which to cry on. Even when Alistair Jones stopped receiving invitations, he nonetheless kept visiting, knowing that the Carringtons wouldn't dare to forbid him entrance out of fear that he would reveal to others what he had seen. There was no doubt in his mind that the Lady of the house knew exactly what her husband did, and preferred to turn a blind eye to it.

During all his visits, he took the time to find Sarah Jones and have quiet conversations with her, telling her what maids like her wished to hear; praising her beauty, her intelligence, her fortitude, and so on. Soon, when he was certain that the foolish girl had become quite enamored with him, he had candidly disclosed his own tribulations; his wife's inability to bear him a child, his deep yearning for a family of his own, and the sorrow and grief that he felt due to it.

It had taken seed just as he had planned. Two weeks later, in his next visit, a joyful and bubbly Sarah Jones had confided that she had a sister who worked in an orphanage, and she had told him her 'brilliant' solution to his problem; how it would be very charitable and altruistic of him to adopt an orphan. She had written to her sister several times, telling her 'everything' about him, and what an excellent father he would make, how a kind-hearted and gentle man like him, and with his wealth and social station, could give any child a very happy life.

And so, a grateful Alistair Ashcroft had promised to discuss the possibility with his wife, and that someday they might visit St. Jerome's Orphanage - in which they would be welcomed with open arms by her sister, Sarah Jones had assured him.

Konrad had been careful, of course, of not giving her any time frame. After all, his muggle persona's connection with the orphanage might not be used. His Lord had told him that 'Alistair Ashcroft' would only have to adopt the Riddle boys if Grindelwald deemed at some point that it was necessary or useful for the boys to live in Germany, under his thumb and influence.

Thus, he had completed two of his missions in England. The third, contacting the spy in Hogwarts, giving him new instructions and making sure that the spy wouldn't waver in his commitments, had been simple and easy as well. The fourth mission, to gain more supporters to Grindelwald's cause in members of dark pureblood families and even some light ones, hadn't proved to much of a challenge either, since he had been Maximillian Malfoy's guest in many social events and such occasions had provided him ample opportunities to persuade English wizards to their side.

Nevertheless, his fifth and last mission had proven to be more complicated than he had expected, but he had done all he could and now could only wait for a resolution. Indeed, his negotiations with Maximillian Malfoy regarding the future marriage between the wizard's grandson and Konrad's own daughter had been tricky. Malfoy was a ruthless, cunning, and demanding negotiator, and it seemed that the man had previously arranged a marriage with a girl of Black House and his grandson.

Talking to other purebloods, Konrad had been able to glean the reason why Malfoy was so reticent to break that agreement between Malfoy and Black Houses; it seemed the Blacks owed the Malfoys a bride, due to some troubles between the Houses several generations ago.

Nevertheless, just as the Dark Lord had said, Konrad's daughter and what she would inherit from him and her mother, was a prize too tempting to ignore, thus Konrad was confident that Maximillian Malfoy and the wizard's greed would serve his purpose.

Furthermore, Malfoy had been very satisfied with the gifts Konrad had bestowed upon him to sweeten the deal; unique ancient tomes, precious magical artifacts, and even gems and stones to add to the Malfoy collection. And the old man had also expressed his satisfaction regarding Kasimira's looks, the many times Konrad had brought portraits of her, when he commissioned a painter to go to Durmstrang and take her likeness. The Malfoys were known to have very high standards regarding the beauty their brides should posses.

On the other hand, Konrad himself was content with the boy who would become his daughter's husband, fusing the Malfoy and Von Krauss lines and merging their fortunes and estates.

Maximilliam Malfoy's grandson, Abraxas, was everything he could hope for in a scion of a dark pureblood House as the Malfoy's. Though, he had discovered, through rumours, about the one fault the boy had. But Konrad was a Traditional Purist, and not a True Purist, as the faction called itself, so what Maximillian Malfoy saw as a grave and humiliating besmirch in the boy's blood and a shame to his line, Konrad saw it as a boon.

However, the boy himself had never seemed particularly thrilled about the negotations; young Abraxas' indifference towards Kasimira's portraits being obvious and the boy's dislike of having a wife two years his elder, palpable. Regardless, the boy would do what his grandfather commanded, as was his duty, Konrad had no doubt about it.

It was thus that Konrad allowed himself to feel a modicum of contentment and relief, as he finished modifying the ward on the orphanage. At last, he had completed all his missions in that horrid little country, after three unbearable years. As he prepared himself to apparate away, he hoped he would never have to set foot on British soil again.

* * *

Minutes later, Konrad's boots clicked on Nurmengard's polished stone floors as he approached his Lord's study, to give his last report regarding how matters stood in England.

Nearly reaching his destiny, he paused momentarily when he saw a uniformed young man standing guard not in front of Grindelwald's door but next to the one across the hall. The Dark Lord was visiting Anacleto Armonios' quarters, was he?

Konrad's lips flattened into a severe line. His opinion regarding the wizard was a low one, indeed – the man was a quack, as far as he was concerned. But before he could inwardly vent his displeasure, he paused to peruse the young man in front of him.

He had heard about Julian Ehrlichmann. The boy's father, after all, had a high position in the hierarchy of Grindelwald's Haupte Kommandanten. And, most importantly, Egon Ehrlichmann and those who followed his lead had always been Konrad's rivals, both of their factions fighting for power within the Dark Lord's ranks. The Ehrlichmanns and the Von Krausses had always been opponents, since time immemorial.

However, what concerned him the most was the boy's appearance. It was just as his allies within the Dark Lord's ranks had told him about. Julian looked like a young version of Albus Dumbledore; guileless, gentle, sky blue eyes, short curls of red hair which lent the boy an endearing look, soft features in a boyish and handsome face, and a noble air to his bearing.

During the three years in which Konrad had been away from Germany, he had taken particular care of visiting his allies whenever he briefly returned back to give his reports to the Dark Lord. And in those visits, his allies had warned him that Egon Ehrlichmann had shoved his son under Grindelwald's nose, clearly aware of the Dark Lord's tastes and preference in lovers and evidently wishing to gain more influence with the Dark Lord through his son.

That the boy had chosen to attend and graduate from Beauxbatons instead of Durmstrang, and that Egon doted on his son to such degree as to allow that, was already a negative mark, in Konrad's opinion. Even if Julian had graduated with top marks and had won the European Dueling Championship in his seventh year, quite an astounding feat.

That after Grindelwald took notice of the boy, the young wizard swiftly climbed through the ranks, becoming the Dark Lord's protégé and pupil, to the point that Julian was now Gellert's personal guard, was twice as worrisome.

Konrad wouldn't have cared if the Dark Lord had taken the boy as a plaything, but having him as both a lover and a trusted, close follower was another matter altogether. Mixing business with pleasure, given the high stakes, was not something Konrad viewed favorably, even less when Grindelwald's infatuation with the boy had already lasted for three years and didn't seem to be waning - that alone was already cause for concern. Gellert was one to get bored with his lovers very quickly.

All the while, as Konrad had been closely scrutinizing the boy with narrowed eyes as his mind flooded with troubled thoughts, Julian Ehrlichmann had bore it with a benevolent and patient expression on his face, not beeping a word.

This didn't escape Konrad's notice. Nevertheless, regardless of the boy's correct and polite manners towards a wizard who was his superior in rank, Konrad was in no particular mood to return the respect.

"_Stand aside, boy_," was Konrad's curt command.

"_The Dark Lord asked not to be disturbed_," Julian said softly, earnest regret flashing in his sky blue eyes, seemingly for having to bar entrance to one such as Konrad.

"_He'll want to see me_," retorted Konrad briskly, skewering the young man with an icy stare.

"_As you wish,"_ said the boy pleasantly, bowing low as he took a step away from the door he had been guarding.

Konrad pushed the boy out of his thoughts as he yanked the door open without bothering to knock. As he closed the door behind him, he swiftly took in the scene before him.

Gellert Grindelwald was comfortably sprawled on a winged armchair, nodding his head while a rail-thin, old wizard with a bald head and a scraggly grey beard was importantly giving a discourse, gesturing with his arms as if he was giving a speech before an enraptured audience.

"… _so as you see, all my research during these years_," was saying Anacleto Armonios, his thick Spanish accent mangling and butchering the German language to such degree that it made Konrad wince, while the wizard was too absorbed in his own words and brilliancy as to notice the new arrival, "_has led me to believe that it is quite possible, theoretically…"_

"_Konrad! Impeccable timing!"_ welcomed him Gellert, springing to his feet with a bounce on his steps as he grabbed Konrad by the arm and led him further inside the room, looking like a giddy schoolboy who had had the most amazing day in his life.

Konrad was shot a sour look by Anacleto and he repaid it with a disdainful glance. Konrad had made it no secret that he thought him to be the most untrustworthy wizard in existence. Ever since Gellert had recruited the man, giving him fortune, and even quarters and a study in Nurmenrgard itself in which to conduct his research and experiments, Konrad had had his misgivings.

Oh, the old wizard was brilliant, of that there was no doubt. The Spanish wizard had, after all, been the inventor of the time-turner three decades ago. But it was what the wizard had done after that, which didn't set well with Konrad.

Ironically enough, it had all started with Gellert's own great-aunt, the renowned historian Bathilda Bagshot, who back then had been obsessed with finding the ancient, lost island of Atlantis – a much vaunted prize sought after by everyone of her profession.

After years of work and of speculation regarding the reason for the disappearance of the island and the magical community which had live on it in ancient times – whether it was due to indigenous clans of dragons waging a war between themselves, or the eruption of a volcano, or even some power-hungry wizard who had caused the catastrophe– Bagshot found incontrovertible historical clues regarding the island's location.

According to her discoveries, the island had to be in the depths of the ocean, right in the middle of the Gibraltar Strait, between the two Pillars of Hercules which had stood in ancient times, one in the tip of Gibraltar, the other in the North African peak of Ceuta.

Bagshot firmly believed that the island of Atlantis had been formed from the stretch of land that had once connected both regions. And thus, all the countries that had historical claims on those territories entered the political quarrel to see who would win the rights to explore the discovery.

The contenders had been Britain, since Gibraltar was part of their empire, Morrocco that had once had Ceuta, and even Argelia and Portugal. But Spain had won the argument in the end, being Ceuta currently theirs and Gibraltar having historically belonged to them before it was seized by Britain.

It was so that the task of proving Bagshot's theories had fallen upon Spanish 'Guardadores de Secretos', the Keepers of Secrets – the 'Ohne-Zunge', or tongue-less, as they were called in Germany, or Unspeakables, as they were called in English. And back then, the Head of that Department had been Anacleto Armonios, who had led the expedition into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

They had found Atlantis, with its beautiful structures relatively well preserved and a large community of merpeople having made it their home.

What none had expected was that one young Unspeakable, during his exploration of the submerged island, would feel curiosity towards a large array of iridescent clams which spread all along the one side of the island the merfolk didn't go near.

Presumably, the young wizard had the idea that he would perhaps find pearls inside the clams, to thus gift to his girlfriend. But the boy found no simple pearls, but small, golden, shiny orbs, which, at his touch, dissolved and exploded into golden dust.

The records about what the young wizard experienced then, when the dust encompassed him, were never made public. What is known, is that the Spanish Unspeakables reached an agreement with the merfolk, exchanging a continual supply of the clams for trinkets and cheap baubles merpeople fancied.

What they extracted from the clams was rigorously studied and experimented with for many years, and finally termed as the 'Sands of Time'. And it was Anacleto Armonios, and the team he lead, who invented the spelled device that could contain the Sands and control its magical properties.

Thus, the time-turner was created in the Spanish Unspeakable Department. And such invention was made public when Anacleto became greedy, somehow managing to break his Unspeakable Vow of Secrecy, and fleeing from Spain, with all time-turners and the instructions for their construction. He spent a whole year creating more and selling them to the wizarding public at large, making a vast fortune.

Thankfully, Anacleto wasn't able to break the 24-hour constraint of the time-turner, but the damage was already done, with countless wizards and witches using their time-turners to change a day of their lives, wreaking havoc.

When what was happening became evident, the time-turner was banned as illegal, all wizarding governments seized them from the hands of their citizens, and locked them up in the bowels of their Ministries, only allowing their use under authorized circumstances and after rigorously studying the petitions.

And so, Anacleto Armonios spent the following two decades of his life in hiding, fleeing from Spanish Aurors and having no choice but to spend all his ill-gotten fortune to ensure his own survival.

Until, Gellert Grindelwald snatched him.

Konrad only knew that, just a month after he had been sent to England, the Dark Lord had offered Anacleto terms the man couldn't afford to reject; protection from Aurors, an impenetrable, secret hiding place – Nurmengard Tower– and galleons enough to satisfy his greed.

Thus, Anacleto had been there for nearly three years, and still, Konrad had no idea what the Dark Lord had ordered him to do.

"_Start over, Anacleto. I want Konrad to hear this._"

Gellert's command yanked Konrad from his musings, and he finally took a seat on a plushy armchair, his lips thinning in distaste at the state of the office.

Anacleto's study was a mess, swamped with columns of books littering the floor, rolls of parchments on every visible table top, whizzing, thrumming artifacts which functionality was impossible to discern, puffing potions in cauldrons, and flasks with coiling glass tubes with multi-colored bubbling liquids. And most conspicuously, a tall hourglass tower occupied one corner, with golden dust nearly filling it entirely.

Anacleto simpered and sycophantically smiled at the Dark Lord, then shot a poisonous look at Konrad, and finally lifted up his wand and gestured with it as he spoke, as if pompously conducting the orchestra of his own voice.

"_This is no longer a hypothesis, but a theory, which I have no doubt would be the Law of Time-Traveling if only I was able to prove it. But_," he said, as he swished his wand upwards as if conferring more solidity to his own words, "_if we altogether assume that there is no twenty-four hour constriction to the magical properties of a time-turner_ –" Anacleto then shot Gellert a guarded look "- _and you must understand, my Lord, that this limitation is one which I see no way of eluding. However_," he quickly added as he saw the Dark Lord's impatient expression, "_for the sake of argument and to understand my theory, let us assume there is no temporal limitation to the use of a time-turner. Then, I can easily explain how a time-travel of any number of years into the past would work and what the consequences would be_."

The former Unspeakable made a dramatic pause and peered at them, as if to lend a sense of excitement to his speech, and then continued in his snotty voice, "_Then the start would be our current timeline, which I call the primal line._" With his wand, Anacleto drew in the air a long, green line, its beginning and end diffused in the air, no doubt trying to convey that it was infinite. "_And let us assume that this is point zero_," he said as he poked his wand's tip in the middle of the green line, creating a white circle on it, "_when we are right now and assuming it is the instant in which the time-traveler uses the time-turner to go back in time. His time-travelling creates the origin of the alteration of the space-time continuum_."

"_Listen carefully to all this_," whispered Gellert, leaning towards Konrad as he shot him a wide, crooked smirk.

Konrad faintly nodded, with the little he had heard already having a sick coil in his stomach and a daunting, ominous feeling.

"_And thus_," continued Anacleto, "_with his time travelling into the past, he appears in point 'minus one' –_" a black circle appeared on the green line, far before the white one of point zero "_– and due to his mere presence in the past, he creates an alternate time-line, the secondary, as I call it._"

Now a red line grew from the green line, starting from the point 'minus one' and shooting outwards in an angle, increasingly becoming more distant from the first line.

"_As you see, the longer the time-traveler remains in the past, the greater the differences between the primal and secondary timelines. Meaning_," said Anacleto, piercing them with a grave stare, "_that the ripple effects of his actions in the past grow exponentially the longer he remains there, making the two lines diverge at increasingly greater distances from each other. Thus, the secondary line would be a parallel universe much different from the original one. But_-" he rose an admonishing finger "– _this is not stable._"

Anacleto paused once again to pierce them with his gaze, and started talking in a lecturing tone, as if explaining convoluted matters to dim-witted children, as he smiled at them, "_Let me give you an example which will demonstrate what I mean. What happens when a wizard uses a twenty-four hour time-turner? The secondary line is created, but since it's only twenty-four hours into the past, it's infinitesimal in the grand scheme of infinite time_."

He swished his wand and the red line shortened itself until it was barely one inch long. "_The directional change, the differences between the two lines, doesn't have time to be too great. And what happens when there is a mutation or aberration in nature? If it's a one-time occurrence, it gets swallowed, it changes things very little_."

As the wizard said those words, the green primal line curved slightly to trace the short bit of the red line, and then shot out in the same direction it had originally. "_What was changed with the time-travelling becomes what always happened, and there is no alternate universe created – no instability. This is the case of a twenty-four hour time-traveling, and the very reason why no one has been able to breach that temporal limitation_."

"_Now, in the case of a time-travelling of years, it represents infinite changes_ –" Anacleto flicked his wand and the red line was a long one once more "– _aberrations, which were not meant to occur. And by nature, Time will try to correct itself, thus._"

The green line started to become wobbly, curves erupting from it and touching the red line, the red line also becoming distorted as the lines started to become closer together.

"_You see, there would be a pull between the timelines, so that they become one and the same, because prolonged instability is not possible. Either they join, or both disappear – that's the danger of prolonged time-travel into the past. There can be no two parallel universes co-existing, it's an impossibility. Either both are destroyed or_ –"

"_Exactly_," interjected Konrad loudly, having increasingly paled with each word the old wizard had spoken, now no longer able to contain himself, his face showing an expression of absolute horror. "_That's why even a three-year-old child knows that Time must never be tampered with! It's you and your invention which are an aberration_-"

"_Hush, Konrad,"_ snapped Gellert, leveling at him a harsh glance.

Anacleto, for his part, shot Konrad a smug and superior look, as he intoned, "_As I was saying, either both universes are destroyed or a way is found so that only the second universe prevails, taking the place of the original, assuming this second universe is the desired one which has been purposely created with the time-traveling. And I have found the way. This was part of the task appointed to me by the Dark Lord _–" he politely bowed low in Grindelwald's direction "- _and I have succeeded_."

"_Continue, Anacleto, I am indeed pleased with you,"_ said Gellert placidly, as he cozily stretched on his seat.

Konrad shot him a sharp glance, but evidently he was the only sane wizard present, and the only one who had any respect for the forces of nature and magic. The whole affair was madness, and he could see no outcome but utter catastrophe.

Meanwhile, Anacleto pointedly ignored him and nodded at the Dark Lord, as he swished his wand. Now the lines formed their original configuration. A white circle in the middle of the long green line, the point zero, and much before it a black circle, the point 'minus one' in the past, and from it, the red line shooting outwards.

"_As we see, the parallel universes resemble each other during the first years – there is not much distance between the two lines in the beginning. No matter what the time-traveller does in the past, he changes things but not to such degree as to make the universes completely dissimilar. The differences between the universes becomes much greater throughout the years; the red line growing further apart from the green one_."

The lines started twisting and becoming distorted once again, and the old wizard said, "_Now, we know this situation is not stable. Thus, to correct this and prevent the disappearance of both timelines altogether, we need to make the infinite aberrations in the time-space continuum, the red line itself, a fixture_."

Anacleto shot them a glance, and asked rhetorically, "_How do a series of mutations become part of nature itself? When are they accepted and become stable? The answer is simple; when those aberrations are successful. This means, when the red line is 'successful', when it becomes a fixture. And for that, an anchor is needed – an anchor between the green and red lines, their common denominator, that which cannot be changed in essence, no matter how dissimilar the two universes become_."

The old wizard widely smiled with supreme smugness. "_I found it. It's the time-traveler himself._"

He magnanimously swished his wand, making the red line curve until its end connected with the white circle on the green line, with point zero.

"_The time-traveler is immutable at the origin and the end of the curve_," he said as he touched one circle first and then the other. Then he traced with his finger the curve of the red line. "_The curve which represents all the changes he created when he was in the past. The red line has now a beginning in point 'minus one' in the past, its curvature, and then its end in point zero. It's anchored, it's stable, that universe will be the one which prevails, because the time-traveler who created it lived for years in it, and the only point he experiences in the original timeline, in the green line, is point zero – the moment he travelled to the past. Only that point of the green line will remain_."

With a flick of his wand, the section of the green line which continued past the point zero disappeared, and then the green section which went from one circle to the other started vanishing.

"_The red line becomes all what remains, it takes the place in the space-time continuum of the original timeline, because the time-traveler exists in the red line and now in the point zero - which no longer only pertains to the original timeline, but now is part of the red line_."

With the green line gone, all what remained was the curved red line, stretching from one point to the other. "_After only this timeline remains, it will curve again from the point zero and shoot out into the future, in the same direction it followed at first_."

The wizard flicked his wand, making the red line curve out from point zero and then it continued straight, in the same direction it had been angled away from the vanished green line.

"_See? The red line follows the same direction as when I first drew it, before being affected by instability. Indeed, the curves it makes to reach the point zero and then continue away from it, are really infinitesimal curves, which don't affect the direction of the timeline. Meaning, the universe created by the time-traveler, in the past, naturally progresses into the future, with all the consequences and changes brought by the time-traveler's presence and actions in the past. Thus, we are left with a universe vastly different from the original one as more time passes_."

Anacleto paused, gravelly staring at them. "_Now, this is extremely important_." With the tip of his wand he traced the red line's first curve, which went from point minus one to point zero. "_This section of the timeline, which is already different from the primal one but connects with it in point zero, will be unstable since it represents all the years the time-traveler is in the past. During this time, both the green and red lines will exist and there won't be such monumental differences between them. The greater differences start when the red line shoots out into the future departing from point zero. Thus, while the time-traveler is in the past, both universes will coexist, and we'll only be out of the danger zone, there will only be stability and balance, and we can assure that only the secondary universe remains, when the red line reaches point zero – when it becomes fixed and the green line thus disappears, that original timeline –the memories and experiences it represents, the births that might not exist in the new timeline- forgotten by everyone as if it had never happened, since truly, it doesn't and now never did_."

He took an intake of breath, and then continued sternly, "_What does this mean in practice?_" He pointed at point zero. "_For the red line to pass through here, and thus became stable, it means, as I said before, that the anchor had to be unchanged in essence. The anchor is the time-traveller, hence, he must never change anything in the past which would result in him not being born, or in not making the time-travel in point zero_."

Anacleto pierced them with his gaze, as he added grudgingly, as if it cost him great effort to admit it, "_He must have the same parents, the same ancestors, and just as importantly, the same soul – this latter is already impossible, since nothing can control souls nor is it understood how the mechanics work when a soul is infused in a life the moment it's conceived. Whether a soul is created at that moment, or whether a rebirth of a soul is what happens, is unknown, and thus, uncontrollable. Also, the time-traveler cannot continue existing after he is born, since if not there would be two of them and that cannot be sustained for long and it might bring as a consequence the destruction of the universes_."

The former Unspeakable sighed. "_And those are precisely the snags_." He gestured widely at the red line floating in mid air. "_All of this is possible and correct in theory, but in practice, it simply cannot be done_."

Gellert suddenly let out a chortle, and then clapped cheerfully as he rose from his seat. "_I congratulate you, Anacleto, you have indeed made a most ground-breaking discovery."_

The thin, old wizard stared at him with perplexity, then he squirmed and said hesitantly, "_Perhaps I didn't explain matters clearly, it is not possib_-"

"_I do believe it is_," retorted Gellert contently, shooting him a crooked grin. "_All of those problems are easily solved. The time-traveler cannot live for long after his baby self is born, and not only that, he must die even before then, because the time-traveler possesses the soul that should be in the baby when it's conceived, since if not, he would be a different person altogether_." His twisted grin widened as he added, "_Thus, the time-traveler must simply be killed beforehand._"

Anacleto blinked at him repeatedly, before he mumbled choppily, "_Yes, but there's still the matter of the soul being infused in the conceived life-_"

"_Which can be done with a magical artifact I know of -since it does exactly that, control and manipulate souls- and which I will have in my possession so that it can be used for that very purpose_," interrupted Gellert placidly. When he saw Anacleto open his mouth, he brought up a hand, and continued pleasantly, "_Regarding the ancestors and parents, why, it's simple. There must be a third party who is aware of the time-travelling and who will watch and influence matters to make sure that the time-traveler's parents and grandparents are precisely who they were. That third party is, of course, me_."

The former Unspeakable stared at him uncomprehendingly, and Gellert let out a crow of laughter as he patted the man on the back. "_Don't you see, Anacleto? The perfect time-traveler is one who doesn't know he's a time-traveler at all_." A crooked smirk stretched on his handsome face. "_A baby, Anacleto._" He then gestured at the floating red line and its points. "_Point zero will be after the time-traveler is killed and over one year later after the baby self is born_."

"_But then_," said Anacleto slowly, a perturbed frown on his wrinkled face, "_he will merely be a tool, to change the timeline and then be sacrificed and killed_." He shot the Dark Lord a piercing glance. "_You understand that if the time-traveler is killed, that is the end of his life. The baby will go through the same, he will not have a different life_."

"_I understand that perfectly_," said Gellert, his hawk-like eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

The old Unspeakable shifted uneasily on his feet, and finally muttered with an apprehensive tone of voice, "_There's still the matter of the time-turner. I have not been able to break the twenty-four hour limit_-"

Gellert scoffed and then shook his head disparagingly. Shooting the old wizard a crooked smirk, he flicked his wand and conjured a pile of beach sand on the palm of his hand. In the next instant, he flung it at Anacleto.

The old man wheezed and sputtered, taken aback, while Gellert intoned, "_It's as simple as that, my friend._"

Looking like a drowned cat, Anacleto started dusting off the sand from his frilly robes, before he stared at the Dark Lord and grumbled, "_If you mean to imply that the Sands of Time should be directly applied to the subject who is to time-travel_…"

He trailed off and shook his head with dismay and trepidation, flecks of sand flying from his scraggly beard. "_No one has dared to touch the Sands directly. Torres, the young Unspeakable who discovered the clams in Atlantis, simply - 'puff'!_" He demonstrated gesturing with his hands. "_He disappeared, never to be seen or found again. We only had an inkling of what happened because his partner was there, several feet away from him. There is no knowing what the Sands will do to a wizard, and even less a baby. It could affect his magical core, it could_-"

"_I KNOW it will work_," interrupted Gellert sternly, now looking impatient and irritated. "_Regardless, it's your task to discover how it will affect the baby, if at all, and take measures to prevent any serious harm to him. And of course, you have to create a spell which will control the properties of the Sands of Time, to make the baby travel precisely fifty-three years into the past_." Imparting those new orders and information, he then waved a hand and added magnanimously, "_I grant you permission to make use of any of my prisoners in the dungeons as test-subjects_."

Then he nonchalantly turned around and commanded briskly, "_Come, Konrad. We're done here and we have much to discuss_."

A mute and pale-faced Konrad followed the Dark Lord towards the door, but then Gellert paused to glance over his shoulder at Anacleto, who was by then nervously dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

"_Oh_," said Gellert to the former Unspeakable as an afterthought, "_the spell must be wandless and nonverbal. There will be one witness, in particular, who will see what I do and he must never know what magic I used._" Seeing the old man's dismayed expression, Gellert's lips quirked upwards. "_Don't look so miserable, Anacleto, you have forty-three years to accomplish it, or what remains of your life if you die of old age before then_."

And with that, the Dark Lord and his Right-Hand left a shaky old wizard behind.


	10. Part II: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

There's no Harry/Tom in this chapter, and I suggest you read it when you're in a patient mood, since there's no action as well. Nevertheless, as always, everything that happens and is said is important for future things.

I hope you enjoy it!

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**Part II: Chapter 1**

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The world has much changed, mused a twenty-six year old Narcissa Malfoy as she stared at herself on the large, full-body gilded mirror in her boudoir.

Ascertaining that her personal house-elf had impeccably groomed her, the dress she wore seeming like a mantle of water wrapping along her slender body and the necklace of marquise-cut, blue topazes matching her icy beauty, she then turned her mind towards the ceremony that would take place in a few moments – the Naming Ceremony for her second son, the three-weeks-old Antares Harrison Malfoy.

Narcissa made a moue of distaste at what would soon be her son's middle name. It had been the subject of many arguments between her and Lucius.

She had the right to decide on the first name, following Black tradition by choosing from names of stars or constellations, but she had expected that tradition would also be followed by giving Antares his father's name as a middle one, as had been done with Draco. Instead, Lucius had informed her that the Dark Lord had already chosen 'Harrison'.

"Harrison," she had repeated, slightly narrowing her eyes at Lucius to convey her deep dissatisfaction, "a muggle surname? Why not Harry, to add insult to injury? It is just as mundane, despicable and muggle-like, but it is at least a first name."

Her voice had been laced with just the precise amount of stinging sarcasm, to let him know she wouldn't relent in her opposition, but what she hadn't expected was for Lucius to shoot her a sharp glance, gauging and piercing.

That had given her pause, wondering why the jibe would rattle him, why he seemed apprehensive and suspicious. Furthermore, Lucius had then swiftly informed her that the Dark Lord had decided to be Antares' godfather and as such, the choosing of a middle name lay with him.

Narcissa had remained silent at that, as Lucius expressed what a great honor was being bestowed upon them, by having the Dark Lord as the godfather of one of their sons. She couldn't dispute that, but the sheer strangeness of it added to her mounting wariness.

It was not only the fact that if the Dark Lord wanted to express his pleased satisfaction with Lucius he should have chosen Draco as the godson, the firstborn, and thus per tradition the one who should be the recipient of such gesture, but also that Lucius was so clearly distancing himself from his second son by not giving Antares his name.

She had further noticed that Lucius didn't visit the nursery at night, to gaze at his newborn son with pride and affection, as he had covertly done with Draco when he thought no one was watching.

No, Lucius was simply satisfied with Antares' birth, but evidently taking every measure to not become attached. It worried her still, making her wonder at the cause.

At first, she had thought that it could be due to the practical matter that having two sons would mean the division of the Malfoy fortune and estates between the two heirs. The Malfoys were known to have the strict rule of only having one heir precisely to avoid such problem. In the past, it was common to kill the first born females to give way to the birth of a male heir, or to simply kill at birth the spare male child who had been begotten unintentionally.

Lucius always seemed proud that his family had showed such ruthlessness, which had allowed the Malfoys to amass such a great fortune by only having one heir per generation. Meanwhile, Narcissa had always inwardly boasted that the Blacks had no need of that, their original fortune being so great that it had allowed them to have not only two branches of the family since time immemorial but also to have no need to curtail their progeny, the Black fortune seamlessly divided among all without causing squabbles.

But she had soon discovered that Lucius had no intention of dividing the Malfoy fortune; all would go to Draco, and Antares would only be given a generous, lifelong allowance.

It was not enough, in her view; no son of hers would be thought a pauper by comparison. However, Narcissa knew not to fight a lost battle and was already planning what could be done for Antares. Her objective was to gain for him all the Black estates and fortune.

One of her Black cousins, Sirius, had been disowned since the man was a teen, and Regulus had mysteriously disappeared nearly a year ago. That only left who was now the Patriarch of Black House, the only surviving Black of his generation: doddering, old Alphard Black, who had long ago become a recluse in Grimmauld Place.

If only old Alphard was dead, as he was by now in her Old Past, it would be much simpler. Nevertheless, Narcissa knew what to do; when Antares was older, she would start paying visits to her Uncle Alphard, taking Antares along with her, and subtly manipulating matters so that an attachment was formed between old man and boy, so that Alphard would ultimately name Antares his heir.

Alphard Black had always been a sentimental fool, according to what her father had once said regarding his brother, thus Narcissa only needed to be patient.

Narcissa flicked her wand and added a dangling curl of blond hair to her hairdo, and finally satisfied with her appearance, she picked up the trail of her dress and with an elegant, fluid motion, left her lavish, tasteful bedroom.

As she reached the grand stairwell, which led to the ground floor of Malfoy Manor -the sounds of the chattering of guests, the clinking of goblets and the soft, melodic, background music reaching her ears- she met Lucius by the balustrade and placed her hand on the arm he solicitously offered.

Lucius' eyes swept along her with approval and then they silently descended; not a word spoken between them, since as usual they left their conversations for private moments. Foremost, in public, they presented a joined front.

There was no deep, passionate love between them, but rather companionship, mutual support as they both dexterously danced the political spheres, displaying a match in dispositions, breeding and social skills, and even trust – trust that they would both do what was best for their family, even when they had slightly differing opinions on what that entailed. But such arguments and plots were left for when they were alone.

And thus they were received by their guests, those most attached to the Malfoys either by blood or political and business connections: the Greengrasses, the Goyles and Crabbes, the Parkinsons, Jezabel Zabini and her fifth new husband with their baby son, the Carrows and Averys, the Notts and Puceys, the Flints, and such, and of course, the Lestranges - Bellatrix with her husband Rabastan, and Andromeda, Rodolphus and their baby boy, Lorcan.

As Narcissa swept her gaze along the congregated guests, she inevitably reminisced about the day it had all changed, turning her world upside down. It had been October 31st, 1981; nearly ten months ago.

The Dark Lord Voldemort had left to pay a visit to the Potters, to kill them all for some mysterious reason of his own. The Grey Wizard, as the unknown man was called since he always appeared in public in a hooded grey cloak, which shrouded his face, was nowhere to be seen.

Up until then she had known nothing regarding the man except what she had learned through her husband's chilly words when he vented his frustrations; how the Grey Wizard had simply appeared one day a few months ago, demanding to see the Dark Lord, how after that first meeting behind closed doors he had been a frequent guest, and how most of the Death Eaters grumbled about it.

Regardless, it had been that very night of All Hallows Eve, a few moments past midnight, when the Death Eaters had felt their Dark Marks burning, alerting them that something had happened to their Lord after going to the Potter's, the very night Lucius had found that the wards had dropped around the pensieve his father had so long ago left him -along with the grimoire and instructions of precisely when to use the ritual- and when Lucius had plunged into the pensieve and told her nothing of what he had found out. After which, Lucius had swiftly gathered the Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons, and the Lestranges and convinced them to undergo the ritual as they waited for the Dark Lord's return.

Then a Death Eater had suddenly burst into Malfoy Manor, relaying the news that the Potter's home was in shambles, nothing left but the corpses of James and Lily Potter, the Dark Lord's wand lying on ashes –presumably all that was left of him- and with the Potter's baby gone.

For some reason, it seemed that that had been precisely what Lucius had been waiting for.

The Lestranges, Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr. were in a raging frenzy, disbelieving the news of the demise of their Lord and with every intention of going to the Longbottoms, to torture them for information, since it was known that Lord Voldemort had planned on killing them after being done with the Potters.

In a drastic action which had surprised Narcissa, Lucius had ordered them to stay put and then had swiftly locked down the wards on Malfoy Manor, preventing anyone from leaving, clearly having no time to waste in trying to get through the Lestranges and Bellatrix.

Then he had apparated away and had left Narcissa to deal with her enraged sister.

Many long hours had passed, night turning to day as she awaited for Lucius' return, when by evening time, it had happened: she had had the fleeting sensation that the very earth shook, and then memories she had never before experienced had flooded into her mind, making her gasp and clench her eyes shut at the avalanche, at the surplus of information which warred with other set of memories, fluidly and painlessly, yet leaving her dazed and disoriented.

Some of those recollections were the exact same, others not, yet her two sets of memories seemed to fuse together precisely then. It still perplexed and confused her.

All the while, those Death Eaters and followers who hadn't been chosen by Lucius to undergo the ritual had shrieked and screamed, falling to their knees, their expressions one of agony as if their minds were being torn apart. And then, as two Death Eaters had vanished into thin air, as if they had never existed, there had been silence.

Those Death Eaters for which the change had been painful, had blinked, standing up and puzzling about why they had been on the floor, remembering nothing of what had happened. They didn't have two pasts, only one; the new.

And then Narcissa had seen her sister Andromeda standing there, out of the blue, so changed for the worse, and with a baby boy in her arms which appeared to be several months younger than Draco.

Andromeda had carefully plopped the child into Rodolphus' arms, with all the naturalness in the world and as if it was something she frequently did. Though she hadn't shown an ounce of affection for the man.

Meanwhile, Rodolphus had stared at her and then at Bellatrix and back, looking dazed and blinking quickly. Finally, he had automatically wrapped his arms around the baby boy and simply stood rooted in place, looking as if a rush of tumultuous thoughts were spinning in his mind and he didn't quite know what to make of it all.

All the while Bellatrix had begun shrieking with crowing laughter, with giggles interspersed here and there, as she raised her arms into the air and madly spun around, whilst Rabastan fixedly stared at her with wide eyes and a paling face.

As Narcissa had finally allowed the new set of her memories to encompass her mind, she had begun to faintly understand the scene before her. Though with Bellatrix it was impossible to know what was going through her mind; whether the witch's celebration was due to the fact that she had now a new, younger husband or if it was because the Dark Lord-

Narcissa had frowned at that aborted thought, feeling hazily and increasingly confused. She hadn't had the time to order her thoughts or recollections since Lucius had then abruptly apparated back, uncharacteristically stumbling and looking vastly disoriented.

She had instantly gone to him, taking Lucius by the arm as she steered him to take a seat. All the while, she had taken particular notice of the things he was muttering under his breath, as if to himself.

"…the half-giant oaf and Dumbledore recognized him from the past… it's like Father had said… the two lines converged right then, it was the point of origin… I think it worked, it must have worked…"

Narcissa hadn't been able to understand her husband's mumblings –lines and origins?- and her temper had flared, since she had still felt confused and uneasy regarding the two sets of memories she possessed.

"Lucius, do me the courtesy of explaining matters to me," she had whispered sharply, "or I will scream."

Lucius had snapped his head up at that, staring at her and gauging the seriousness of her threat, to then quietly hiss through his teeth, "You would not dare."

Narcissa had arched a delicate eyebrow at him, challengingly. In the next second, though, she had relented. No, she wouldn't, she hadn't been about to make a scene in public; she had better breeding than that.

Thus, she had simply sat down next to him and turned her face around to gaze at him with a cold look. "Well?"

"All you need to know is –"

"_All _I need to know?" she had interjected testily, her expression chilling as her tone of voice slightly rose.

Lucius had shot her a look of warning. "Cissy, please."

She had skewered him with her gaze and then quietly cleared her throat. "Pardon me."

Her husband had nodded, accepting her apology, and Narcissa had simply waited, her spine straight, her beautiful face impassive.

Lucius then had seemingly ordered his own thoughts, decided what she should know, and had grabbed her hands, as he whispered adamantly, "Listen, Cissy, our life up until now – that's our old past. The new memories we now have, of a different life, that's our new past – it's the only past that matters. It is, from now on, our true past. Forget the old and embrace the new. Now things are for the better, because they were made to be better. And right now we only have one present and will only have one future. Do you understand?"

"I do not," she had answered coldly, piercing him with her gaze, demanding she would be told the full extent of it.

Lucius had made a noise of vexation, but Narcissa hadn't had the chance to press him for more information, since at that instant three wizards had apparated before the congregated Death Eaters: the Grey Wizard, Abraxas Malfoy, and the Dark Lord.

Seeing the latter two had been like a spine-chilling shock to Narcissa. There, was Abraxas Malfoy, alive, looking to be in his thirties, as if he was Lucius' brother and not his father. And the Dark Lord, so different from the one she had known from her 'old past', as Lucius had called it.

That was not Lord Voldemort before her; gone was the wizard she remembered from her Old Past, no longer with a pasty, pale face with features which lacked definition, no longer with slitted pupils like that of a serpent's, the irises now dark blue which only turned that fearsome shade of crimson when the wizard displayed powerful dark magic or when his temper took a hold of him. His features were now regal and handsome, his hair a silky, wavy black, and his appearance that of a thirty-year-old young man in his prime.

He was Lord Slytherin, her mind supplied, from the new set of memories she now possessed. Marvolo Slytherin.

Narcissa had forced her mind to quiet down, not deigning the moment to be appropriate for inward perusals. Instead, she had smoothly stood up while Lucius had met Abraxas in a tight embrace, both men strongly patting each other on the back, like father and son at long last reunited.

Of course, for the rest of the Death Eaters nothing seemed strange; they only remembered the New Past. Indeed, they had received the three wizards with the usual acclaim and nothing else.

Only the Crabbes, Goyles, and Parkinsons were whispering among themselves, undoubtedly attempting to match the Abraxas Malfoy who had died from dragon pox so long ago, in their Old Past, with the Abraxas Malfoy they saw before them. And indubitably, they were trying to match the Dark Lord from their Old Past, Lord Voldemort, with the one of their New Past, Lord Slytherin.

Narcissa had swept by the tight little group that those families had formed and had heard their speculations; '… the Dark Lord is much more powerful now, and he must be immortal, and what had Abraxas Malfoy done to remain so young? – the Dark Lord must have conferred to him immortality and eternal youth, somehow…'

The other family who had undergone the ritual from Abraxas' grimoire was the Lestranges of course, but Narcissa had seen that they had all been too occupied with their own problems to pay much attention to anything else.

Rodolphus had still looked shocked at having found himself with Andromeda for a wife and with a son to boot, while Rabastan had seemed to want to scream and protest for having found himself saddled with Bellatrix for a wife. And Bellatrix…

Narcissa had sighed. Well, Bellatrix hadn't appeared to have had any problems in adjusting to her new situation. She had been by then clinging to the Dark Lord, worshipfully gazing up at him. If Bellatrix had fanatically adored the Dark Lord before, when he was Lord Voldemort, now that he was the handsome Lord Slytherin for all the more reason.

Finally, after making sure that all her guests had been properly attended to, Narcissa had slipped away to the library for a moment of peace in which she could make head and tails of the situation. She had chosen her favorite chaise longue and had rested her eyes as she plunged into her two sets of memories.

The immediate differences between New and Old Past were simple to detect: Andromeda's and Bellatrix's marriages, Regulus disappearing instead of Gringotts' goblins notifying her that he was declared dead as had happened in the Old Past, Alphard Black still living, and most importantly, the Grey Wizard, Abraxas Malfoy and the Dark Lord.

The Grey Wizard's case was peculiar; it had confused her. They were the same in both her New and Old Past. She still had never seen the wizard's face, always hooded, but the man looked to be hunched under his robe, in both Pasts. The only difference was that in the New Past, the Grey Wizard had been by Lord Slytherin's side since the seventies, when Lord Slytherin had made himself the Dark Lord. In the Old Past, however, the Grey Wizard had simply appeared out of the blue, and had just been visiting Lord Voldemort during a few months before the Dark Lord had gone to kill the Potters.

Regarding the Dark Lord himself, from her New Past she remembered when she had been a girl and her mother, Druella Rosier, had gushed and praised the handsome and brilliant Marvolo Slytherin from her schooldays, who had formed the Knights of Walpurgis who would later become the Death Eaters. Druella had also said something about a boy she had detested, Marvolo Slytherin's twin.

Narcissa had frowned at that, since nowhere in her New Past did she find anything relating to that mysterious twin of the Dark Lord, but she soon discarded it as inconsequential. The boy must have died from some illness or some such thing and it didn't affect her anyway.

Furthermore, from her New Past Narcissa remembered her own schooldays during the seventies when the first rumors about a Dark Lord had started to spread among dark pureblood circles. When she had become engaged to Lucius she had even met him in person and had been struck by Lord Slytherin's handsomeness and cunning, charming manners. Nevertheless, the dark power the wizard exuded had always been frightening as well as awe-inspiring.

Indeed, comparing the Dark Lords from her Old and New Past, besides the differences in appearance, there were also differences in their personalities. She had always thought Lord Voldemort to be dangerously unbalanced, but Lord Slytherin was quite another matter. He was fierce and fear-inspiring, surely, but also suave and highly skilled in smooth, subtle manipulations.

Perhaps that Lord Slytherin wasn't savagely deranged as when he had been Lord Voldemort could explain why the wizard felt much more powerful. Lord Voldemort had been incredibly powerful, of course, but not to such a flabbergasting degree that left everyone breathless when in his presence for long as happened with Lord Slytherin.

Of course, Abraxas was also added to the mix. Lucius' father was the right-hand of Lord Slytherin, Narcissa saw from her set of memories of her New Past.

It hadn't happened like in the Old Past, when Abraxas had sole-handedly raised Lucius since the man's wife, Kasimira von Krauss, had never taken any great interest and had died when Lucius had been a child. Back then, Abraxas had been a Death Eater but hadn't been too deeply involved, rather more occupied with his businesses and with strictly raising his heir, to ultimately die from dragon pox when Lucius had been eighteen years old.

On the other hand, Narcissa saw that in the New Past it had been Kasimira who had raised Lucius. Abraxas had only been popping in and out of Lucius' life. Later it was known that he had been spending all those years with Lord Slytherin, in travels, apparently. Indeed, Abraxas had only returned to England, to stay, in the seventies, when Lord Slytherin had begun to make a name for himself as a Dark Lord. With Abraxas back in England to take the reins of Malfoy business and to take care of his son, Kasimira had then left to lead her own life as she pleased. She was still alive, living in Argentina or some such place, apparently.

Regardless, what mattered to Narcissa was that she and Kasimira didn't seem stand each other, from the few times they had met before the woman had left England, in the New Past.

Other than that, and that she saw that there were some people who didn't exist and some other new ones who did, comparing Old and New Past, there wasn't that great deal of a difference.

Even that day had been very similar in the New Past; Lord Slytherin had gone to kill the Potters at midnight of All Hallows Eve, reason still unknown, though the Grey Wizard had accompanied him –instead of being missing like in the Old Past- along with Abraxas. All the while the Death Eaters had gathered at Malfoy Manor to await, and Lucius had taken the Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons and Lestranges –without Andromeda- along with her, and had conducted the ritual.

The same ritual with the same families as in the Old Past, and also with them being none the wiser of why it was needed and what it did, exactly. Though in this instance they all knew that the Dark Lord approved it. In the Old Past, Narcissa didn't think Lord Voldemort had known about it.

On another note, the only thing that stood out was that even though the Wizarding War of the 40s was lost in basically the same way, Gellert Grindelwald had simply disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again, instead of having been defeated by Albus Dumbledore and then imprisoned in Nurmengard.

But again, she had deemed that that hardly affected her, so she had dismissed it. Oh, how foolish she had been.

Having done that little analysis, which had helped her to ease her mind from the conflicting set of memories, Narcissa had then left the library, to find the Death Eaters and other followers celebrating in the ballroom.

The Dark Lord Slytherin had been giving a speech regarding his plans for the future; "… now at last, real changes will come," he had said.

And during the grand celebration that followed, Narcissa had been given a gift.

"We can have a second child, Cissy," Lucius had told her as he pulled her to a side in the midst of the gathering. "The Dark Lord insists upon it, he is granting us a great favor in payment for my service and loyalty."

Narcissa had stared back at him, speechless yet also wary and suspicious. Her husband had never wished for another child and the healers had warned her, after Draco's birth, that attempting a second pregnancy would be extremely dangerous for her health.

However, if the Dark Lord had a way to heal her womb, as was evidently implied, and even if he did it only to have another Malfoy to add to his ranks in the future, she had been willing to pay the price.

It hadn't been out of maternal, loving and sentimental wishes of having another baby. No, it had been more raw and primal than that; it was a desire to have another life which would be flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood, another Black that wouldn't be the Malfoy heir but, rather, completely hers.

And yet, what had followed after she had accepted, she hadn't anticipated. Abraxas had a whole wing of Malfoy Manor for himself, as expected since he had lived there in the New Past, but the Dark Lord, as well, had installed himself in the best guest room after that night of celebration in which Narcissa and Lucius had conceived their second child.

It had been then when her misgivings and apprehensions had begun.

It started the following day after the celebration, when the Dark Lord had cast a spell to ascertain that she had a new life growing in her womb, and when the Dark Lord had given her a present – a hideous golden locket with an incrusted emerald upon which laid a silver serpent in the shape of an 'S', evidently a Slytherin heirloom.

She would have felt honored by the priceless gift, but she grew to be wary of it due to what it made her feel: not the potent dark magic that emanated from it, but the stirring of something within, as if frantically wishing to escape.

During all those months of pregnancy in which she had wore it, she had experienced several nights in which she had been abruptly awoken, dazedly thinking she had heard a desperate wail from within the depths of the locket. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to open it, but still the sensation had remained that there was something there that frenziedly cried for release from its prison.

The Dark Lord had become a fixture in the Manor in the following months of her pregnancy, allowing no healers to attend to her but only Severus Snape and himself.

Furthermore, Lord Slytherin had constantly laid a hand on her bulging and growing belly, without bothering to ask for permission but rather intent and concentrated in his actions, making Narcissa feel streams of dark magic flowing from the wizard's palm to be infused into the life she carried. She hadn't said a word but she had wondered with concern about the cause for the Dark Lord's wish for such transfer.

The Dark Lord gave nothing for free, and never his own magic, so why? And why such an interest in a second son of the Malfoy House? She still didn't know, and even though it was a further honor to have the Dark Lord as her son's godfather, it didn't bode well regarding what the Dark Lord would demand in the future.

Furthermore, most peculiar of all, Abraxas didn't take any interest in her pregnancy. He even seemed to avoid her during those months, as if something about it was unbearable and painful to him. Quite in contrast with how content and proud he had been when Draco was begotten and born in her New Past, which was the past of the life she led now.

Narcissa pulled away from her musings and regarded the guests present for Antares' Naming Ceremony.

As usually happened when Narcissa laid eyes upon her elder sister, she felt a twinge of regret but which passed swiftly as she suppressed it. Yes, Andromeda had changed much compared to how she had been in her Old Past. There was no happiness in Andromeda's eyes: they were dull, her expression hard, bitter and beaten down.

Nevertheless, Narcissa rather have a sister properly married and occupying her rightful social standing, than an estranged one who had turned her back to heritage and blood, betraying all to follow a selfish whim of love for a mudblood.

Narcissa still remembered that memory of her Old Past, when she had once seen Andromeda meandering in Diagon Alley with a six-year-old girl whose hair continually changed from pink to purple. Their gazes had met then, very briefly, and Narcissa had seen the happiness in Andromeda's eyes, the love and pride she held for her small daughter. It had been fleeting, and Narcissa had coldly and indifferently turned her gaze away from the elder sister she had once loved so deeply and whom she felt had betrayed her when abandoning her family.

Now, as Narcissa saw it, Andromeda's happiness and her daughter had been swapped for a proper marriage and a boy, a Lestrange heir. She had her sister back, in a situation in which they could be close, and it was a fair price. And better yet, Andromeda didn't know what she had lost and thus wouldn't suffer for it.

With Lucius by her, Narcissa at last took her place before the marble plinth in which her son Antares laid wrapped in a black, silk blanket, with Hetty, the nursemaid house-elf, nervously fidgeting as she made sure the baby wouldn't move too much and tumble down. Bellatrix, Abraxas, the Dark Lord and the Grey Wizard were by her side at the forefront of the gathering.

Indeed, the 'Grey Wizard'. Still no one knew who he was yet rumors and speculations ran amok. However, Narcissa knew; she remembered. Yet she had to repress a chilly shudder and drive away the memory of when she had given birth to Antares and seen the man's face.

Nevertheless, she was quite certain Lucius knew the man's identity by now and she had no doubt that the Dark Lord would soon reveal it – it would only add to his political clout and to his following.

She observed the Dark Lord's expression as the wizard stared down at Antares, and the possessive, satisfied and smug look on the man's handsome face - something in it - chilled her to the bone.

Moreover, it still marveled her that all knew about the Dark Lord's blood status as a halfblood, so unlike her Old Past where the wizard had been a mystery and the name Lord Voldemort wasn't uttered even in a whisper since it instilled abject fear.

Now the name Voldemort had never existed and it was known that Marvolo Slytherin was a halfblood, and yet none of the purebloods cared, not when the wizard's power and dark magic thrummed and vibrated around him so potently and enticingly.

Nevertheless, she reminded herself, still many mysteries regarding the Dark Lord remained. Foremost, what the wizard had been doing all those years when he and Abraxas were missing, and what the Dark Lord had done to make them have two sets of memories.

At first, the most obvious answer that had come to her mind was that the powerful wizard had changed the past.

Lord Voldemort had been waging a years-long war up until the moment he went to kill the Potters for whatever reason, and yet the Dark Lord's attempts to have wizarding Britain under his rule had been unsuccessful. Many raids and attacks and political plots had been carried, but admitting it bluntly, the wizard had been failing.

Thus, it could lead to believe that the Dark Lord had taken a desperate and risky measure of changing the past, which had borne Lord Slytherin.

However, Narcissa had covertly researched the matter -careful that Lucius wouldn't discover her pursuit- and everything she had read had made it clear that changing the past wasn't possible and that time-travelling was a very risky business that not even a Dark Lord would be crazed enough to attempt.

Furthermore, if the wizard had somehow time-travelled by mysterious means –since from what she had read, the 24-hour standard time-turner didn't allow the user to truly change anything – then why hadn't the Dark Lord changed the past so that he had already conquered as much of the wizarding world as possible?

As far as she could see, nothing significant had been changed up until the day when the Potters had been killed.

Up until then, her Old and New Past were very similar in the grand scheme of things: the political regimes were the same in the wizarding world, Britain still had a Ministry of Magic controlled by light wizards, and the Dark Lord, both Lord Voldemort in the Old Past and Lord Slytherin in the New Past, had still been uselessly waging a war – the exact same raids and attacks, eerily enough, only that Lord Slytherin seemed to have always expected the failures, his punishments bland, as if he was just going through the motions.

The true changes had come after the Dark Lord, Lord Slytherin, had returned to Malfoy Manor after killing the Potters, with Abraxas and the Grey Wizard in tow.

It was from then on when Britain's wizarding world had been turned upside down, as if the Dark Lord had had a renewed surge of vitality, power, and brilliancy - or as if he had been long waiting to finally put his true plans into action. It was most peculiar.

Failed and pointless raids were no longer conducted, the man's very strategy had been drastically changed, and a swift coup d'état had been efficiently managed from within the very Ministry of Magic. So quickly, so suddenly, that no one had had time to blink or even do anything against it before it was a fait accompli.

And more perplexing of all, the one wizard whom Narcissa had expected to attempt to fight against it had simply vanished. Indeed, Albus Dumbledore had fled, of all unexpected and uncharacteristical things, from Britain, along with several light wizarding families like the Weasleys, the Bones, and the Longbottoms.

Their names were now infamous, the 'Wanted' as they were listed as, and none knew their whereabouts. Though the Dark Lord didn't seem particularly interested in finding them nor worried about what Albus Dumbledore could be doing and plotting.

Those purebloods, even the light-oriented, which remained had simply embraced the change of political regime in the Ministry of Magic with calmness, clearly waiting to see if it would serve their interests. Indeed, she had even expected that her estranged cousin, Sirius Black, would have trailed after Dumbledore, given that the man's friends, the Potters, were dead and since he was close to the Longbottoms. And yet she had heard that Sirius was out and about, lingering in England.

The rest -the halfbloods and mudbloods- seemed to be either too afraid or simply resigned, knowing they didn't have the power to form a serious opposition, not with Albus Dumbledore gone. Furthermore, they still didn't have any great cause for concern.

The Dark Lord had implemented, through his control over the Ministry, subtle and slow changes, evidently being careful to not raise alarm among the populace. There was still a Ministry of Magic after all, still the illusion of a democracy and not the dictatorship of a Dark Lord.

Indeed, in the face of the public, the one who dictated policy was Lucius himself, the Minister who had been elected by the Wizengamot, indisputably, openly and 'legally'.

Though Narcissa still wondered what price the Dark Lord had demanded from Lucius in exchange for such an exalted position. The fact that Lucius had been informed of his new career the very day the Dark Lord detected she was pregnant with Antares made her suspect, and already was she plotting how to avoid or confront the worst.

All of it had happened during her pregnancy, added to the changes at Hogwarts through the appointment of Severus Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows as professors for the new Dark Arts class, along with several other adjustments.

Narcissa knew well that the most drastic changes would come in the months to follow, subtly and step by step, with wise patience since that seemed to be the Dark Lord's new strategy.

She had an inkling of who could have influenced the wizard's modus operandi. It could have only been the Grey Wizard, given what she knew of him, and she could only wonder for how long the latter had mentored the former and what further plans they had up their sleeves.

That the Dark Lord would soon be plotting to take over the rest of Europe was evident given the wizard's latest speeches to his followers; that it would be done as sagely as the coup in Britain was also clear. That perhaps some country would rebel and would wage a war was also possible. But Narcissa no longer feared the risk it represented to her family, not as she would have if the Dark Lord had been Lord Voldemort instead of Lord Slytherin.

And yet, she still wondered why the Dark Lord had waited so long - why until then.

The discreet clearing of a throat made her abruptly pull away from her thoughts, and Narcissa shot Lucius a glance, understanding dawning on her when she then caught sight of the expectant guests.

Remembering her duty, she smoothly turned her head to a side as she bowed and softly spoke with the just amount of deference and politeness, "May we begin, My Lord?"

With Lord Slytherin's terse agreement, the Naming Ritual commenced. And as since she had no great part in it, she allowed her mind to wander once more, while father, godfather, and the godmother she had chosen –her sister Bellatrix– conducted the proceedings and intoned the name-bestowing enchantment that would ensure Antares a place in the Malfoy and Black family records and tree-lines.

Indeed, as she silently gazed down at her three-weeks-old baby, she was struck, briefly, by the spine-chilling fear she had felt the day she had given birth to Antares.

The experience had been horrible, terrifying and traumatic, and it still shook her to the very bones when she remembered it.

However, all doubts vanished from her mind when, as she observed her son, Antares' eyes, which looked so huge and endearing in his tiny face, abruptly changed to a silvery blue as he gazed up at his father and gurgled, his locks of wavy black with some curls here and there transforming to a tuft of platinum blond hair.

She even saw Lucius' lips quirking upwards at Antares' unwitting imitation of his father's looks, and a strong thought reverberated in her mind as she gazed back at her son: he's mine, there's no doubt about it, no matter what they did to him.

A surge of fierce pride swelled up within her as Antares' coloring changed once again. A Black through and through, a Metamorphagi at that; the greater and most powerful display of his Black ancestry that could be had, and what an honor and merit it was to have a son with such a blood trait present in him.

While Draco looked more like Lucius with every passing day, Antares was clearly all her. The shape of Antares' features didn't change yet, he was by far too young to modify such with his Metamorphagus ability, unwittingly or not, but Narcissa was content with it since it gave her ample opportunity to see how much he resembled her; her refined and delicate features in a tiny, boyish face.

He would be stunning.

Draco was Lucius', the heir to be molded by his father as he pleased, to be strictly taught how to be the future Patriach of Malfoy House, and Narcissa would simply limit herself to temper Lucius' lessons with subvert, subtle and brief coddling, to give Draco some slight measure of a carefree childhood. But Antares would be different.

Lucius had chosen to not stake a claim on him, implicitly, by inaction, but she had made it clear that she had.

The spare son, the superfluous Malfoy child who would receive no Malfoy vault or estate, would be a Black, all hers, through and through. Hers to pass unto him the Black legacy and all teachings, hers to ensure a way for him to receive all Black vaults and estates, hers to shape and raise without Lucius' interference.

At last the ceremony came to an end, followed by the congratulations of their guests and even by Bellatrix cooing at Antares, raking a sharp nail along one small, round cheek, causing the baby to wail in complaint, though Bellatrix seemed to find it vastly amusing as she let out a crowing giggle and said in a pleased singsong, "Little, bitty, tiny Black - Black, Black, Black."

Narcissa simply allowed her sister to have her fun until she detected that Antares was quickly getting moodier and increasingly fussy.

Shooting a cold look at Bellatrix for what the witch had caused –with Bellatrix answering back with a nasty, smug smirk and another crow of laughter– she sharply ordered Hetty the house-elf to take the baby back to his nursery. And with a swift round of making her excuses to her guests with promises of returning shortly, she soon followed after.

As she crossed the Manor with an elegant fluidity of motion, she caught sight of a figure following at her same pace, but not along the corridors as her, but through walls and doors.

Narcissa didn't falter in her steps, though her jaw clenched momentarily and her hand automatically made a move to reach her wand – she forestalled that action and simply continued, keeping track of the figure from the corner of her eyes.

As soon as she reached Antares' nursery she curtly dismissed Hetty and simply stood by the cradle, gazing down at a wailing Antares who had clearly had had too much excitement for one day.

She just waited, without moving, as she stared at her son.

She noticed the exact moment the figure came out of a wall and placidly stood by a corner, inches away from the cradle. Only then did Narcissa raise her head to stare at It.

It looked exactly the same as the two times she had seen It; shimmering, nearly translucent and with a golden light which seemed to sparkle and emanate from It - or him, she didn't quite know.

If It had a solid consistency she would think he was a wizard, a man in his early twenties, tanned, handsome and manly, with curls of dark hair and the eeriest eyes she had ever seen – milky white, sheer, and sometimes even seeming as if clouds, or nebulas or even tiny stars moved through them, like reflections.

The eyes made a shudder run down her spine.

Antares had been born with those eyes and when she had seen her baby for the first time she had nearly screamed in horror, thinking that what they had done to him had caused her son to become blind. Then, in the next second, Antares' eyes had turned into her shade of clear blue and she had let out a deep exhalation of relieved breath.

Nevertheless, it rattled her and she didn't know the reason why Antares had had those eyes, like It's, and why sometimes, briefly, her son's eyes would turn into that hue again.

It seemed to be his default color; that, and a beautiful, vibrant shade of green – which sometimes she had the vague sensation she had seen before.

Regardless, at present, it was the third time she saw It.

The first occasion had been during Antares' birth and she had simply thought at the time that she had been hallucinating, caused by the pain or simply due to the horrendous proceedings.

It hadn't spoken then, just stood there, like a ghostly observer, saying nothing and simply watching. And the three wizards who had been in her room hadn't noticed or detected It in any way. By the time Narcissa had recovered her coherency and coolness, It was gone.

The second time had been the day after, when Narcissa had gone into the nursery to visit her newborn son, halting in her tracks by the threshold, momentarily petrified as she saw It standing by the cradle and gazing down at Antares with an odd intensity in It's eerie eyes.

Narcissa had been further alarmed when Hetty had gone through It as if it wasn't there at all, clearly the house-elf not seeing It either. Only Narcissa seemed to be capable of seeing It, evidently because It wanted her to.

That day she hadn't thought about it twice and a curse had been on her lips as she whipped out her wand, at the same time that she manipulated the wards of Malfoy Manor with the fingertips of her left hand. But as commanded by the swift movements of her fingers, the wards hadn't wrapped around It and flung It out of the Manor. No, nothing had happened, and Narcissa had been puzzled and scared.

The wards couldn't get a hold of It and It looked like a strange ghost, but she knew It couldn't be that.

Years ago, in her very first day as Lucius Malfoy's newlywed wife, she had swept along the whole Manor, taking control of the house-elves, letting the wards adjust to her as they keyed her in and gave her a control over them which she would share with Lucius, while she inspected every nook and cranny of her new home and planned for the modifications in décor she would make. Then she had been abruptly startled when a pair of Malfoy ancestor ghosts had floated through her.

With one look at them she had deemed them uninteresting and annoying and she had instantly demanded of Lucius that they be banished to some faraway corner of the Manor. It was distasteful to have ghosts rattling and bothering guests and family, and it would not happen in her domain. Lucius had grudgingly yielded to her demands and now the wards would allow no ghosts outside of the Portrait Hall.

Thus, she had known It was no ghost, that day when she had seen It in the nursery. Nevertheless, after failing with the wards, she had begun enchanting a curse as she weaved her wand in the air, but then It had spoken as it raised its hands in a surrendering manner, a soft smile on its face.

"I mean no harm, to you or your family," It had said with a thick Spanish accent, its eerie eyes crinkling with amusement. "If I had the slightest intention of it, the wards of this manor would not only prevent it but also immediately expel me out."

With her heart still beating hard with anxiousness and apprehension, Narcissa had nonetheless regained her coolness, her eyes then narrowing slightly as she shot him a piercing, gauging gaze as she considered his statement, her wand still aimed at It.

It took her seconds to deem that It was right; even though the wards couldn't take a hold of It at present, she knew that the moment It made any threatening moves, the wards would act, no matter what It was or if It seemingly didn't have any corporeal solidity.

"Who are you?" she had then demanded in a sharp tone of voice.

"You can call me Santi, if you wish," It had said, a gentle smile growing on its face.

Given that unedifying answer which elucidated nothing to her, her voice had grown hard as she had asked bluntly, her gaze sweeping along his figure, "What are you – a magical creature of some kind?"

A dark eyebrow quirked upwards, It's smile turning into a lopsided grin as he let out a short, rumbling bout of amused laughter. "A creature? No, no." Then It had shot her a glance, and added calmly, "I'm not a wizard either, if you were wondering." It shrugged its shoulders. "I'm simply me."

"Yes, of course, that clears everything up," Narcissa had interjected tartly and poignantly. "Why are you here? What do you want-"

"Here?" It had interrupted, looking vastly amused as it gazed around the surroundings. "But I'm not here. I'm nowhere." It shot her a grin, adding loftily, "Or I should better say, I'm anywhere, anywhen. As for my purpose…" It's eerie eyes gazed back at Antares in his cradle and continued quietly, "I'm here to see him. I'll be paying him visits frequently."

And before Narcissa could open her mouth to express just what she thought of that, It had vanished with a cheerful wave of its hand.

In the three weeks that had followed she had simply continued thinking of him as It, or The Thing, or 'Santi', as he had said, if she felt generous, which had only happened twice. Indeed, she only felt vexation and impotence regarding the matter, and thus anger and wariness.

And now there he was, before her for the third time, and Narcissa had every intention of obtaining answers.

Evidently, The Thing meant no harm or the wards wouldn't allow him passage, but It could still come and go as it pleased and It was still hovering near her baby son's cradle, staring with an odd expression on his translucent face at a fidgety Antares who was waving his tiny hands in the air, pouting and demandingly gurgling, wanting to be picked up.

Yet, Narcissa didn't move, she wanted to have her hands and arms free, just in case, and she simply stared at 'Santi', waiting. Most of times, people felt compelled to fill tense silences and would inevitably speak of anything and thus reveal information. It was a lesson taught to her long ago by her father.

She remembered him with faint fondness, unlike what she had felt for her mother. Indeed, she had been her father's favorite.

Cygnus Black had never bestowed upon her a touch of affection or an outward and evident show of attachment, but he had nonetheless conveyed it in his characteristical manner, by allowing her to spend time with him in the man's study, in companionable silence as they both read books of their respective interests.

In those few years when she had been a child, he had slowly and quietly imparted his lessons to her; the value of never speaking your mind, being reserved to the utmost, of keeping all thoughts to yourself and thread carefully in all conversations, the worthiness and efficiency of being -above all things- patient, stoic, subtle, and coolly levelheaded, of not giving way to brash impulses and tempestuous displays, as her mother Druella had constantly done, which Bellatrix had inherited and even Andromeda to a lesser degree.

Indeed, the only occasions Narcissa had allowed herself to act impulsively had been the few times she had deemed that a situation required swift and immediate action, after ascertaining that her spontaneous decision of how to react was the best resort. And right then, it was not the case.

As she had expected, Santi didn't take long in gazing up at her with those eerie eyes of his, as he uttered pleasantly, "I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to memorize a lullaby and you will need to sing it to Antares as often as you can during the next months."

Narcissa almost gaped at him in sheer flabbergasted incredulity. Of course, she didn't do anything so crass and simply stared back at him, conveying exactly how ridiculous and nonsensical she found the request.

But It didn't give her a chance to voice her opinion, as he swiftly sang in a soft, melodic tone, "_Once upon a time, there was a good little wolf, mistreated by all the lambs. Once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon. There was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate. There were all these things, once upon a time, when I dreamed of a world turned upside down._"

At first, Narcissa had almost burst into derisive laughter, quite thinking The Thing had taken leave of his senses and that perhaps it was all some ridiculous prank.

Indeed, for all his strange and eerie appearance, he could just be a wizard with a glamour making him translucent and glow in golden light, and perhaps he used some spell to be able to pass through walls and doors, or any such thing.

However, as the lullaby progressed she felt the effect of it; a wave of magic settling around the room, making Antares –who had thus far been wailing softly at the lack of attention– abruptly yawn, instantly falling asleep with a placid expression on his tiny face.

The Black family didn't have such spells, but she had heard about it. The younger the child, the better it worked.

"Which House is it from?" she asked, the first thing that abruptly came to mind, too startled by the bizarre request and the lullaby that had followed.

Santi shot her a lopsided smile. "The Prince's." Then he gazed at her with a most serious and grave expression on his handsome face, and demanded, "Will you remember it or should I sing it again?"

"I am able to remember," she replied sharply, all sense of the strangeness of the situation fading away to give way to vexation and impatience. "If not, I can use a pensieve to revisit the memory of it." She skewered him with her clear blue eyes and demanded curtly, "May I know why I should sing a Prince's lullaby to my son, of all nonsensical things?"

"It's quite simple," retorted Santi in a gentle tone of voice. "A bridge must be formed between now and then. A connection is required. They believed they had it all figured out," he added in an incisive mutter, "and they were right regarding how it worked, in the whole. But you see, they didn't see the details. They didn't realize how the direct application of the substance would affect him - they had no way of knowing."

He gestured a translucent hand towards the cradle. "Now they believe that the spell they used during his birth caused Antares to have a blank soul, wiped clean from his past memories, just as they wanted, but it is not true. A soul yanked out so savagely from its body, by an unnatural and violent death as he experienced, will always remember. The recollections will come back to him suddenly, with unimaginable force, and the way he was killed, the sheer cruelty of it, the pain and suffering, will most likely rip him apart. Not to mention the recollections of the decades his soul spent trapped in the device – the locket. Antares will be too young to understand the influx of those memories - it will most likely happen soon, when he's a baby, you see. What mind of a baby would be able to withstand such without insanity soon following?"

Narcissa speechlessly stared at him, without having made sense out of any of it. She simply felt that the absurdity and nonsense of it had reached a new, insupportable level.

She was already prepared to whip out her wand again and start casting all curses that came to mind to drive him away; to call out for the house-elves if required, and even Lucius and the Dark Lord if it came to that.

However, The Thing kept talking, as if he didn't realize or care that he was under any threat from her, "The only way to help him is to ease him into it. They made you start wearing the locket the day after you conceived Antares and modified it so that filaments of his soul would slowly filter into the life you carried, creating the anchor between the timelines in the origin of the change, since he is the catalyst. The full transfer of his soul and the swap was completed when you gave birth to him. They were right to do the transfer of his soul slowly - at least they realized how it should be done so that it wouldn't be as traumatic for his soul, in this instance."

Santi held up a translucent hand the moment Narcissa attempted to get a word out, and he continued in his thick Spanish accent, "At present, it's nearly ten months after the day of origin, the day he was also conceived, and it has been three weeks since his birth, and still, his soul isn't fully anchored in his body – I can feel it. Just as he unwittingly feels that he is in a strange body, where he doesn't naturally belong. And since he, in himself, is the anchor and since the original timeline no longer exists, if his soul isn't anchored, Time will revert back to its original path by inertia. And yet that path no longer exists. We would be plunged into nothingness. So you see, it's not only for his sake but for the sake of all."

He shot her a wide, gentle grin, as he added, "He simply needs something he will instinctually recognize from his past. The simplest thing is the lullaby, which has always soothed him. The very familiarity of it will help him make the transition more smoothly and will finish rooting his soul in his new body. And once it happens, his past memories won't savagely flood into his mind; they will come to him slowly, throughout many years, and thus his sanity will not suffer for it."

Narcissa had, by now, her wand limply dangling from her upheld hand. The moment she realized it, she gripped it tightly and stowed it away. Then she gazed back at him and the first thought that came to her mind was regarding the Prince lullaby.

The only Prince alive at present was Severus Snape, and for a moment she thought it all meant that the dour Potions Master and Hogwarts' Headmaster had been covertly sneaking into Antares' nursery to sing to him the lullaby of the Princes, for how else would it be familiar to her baby?

A frenzied laughter almost escaped her lips, finding it ridiculously funny at the same time that she felt she was sinking into a chasm.

In the next second, she brutally chided herself and made an effort to regain her levelheadedness. She was purposely misunderstanding things, not wanting to really analyze and attempt to make sense of what she had been told. But why should she believe such outlandish things?

"You speak to me about my son's past, implying it was decades ago, that the body he has now is a new one, that he was killed in the past, his soul trapped for years upon years in the locket I later wore, of his horrible death, of 'they' who did it all, and you don't explain whom you are referring to, and of timelines, thus implying a time-travelling which isn't possible," she said quietly, gazing at some point in the wall across from her. Then she snapped her gaze back to him and added sharply, "And yet we are speaking of a newborn baby, a baby I gave birth to merely three weeks ago, and thus, not a being that had any other past but that of these past three weeks."

Santi skewered her with his eerie, milky white eyes, to then deeply frown at her. "Are you being purposely dense or are you really dim-witted and unable to comprehend?"

Instantly, Narcissa's usually cool temper flared at that. She squashed it down in the next second, remembering her father's teachings like a mantra; levelheadedness, calmness, patience, be stoic and unflappable, take all the time required to analyze your thoughts before deciding what to say.

She trailed her gaze around the vast nursery, basking in the depictions on the walls she had commissioned an artist to paint; it displayed an enchanted forest, with clouds placidly rolling by, as if gently pushed by a soft breeze, trees with rich foliage which sparkled with sunlight, the glow of tiny fairies fluttering from one wall to the other, squirrels meandering along branches, and beautiful unicorns and centaurs trotting through the trees, weaving in and out of sight.

It served its purpose, soothing her, helping her regain her composure and get a grip on herself, allowing her to calmly make a choice.

"I apologize," she said coolly, turning to gaze back at him. "I am indeed able to piece together the bits of information I posses. But first…" She then flicked her wand at one of the rocking chairs at one corner of the room and muttered a spell, transforming it into two plush armchairs which skidded to be placed behind each of them. "Would you be so kind as to take a seat? Make yourself comfortable, if you please."

Santi shot her a surprised look, and then warmly smiled as he flopped down on his chair, clearly believing they had reached a mutual understanding or even an alliance of sorts.

Young Narcissa had to suppress a scoff at The Thing's delusions. She simply wanted to extract from him as much information as possible, and her main objective was to garner just how much It was willing to do for her – or better said, for Antares.

That Santi was interested in her son there was no doubt about, but did he care for her child? Had he formed an attachment, and if so, what was he prepared to do for Antares' wellbeing? If The Thing truly cared, she could easily use that to her and her son's advantage. Could she really be able to acquire for her son someone who could be useful to Antares from so early on in his life?

She would glean that from The Thing afterwards, at present she had another task.

Narcissa elegantly sat down on her chair and folded her pale hands on her lap, briefly glancing at Santi, not escaping her notice that The Thing was able to sit down instead of going through the cushion of the seat.

One of her motives for having offered him a seat -besides instilling a more relaxed ambiance between them that would be conducive to a greater flow of information from him to her- had been precisely that of elucidating if he could, indeed, sit down. She had her answer; The Thing could control his solidity. She filed away that little tidbit of information in case it could be of future use or importance.

Finally, she closed her eyes, not caring what The Thing would think of her by that action, or that she was presenting a vulnerability that could be exploited. Regarding the physical danger to herself, the wards would protect her, indubitably, and that was enough.

She already knew what two experiences were related to what Santi had divulged.

The most recent one was, of course, that of when she had given birth to Antares. But she would leave that for second, not wanting to relive it right then.

The other one pertained to when she had eavesdropped on Abraxas' and Lucius' conversation, finally some of the things she had overheard making sense, and thus allowing her to-

"You know, you must be aware of who 'they' are. They were there when you had Antares and I was observing what they did. It was then when you saw me for the first time, remember? And I know you didn't forget what they did, as they believe. That Potions Master who was there covertly swapped the flasks and I heard what he whispered to you. He gave you a potion to remember, not to wipe your memory."

Narcissa's eyes flung open and she shot The Thing a look, with the precise modicum of irritation to convey that she demanded his immediate silence.

"Alright, alright," said Santi sheepishly, raising his palms, letting out a soft chuckle she would have found charming in another situation and if The Thing was not a Thing. "I'll clamp my mouth shut and let you concentrate and think about whatever you need to muse about."

She didn't bother to reply and closed her eyes once more. Yes, Abraxas' and Lucius' conversation behind closed doors, to which she hadn't been invited to participate, of course, as had happened once a week in the first months after the day of the Change – when she had found herself with two sets of memories.

She had been four months pregnant with Antares, moody, tetchy and quite fed up that Lucius was being so tight-lipped regarding what he discussed with his father – for her own good, her husband had said and still did.

With that, it had become clear to her just how Lucius regarded her. After several years of marriage during which she had proven her unparalleled social skills and the ease and dexterity she had with political maneuverings in order to obtain for the Malfoy name and prestige greater status and clout, her husband still didn't view her as his equal.

Narcissa's father had warned her about it; had point blank told her what pureblood wizards wanted and expected in a wife.

"A pureblood girl who has the fortune of being as sharp as I believe you are, must never show it openly. Let your husband underestimate you, and just use your wile for when there's a worthy prize you want to obtain. You'll catch him unawares and unprepared, and you will win. Then revert back to your façade and grant him the time to forget that his wife bested him. After he becomes comfortable and reassured in his own superiority and there's another prize to claim, strike again."

Cygnus Black had lifted a finger, piercing her with his grey eyes. "And if someday you wish and feel prepared to assume the responsibility to be a support to your husband, someone he can ask advice from and lean on, then you must ease him into it, slowly, patiently and, above all, with subtlety. In such a way that he will not remember the time when he didn't think you his match, making him believe he purposely chose a clever wife because he was strong and man enough to deal with it. Allow him to think the credit is his. We have large egos, Cissy, and the one thing we cannot bear is a wife who we feel threatened by. Just look at your mother, she's unbearable. Druella has never known how to play me. She has always been pushy, over-opinionated and demanding, and thus, I have never listened to her."

Indeed, after having Draco she had implemented that latter tactic. But that day it had become evident to her that easing Lucius into the notion that she was his intellectual equal, and his superior in astuteness in several aspects, would take longer than she had anticipated.

Nevertheless, Narcissa had taken matters into her own hands, following her impulses since she had deemed that the situation required some brashness from her part. She had had already ordered five house-elves to iron their fingers and ears just to vent some of her frustrations, and spying on Lucius would infinitely be more rewarding than that, she had thought.

When she had seen Abraxas and Lucius enter one of the studies, she had instantly remembered one of the secret passages that ran behind one of the room's walls. She had slipped inside the passage, conjured a plushy armchair to comfortably sit on, and proceeded to eavesdrop on their muffled conversation.

Abraxas had been talking about a 'portal' which had allowed the wizard the chance to meet with Lucius. Indeed, at the time she had realized what occasion was being spoken of.

It had been in her Old Past, in their seventh year at Hogwarts, when they were already of age and had been engaged for some months. It was known that Abraxas had contracted dragon pox and his days were numbered, Lucius had been fretful and quite unbearable since he wanted to leave Hogwarts and spend as much time as possible in Malfoy Manor with his progenitor. His stern father wouldn't let him miss school, though, and would only allow Lucius back home the very day he laid on his deathbed ready to draw his last breath.

It had indeed surprised her when Lucius had received an owl from his father, asking to meet him in Hogsmeade. Everyone knew that dragon pox at such an age left the infirm too weak to move and even less go anywhere. Yet the letter had clearly conveyed that Abraxas was out and about, waiting to meet his son.

Later, Lucius had returned to Hogwarts with a trunk in tow, not wanting to give any explanations. And just two days after, Abraxas had died.

Narcissa much later discovered that that trunk had contained Abraxas Malfoy's grimoire and the pensieve containing the wizard's memories; a pensieve with wards that would drop many years later on the day Lord Voldemort went to kill the Potters, also the day of the Change, and when she and Lucius had conceived Antares.

The whole affair had puzzled her, and when she had overheard the conversation, she hadn't had an inkling regarding what a 'portal' could be referring to.

Now, matching clues and information, understanding started to dawn on her.

Indeed, if she simply got rid of her former firm notion and accepted that a timeline-altering time-travelling was possible, premise that Santi evidently wanted her to believe, then she knew exactly what a portal could be. It had to be a bridge between two timelines, obviously allowing a wizard to pass through for a certain amount of hours.

It could only mean that the Abraxas who had met Lucius and given him the trunk wasn't the Abraxas dying from dragon pox.

And hadn't the Grey Wizard visited Lord Voldemort several times, during the months before the Dark Lord had gone to kill the Potters? And she knew for a fact that the Grey Wizard couldn't have been freely strutting around.

There had been two of them as well in the same Past, in the Old Past.

That explained how Abraxas had managed to create a 'portal'. Of course that Lucius' father hadn't been the one to discover how to do it. But from Lord Slytherin or the Grey Wizard, yes, she did believe they were powerful and capable enough to manage such an unprecedented accomplishment.

From that, she could infer that there had been two Dark Lords, each in their respective timelines, Lord Voldemort truly dying in the Potter's home and Lord Slytherin killing them as well but without being killed himself. And then the timelines had met – now Lucius' mutterings from that day, speaking of lines and origin, started to make sense.

That day the timelines had met, the new set of memories of what she would call her New Past had flooded into her mind, and Lord Slytherin had returned after killing the Potters. There had been no two sets of memories being produced after that. No, she had instead continued living the life she had from her New Past. As Santi had said, after the point of origin, the day of the Change, the original timeline didn't continue existing.

Narcissa shook her head, feeling dazed by the entangled loops her thoughts started to form the more she thought of it. Regardless, ultimately, it didn't matter to her.

There was one Dark Lord now, one Grey Wizard and one Abraxas. Furthermore, for the whole world except a very few, there was only one Past. Her Old Past meant nothing, just residue, remnants of a timeline which was no more.

However, if she hadn't had two sets of memories she would have never arrived to such conclusions, the possibility would have never even entered her mind. Just what had been Abraxas' purpose by making Lucius do that ritual on them? And it was risky for the Dark Lord to have allowed such thing; to have people who could remember both pasts. It didn't make sense-

Narcissa snapped her eyes open and pierced The Thing with her gaze. "I was from the original timeline, was I not?"

Santi simply nodded, and Narcissa remembered those two Death Eaters who had disappeared, along with others – those who had existed in the Old Past and no longer did in the New Past, and the reverse, those who now did.

She bore her eyes into The Thing's, and murmured as the realization slowly unfolded in her mind, "All of we who underwent the ritual are from the original timeline and were spared the risk of ceasing to exist the day of the Change – the origin, as you call it. Abraxas ensured his family would survive, and those families allied to the Malfoys."

"Yes," said Santi nonchalantly. "There was always a slight risk. But you were spared, as you say, and you and your counterpart were 'merged', to call it something-"

"Which is why I have two sets of memories," whispered Narcissa to herself. "Yet I also remain myself, living the life I had from the New Past."

"Since that day, you are living in the timeline which was created, the only timeline which now exists."

Narcissa nodded in understanding and then demanded curtly, "Who created it? Who time-travelled? The Dark Lord?"

"You already know the answer to that if you bother to think about it," replied Santi tersely. "You are afraid to arrive to the right conclusion, to realize who your son is."

Narcissa instantly became riled up and she hissed out, "Do not dare speak to me in that condescending manner-"

"Enough is enough, Mrs. Malfoy," interrupted her The Thing, looking vexed and impatient. "It's time to face the music. Tell me whom I was referring to by 'they'. Remember what happened that day."

Narcissa nearly sprung up to her feet to demand that The Thing immediately left her home. Restraining herself from the impulse, she took a sharp intake of breath. "Very well."

The day she had given birth to Antares she had known beforehand that no healers would be allowed; only Hetty, the old house-elf who had been a nursemaid and midwife during many Malfoy generations, and Severus Snape in his quality as a Potions Master to administer the pertinent potions to her, to ease the procedure. She hadn't been at all happy about it, yet what she hadn't expected was for Lord Slytherin and the Grey Wizard to be present as well. But she had swallowed her modesty and protests and had planned to bear it impassively.

Everything had gone smoothly, with Hetty and Severus down there, until with a last push, Antares had started to emerge from her. Then it had all seemed to distort into a hellish nightmare.

The moment half of her baby's body was already out, the Grey Wizard had stepped forward, raising both hands; in one, his wand, on the other, the ring he always wore. But in that occasion, as he enchanted something in a language she didn't recognize, the dull black stone of the ring had shone with something from within; some sort of small design made of thin silver lines, a triangle with some other geometrical figures inside.

Narcissa hadn't been able to take a good look and it hadn't seemed familiar. Moreover, she had been rather preoccupied when some sort of magical link had formed between the wizard's wand and ring. Then, the man's hood had dropped and she had shrieked.

She had seen a horribly disfigured face, as if some sort of wild animal had repeatedly slashed at it with its claws, with a gruesomely empty left eye socket. She had been further terrified when she had recognized the man's right eye.

In all textbooks of modern wizarding history, in both Old and New Past, along with a picture of a handsome blond man, there had always been the description of the wizard's unique eyes. Gellert Grindelwald was always said to have remarkable hawk-like eyes.

It had been then when she had known that Grindelwald hadn't simply disappeared in 1945 of the New Past, presumed by everyone to be dead. She had further understood why, in the New Past, the Dark Lord's mark wasn't that of the skull and snake, like in the Old, but that of a serpent coiling around a hawk.

It had been then when she had comprehended that one Dark Lord had taught the other, mentor and pupil, and that Abraxas and Lord Slytherin hadn't been alone during all those years in which they hadn't been in England.

All of those realizations struck her in the blink of an eye. And in the next second, something had sprouted from the link between Grindelwald's ring and wand, the wizard directing it: enormous claw-like black fingers which had plunged into the locket she had been wearing.

They pulled what had been within, something that wailed and screamed until it was floating a feet above her, encompassed in some kind of magical cage: a ghostly figure, a boy, a teen it seemed to her, yet his form was frayed, as if rats had been savagely gnawing him.

She now knew why. Filaments of soul had been leaking from the locket to the life she carried during those months of her pregnancy, Santi had said. But he had been mistaken in one thing. It hadn't spared the soul trauma.

Those screams and wails she had thought she heard coming from the locket, those nights she awoke, thinking she had imagined it, they weren't just screams for release, there were of pain as well.

Furthermore, that figure, then, had had a wide, uneven hole in his left side, as if something had long ago been ripped from it.

It had screamed and flailed, and Narcissa hadn't been able to understand. The boy had seemed to switch from German to English and back, shouting frantically, desperately or enraged at turns, at Grindelwald and Lord Slytherin. She had heard both of them saying things in return, attempting to soothe him, she presumed, but she wasn't certain.

Between the pain, the confusion, the shock, and horror, Narcissa had been in no condition to grasp everything.

Lord Slytherin had then stepped up, carrying a bejeweled goblet of some kind in his hands, weaving his own wand in the air, and something in the goblet, a small frayed figure, had sprouted out.

It was grey and torn, with no discernable shape, but then it had flown towards the ghostly figure of the boy, still entrapped in the magical cage-like prison. And it had stuck to him, like a leech, at the left side of the boy, where the hole had been.

Narcissa had been in hysterics by then, her own screams demanding an explanation ignored. Her shrieks had worsen when the black, claw-like fingers which emanated from Grindelwald's ring and wand had struck her newborn baby, who by then was in Severus' arms.

They pulled out something so small and so bright; something which was snuffed out in the next moment, inside the black fingers that had formed a tight fist around it. All that was left behind were floating swirls.

She had screamed in horror, terrified and desperate. She had sprung, or attempted to, from her bed, feeling her own magic about to lash out, to protect, to stop what was being done.

"Severus, restrain her!" had commanded the Dark Lord.

In the next instant, she had found herself flat on her bed without able to move or speak, with her magic painfully and forcibly restrained by whatever spell had been cast.

She had observed with eyes that leaked tears of impotence, and rage, and terror, how the ghostly figure of the boy was released and then grabbed by those black hands which pulled him towards the floating swirls. How the swirls gently and softly became attached to him, completing him, making him no longer look frayed and gnawed.

They were back where they belonged, she knew now. And then, the boyish ghostly figure which had never stopped attempting to get free and had never stopped shouting and screaming with heart-wrenching suffering, had been plunged into her baby.

There was nothing but near silence after that, just the soft wail of Antares.

"Give her the potion."

As the Dark Lord and the Grey Wizard started to quietly talk between them, with Hetty now carrying and taking care of Antares, Severus had leaned over her bedside with a flask in hand.

Her vision had been blurry, but indeed, as Santi had said, there had been a switch. So quickly did Severus covertly pluck another flask from his robes, leaning forward over her as he whispered into her ear, "It's important you remember."

And he had feed her that potion and stowed away the other.

Narcissa snapped out of the recollection with her heart still pounding hard in her chest. She took a deep intake of breath to compose herself, and slowly glanced at Santi.

"Whose soul was it? Who was my son in the past?"

The Thing shot her a gauging gaze with those eerie eyes of his, and then intoned calmly, "You do consider him your son, then? Even though you know-"

"That Slytherin and Grindelwald killed the soul Antares was conceived with and swapped it for another?" she interjected coolly, arching a delicate eyebrow at him. "He's still my son. And those bits of soul, those swirls, were from the soul in the locket. They were part of Antares nearly from the start." She slightly shook her head, and added quietly, "He's my son. A Black through and through."

"I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure if you would," said Santi, shooting her a pleased, warm smile.

"Who was he?" demanded Narcissa curtly, spearing him with her eyes.

"He was the one who was made to time-travel in the day of the origin, a few hours before you conceived Antares." At Narcissa's puzzled expression, The Thing added quietly, "Mrs. Malfoy, you already know, you must simply admit it to yourself. What did both Dark Lords do that day? Lord Voldemort and Lord Slytherin had different reasons for it, but they killed them all the same, and their baby-"

"The Potters," she choked out faintly.

In the next second she had sprung to her feet, her chair tumbling to a side, and she quickly reached the large windows of the nursery, displaying the lovely view of one of Malfoy Manor's most gorgeous gardens with a charming pond in their midst.

Turning her face away, so that her expression wouldn't be seen by The Thing, she fisted her hands into the silky material of her dress, her knuckles turning white with the tightness of her grip. Crushing devastation, horror, and revulsion were engulfing her.

Only one thing came out of her paling lips, "He's the mudblood's spawn."

A noise reached her ears, sounding angered and irritated, and Narcissa swiftly swiveled around to stare at The Thing. It was quite interesting, she thought detachedly, to see an expression of rage in a face that was translucent and glowed in golden sparks.

"You just said he was a Black through and through," said Santi thunderously, skewering her with those eerie, milky white eyes of his. "And what is a pureblood by definition-"

"Do not presume to lecture me-"

"- only blood matters to your kind. The soul has nothing to do with being a pureblood. Two seconds ago you didn't care about the soul-issue," continued The Thing sternly. "His blood hasn't changed. And who conceived him? What is he?"

"He's a Black and a Malfoy, you overbearing _creature_," Narcissa snapped acidly, her eyes narrowed with anger and irritation of her own. "Yes, I do see your point."

Santi pierced her with his gaze and said curtly, "Tell me now if you want him or not. I don't want to come back here to see he's been dumped in a muggle orphanage or something of the sort. I rather take him myself and place him with some other family-"

"Muggle orphanage?" she hissed out, swiftly moving to stand by the cradle. "I would never do something so despicable." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "And you will not be taking him anywhere at all."

The Thing paused, narrowing his own eyes, and then demanded, "Is he your son or not?"

Narcissa's temper flared, but she simply replied tersely, "Yes."

Santi gauged her again. "Do you think Antares would be a 'Black through and through', as you say, if it wasn't for the soul he has now? That he would be a Metamorphagi since birth, already able to do shifts at one-month of age, or that he would be as powerful as he is now? Do you think the Dark Lord would have bothered transferring some of his dark magic to him if he wasn't Harry Potter? Or that he would have enabled you to conceive a second son if it wasn't for that as well?"

"I already said I understood," interjected Narcissa sharply. Her eyes slightly narrowed again, but now in interest. "Why?"

Santi stared at her. "Why what?"

"Why," said Narcissa tartly, "did the Dark Lord put Harry Potter's soul in Antares, and why give him his magic? Why does Harry Potter matter to the Dark Lord? And why are you interested in him as well?"

"I will only answer the latter, since you have no need to know the answers to the first questions," replied The Thing loftily. He sighed and then continued, "It took me a while to find him in the past. You see, he and I are two of a kind - the only ones to have ever existed, as far as I know. You can think of me as his guardian of sorts-"

"Guardian?" she said, her voice laced with snide, addressing the first of many questions which had popped in her mind. "You certainly did not protect him from-"

The Thing raised a hand to halt her. "I will only take action if I have absolutely no other choice. And I hope it will never come to that." He shot her a glance and then said nonchalantly, "Speaking of which, have you kept the glass sphere?"

Narcissa had her wand directly aimed at him in the very next second, as she hissed out, "You work for Dumbledore."

Indeed, two weeks ago she had found a letter inside one of the drawers of her dressing table, penned and signed by Albus Dumbledore, and with a plain, small glass sphere inside the envelope – a portkey.

She hadn't failed to notice that she had found it the same day Severus Snape had paid a visit to leave some potions with her, for her recovery after giving birth.

Severus wasn't being very covert or subtle.

There had always been suspicions and rumors regarding the wizard's true allegiances. That the wizard had not given her the potion requested by Lord Slytherin to make her forget had also made her question Severus' loyalties. And now… well, it was no secret that the wizard had been infatuated with Lily Evans.

Had Severus helped her for Antares' sake? Did he know her son possessed the soul of Harry Potter and thus, due to his feelings for Lily Potter, felt obliged to protect Antares?

She didn't know, but she hadn't been pleased to find a letter from the old coot. Narcissa still didn't know why she hadn't shown it to Lucius.

"I'm no one's partisan. If anything, I'm on his side," said The Thing as he gestured towards the cradle. "I simply wish to suggest that you keep the portkey. You just might need to use it in the future." He speared her with an intense gaze, and added quietly, "Slytherin and Grindelwald aren't through with him. They will want to use Antares again."

Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, a barrage of questions swirling in her mind, but Santi snapped his head around and said urgently, "He's coming." He shot her a glance and added quickly, "Remember, sing the lullaby to Antares every day during the next three months. That should do the trick."

And with that, he simply disappeared, as if he had never been there in the first place.

"You are being greatly missed by your guests, Narcissa," said a smooth voice.

She almost tripped on the trail of her own dress when she jerkily turned around, startled. But she instantly dropped her gaze, masking the motion as a show of deference and awe, just so that she wouldn't meet Lord Slytherin's gaze.

She had much to conceal now and she had no doubt that she would be instantly killed for knowing what she did. It was never prudent to know much of the affairs of a Dark Lord. She would need to master Occlumency as soon as possible.

From the corner of her eyes she saw that Abraxas and the Grey Wizard had accompanied the man, and she turned her gaze towards Abraxas, the safer destination.

"I apologize, My Lord," she intoned quietly. "Antares was quite restless and it took me some time to get him to sleep."

"Such a commendable mother…" murmured the Dark Lord, as he halted before Antares' cradle.

When she saw the wizard leaning forward to trail a finger along Antares' ruddy cheek, she had the abrupt impulse to savagely slap the digit away. Instead, Narcissa stood rooted in her place, with all the impassiveness and elegance in the world.

The Dark Lord clucked his tongue, in disappointment it would seem. Perhaps he had been expecting Antares to wake up. Slight chance of that, not when the baby was surely still under the effects of the lullaby.

"I will expect you to return to the gathering shortly," was all the Dark Lord said as he swept out of the room, taking the two others with him.

Narcissa allowed an exhalation of breath to escape from her lips and then stood uncertainly by the cradle's side. In the next moment she made up her mind and gently picked up a snoozing Antares, taking a seat on a rocking chair at one corner of the room, which offered her the view of the gardens.

Antares' eyes slightly parted open, drowsily, surely due to having been moved around. And Narcissa gazed down at them, taking notice of their color. She knew now like whose eyes they were: the mudblood's, Lily Potter's.

She would have to learn how to love that shade of green again.

And with that thought, she started to softly sing the lullaby.


	11. Part I: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks everyone for your reviews! I'm very glad that you enjoyed last chapter, and that it didn't confuse you so much, it was very hard and tricky to write, lol! ^^

To just clear up matters, we are still going to see much of Harry's life in the past as Tom Riddle's twin. That is Part I of the fic.

As you can see Part II refers to his future, to his life as Antares Malfoy. I wanted the first chapter of Part II to come after Ancleto's explanation of time-travelling so that we could see how it happened in practice and so that we understood what happened on the very first chapter of this fic.

We won't be seeing any other explanations regarding time-travelling after this. We have what Anacleto explained, the theory of it, and we have how it was conducted in practice, through Narcissa's experiences and what she figured out.

Regarding the first chapter of this fic, it was October 31, 1981, when the Potters were killed and when baby Harry was made to time-travel, with Dumbledore and Hagrid abruptly recognizing him as Harry Riddle in those few seconds. As Anacleto explained, on the day of origin, the secondary timeline merges with the original timeline, that's why Dumbledore and Hagrid recognized baby Harry as Harry Riddle because of the scar mostly, and then the time-travelling happened and people's minds were altered to only remember their lives in the secondary timeline.

A few hours after that, Antares was conceived and Narcissa started wearing the locket with Harry's soul, leaking bits of it into the life she carried, and thus the 'anchor' Anacleto spoke about was fixed and continued existing. Thus, the secondary timeline remained and the original one –canon– disappeared.

Narcissa figured out one of the things Anacleto spoke about, that the secondary timeline had to be made to be similar to the original timeline in the years and months before the point of origin, so that the intersection could happen.

That is why 'Lord Slytherin' conducted the same raids as Lord Voldemort, as if he was merely going through the motions, and that's why he had to kill Harry's parents. It is also why Abraxas and Grindelwald had been using portals to visit the original timeline. Grindelwald, the 'Grey Wizard', in order to visit Lord Voldemort and ensure the man would kill the Potters and would be killed by baby Harry in return, unwittingly making him a horcrux and so on. Abraxas so that he could visit Lucius and give him his pensieve with his memories of Harry Riddle and much more, with a grimoire with the ritual Lucius had to use on his family and those close to the Malfoys, to ensure that they would all survive the transition/merging on the day of origin, the transition from original timeline to secondary timeline.

Lord Slytherin might have also used a portal to visit the original timeline, though if he did, we won't know what he had been doing in those instances until much later.

We can also infer that Grindelwald used the ritual on himself as well, since he also existed in the original timeline, imprisoned in Nurmengard. Abraxas had no need of that since in the original timeline he had died long ago from dragon pox. Lord Slytherin must have used the ritual on himself as well, since even though his counterpart in the original timeline, Lord Voldemort, was killed by baby Harry, Voldemort's 'master' soul wasn't killed because Voldemort had horcruxes. Thus Tom had to use the ritual to solve the problem and ensure that he, Lord Slytherin, would be the one who survived the intersection of the timelines that day.

Obviously, Lord Slytherin – Marvolo Slytherin- is what Tom Riddle will become – the Tom Riddle we have been seeing in Part I of the fic.

Narcissa's Old Past was canon, the original timeline, and her New Past is the secondary timeline Harry produced with his mere presence in the past.

Since the transfer of his soul was done successfully and his soul will be further rooted after Santi told Narcissa how to do it, all that remains is the New Past. After the day of origin, Lord Slytherin already started making all the changes in the wizarding world he had been waiting so long to do.

The soul in the locket was that of Harry Riddle, since as we now know he was purposely killed in the past. We don't need to worry about this at present, what happened will be explained much further ahead in the fic, by the time that Part I ends.

Regarding Dumbledore, given the letter he wrote to Narcissa, including a portkey, and given what Snape did during Antares' birth, we can correctly assume that Dumbledore managed to keep his two sets of memories and knows exactly what's going on and what Lord Slytherin's and Grindelwald's plans are, to some extent.

Regarding Snape, Sirius, Regulus, and Remus and Pettigrew if they still exist, as well as those light families that fled with Dumbledore, the Weasleys and Longbottoms foremost, we'll find out about them much, much later in Part II.

I don't know if I will be putting other Part II chapters interspersed here and there as the fic continues with Part I. If I do, it will only be briefly since from now on we will continue with Harry Riddle's life in the past.

So on we go - Cheers!

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**Part I: Chapter 10**

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"Harry – Harry! Why are you gaping like a dim-witted idiot? What's the matter with you?"

Eleven-year-old Harry blinked, feeling a bit dazed, still hearing the end of Alice's lullaby ringing in his ears, intoned in a soft, cultured voice he had never heard before, and his eyes still prickling with the afterimage he had seen seconds ago; the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, with a halo of pretty blonde hair and clear blue eyes, looking like an ethereal angel.

Harry blinked again, wondering if the fumes from the Apothecary they had visited previously to get potion ingredients had made him have a hallucination of some sort.

Finally, he shook his head, clearing it from the strange residues, and stared at his brother. Tom was darkly scowling at him, looking vastly annoyed, with a hideous creature perched on his shoulder.

"What?" Harry croaked out, as he rubbed his forehead. Then he gazed at his surroundings, finally remembering that they were in the Magical Menagerie.

Even after having spent nearly three hours in Diagon Alley, he still felt he was in some bizarre version of fairytale-land.

That day, early in the morning as he had planned with Tom, Harry had faked a terrible stomachache. Moaning and making his eyes go all teary and with a heart-wrenchingly pathetic expression on his face, he had convinced Alice that he had been too indisposed to go to the seaside trip. After Tom had play-acted his part as the concerned brother, promising Alice to take care of him, a worried and hesitant Alice had finally agreed to leave them behind, under the care of Magda – one of the two young girls who had replaced Mr. Jenkins.

It had been unsurprisingly easy to sneak out of the orphanage. The moment Tom had spied that Magda had been entertaining herself in the kitchen, covertly reading a magazine about the lifestyle of the rich and their scandals, Harry had jumped out of his sickbed, already dressed under the covers.

In a few minutes both of them were already taking a double-decker bus into central London. With the leather pouches and the letters Mr. Dumbledore had given them, and after ascertaining that the address of the alley that led to the 'Leaky Cauldron' pub was in the meatpacking district, they had finally arrived at the site after taking a second bus trip.

That had been when things had started to turn strange, or 'magical', as was the case.

There had been butcher shops and warehouses, and workers unloading crates and mobilizing the carcasses of skewered cows and pigs. And yet, none of the people coming and going had seemed to even see the strange sign hanging from one of the shops; that of a figure in black, with a pointy hat, with a ladle in hand, stirring the contents of some huge pot – which was called a 'cauldron', Harry would later learn.

So Tom and Harry had stared at the sign in bemusement, and then Harry had excitedly grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him inside.

Their first encounter with the 'Magical World' hadn't been at all what they had expected.

Certainly, neither of them had expected that the place would be dusty, nearly outright dirty and gloomy, with half of the people looking dodgy and dangerous, as if they would just as soon kill you as look at you, and the other half looking posh and snobby, in their own bizarre way.

There were women, old and young, wearing the strangest hats with desiccated vultures and the likes, with fur coats which still had the animal's head, with the eyes moving and their tails wagging, or with wide-hipped dresses that looked from another century, or with a motley arrangement of clothes which didn't match in pattern, style or date.

The men were just as bad, with tunic-like dresses which Harry would later learn were called robes -and which he himself was expected to wear, according to the list in his letter- or wearing doublets and tights, with pointy hats, turbans, or felt top hats.

And all of them waving their sticks at the littlest things, making fantastical but also trivial things happen, like moving a chair, lift a cup, light a candle, and the sort.

It wasn't at all what Harry had expected –none of it was like the worlds depicted in Alice's fairytales– but he had loved it, all the more because it was indeed crude and coarse.

However, he had taken one look at his brother and had seen Tom gazing at his surroundings with his lips curled in disgust and contempt. Tom had expected perfection, Harry knew, and the gritty reality of it must have been a harsh disappointment.

Nevertheless, they had found Tom the bartender, as Mr. Dumbledore had told them, and soon they had been shown the way into Diagon Alley. Both Harry and Tom had stared with excited amazement when the man had tapped the wall with his stick and had made the bricks fold themselves to the sides, opening a passageway into a winding, cobblestoned street.

Diagon Alley had been bustling with activity, and Harry had gawked and gaped at the shops, attempting to not even blink so that he wouldn't miss anything.

The stores stood at impossible odd angles, some looking as if ready to teeter over, displaying their wonderful merchandise with colorful banners, floating and swirling advertisements and animated signs, showing things Harry had never seen before, like telescopes, whizzing silver instruments of unknown function, barrels of strange innards like bat spleens and eels' eyes, piles of spell books, crates of potion bottles, astronomical maps and charts and globes of planets, rolls of parchments, and the like.

He had even seen a shop called Terrortours, advertising that they offered 'action holidays for the wizard with a sense of adventure!', giving discounts for a Transylvanian castle for rent with 'a blood-thirsty vampire for a host!', a trip down the Zombie Trail where you came 'face to face with the living dead!', and a cruise to the Bermuda Triangle, with 'your safe return not guaranteed!'.

Harry's eyes had gone as wide as moons in giddy excitement, and he had quickly opened his leather pouch and counted the golden coins within, hoping that the so-called 'galleons' would amount to enough, to just see if he could perhaps embark on some of those adventures.

He had been crushed when he had seen he didn't have nearly enough, but his spirits had risen again after he had kept meandering along Diagon Alley, absorbing everything with his eyes.

Tom hadn't seemed too impressed by any of it and had soon cut short Harry's fun. Ever the practical one, Tom had analyzed the list of items they had to buy according to their letters and had pulled Harry along with him in a round of shopping for the only things that were basic and necessary.

First, they had gone to a junk shop, buying two second-hand trunks, and Tom had so effectively and thoroughly charmed the shopkeeper that the old woman had given them a fifty-percent discount, had waved her stick at the trunks making them look brand new and had even done something to make them weightless. Then they had gone to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, where they had bought parchments, quills, and ink bottles.

In Monsieur Ermenegilde Aurélien Jean-Baptiste Célestin's Haute Robes, they had bought one set of first-rate black robes and pants for each of them. Tom had insisted that they had to have at least one set of good-quality clothes.

"No one needs to know we're as poor as church mice. The impression you make with your appearance is everything," Tom had hissed out sharply when Harry had been complaining about the expenditure. Really, spending bunches of gold coins in posh clothes was not Harry's idea of 'buying the basics'.

Thankfully, Tom had agreed to buy the rest of their clothing, such as shirts and other items that wouldn't be seen under their robes, in the second-hand clothes shop.

In Flourish & Blotts they had nearly spent two hours perusing the bizarre books that sighed or screamed when opened, or wiggled and moved around, or even abruptly popped out eyes, sprung fangs or sprouted tentacles.

Harry had practically needed to drag Tom away from the bookstore in the end. Though moments before, when they had finally simply bought the required textbooks mentioned in their letters, Harry had wanted to make a concession after seeing Tom's resentful and embittered expression when counting the galleons they had left, his brother's dark blue eyes still lingering with want and longing on the rows of shelves.

"Perhaps," had whispered Harry, turning his gaze this way and that to make sure he wasn't being overheard, "we could do our little play-acting. You know, what we do when Alice takes us out to commercial London."

One of Tom's eyebrows had quirked upwards and he had piercingly stared at Harry, gauging the seriousness of his offer. Indeed, as the years passed and they got older, Harry had become more and more reluctant to keep nicking stuff from stores; not because he thought it was wrong since he no longer felt it was that bad, but rather because he thought that the older they got, the higher the chances it would stop working and someone would catch them red-handed.

Tom had seemed to gravely consider the matter, but at last had shaken his head. "It's too risky in this case. We don't know what kind of... magical-" he had said, hesitating in employing that word which still felt foreign and otherworldly to them "- security measures they have." He had then pulled himself to his full height, still a head taller than Harry, to Harry's misfortune, and had whispered with self-satisfaction, "After we know more about this world, we'll start doing it."

Harry had been a bit alarmed at that. He had intended his offer to be a one-time thing. But before he could protest, Tom had dragged him to their next stop.

They had gone to the cauldron shop and then to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, since apparently they required slimy innards, herbs, powders, fangs, eyeballs, feathers, and claws, for a class simply called 'Potions'.

And finally they were in a very crowded pet store, amidst cages with enormous purple toads, gigantic tortoises with jewel-encrusted shells, poisonous orange snails, rabbits that changed into top hats and back, cats of every size and color, noisy ravens and colorful and exotic birds – Harry had even seen a peacock strutting about– custard-colored furballs, and even sleek, black rats which were apparently highly intelligent and could be taught how to dance a jig and play fetch.

Tom was by now skewering him with narrowed eyes, his scowl having turned into a frown; not a worried one but rather irritated and impatient.

"I said that I'm taking him," snapped Tom shortly, gesturing at the thing on his shoulder. "I'll call him Lord Horkos. What do you think?"

Harry blinked, and then blurted out incredulously, "Lord what?"

"Horkos," repeated Tom with short-tempered annoyance. "He was a powerful wizard in the Middle Ages, apparently. I read that in a book in Flourish and-"

"Right," interrupted Harry as he shook his head. Then he warily peered at the creature. "But what _is_ it?"

"An owl, obviously," gritted out Tom testily.

"That's not an owl," opined Harry with utter conviction, as he pointed a finger at the creature, though careful that his digit wasn't in biting range. Its red eyes were even now piercing him with a vicious glint in them, as if the thing was about to spring forward to take a chunk of him. "It looks more like a ruddy vulture to me. A very nasty one, at that."

"That's why I'm taking him," remarked Tom smugly, and with that, he spun around and strutted towards the counter.

Harry remained standing in place for a moment and then lurched forwards, trailing after Tom as he complained with a whine, "But then what pet do I buy?"

"You can only get a cat or a toad now, since I already got an owl," stated Tom over his shoulder, without bothering to look back at him. "Just choose a stupid kitten and be done with it."

"I don't want a bloody _kitten_," snapped Harry, irked beyond measure. Then he huffed and added in a sensible tone of voice, "Besides, snakes and kittens don't get along. Remember when Nagini ate the neighbor's cat? And she'll eat a toad as well-"

Tom swirled around to pierce him with his eyes, and interjected sharply, "What does Nagini have to do with it?" In the next second, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You are _not_ taking Nagini to school."

Harry abruptly halted in his tracks and gaped at him. "What-? Of course I'm taking her!"

"It says we can only bring a cat, an owl, or a toad," hissed out Tom, plucking out his letter to wave it in front of Harry's nose. "It doesn't say 'please bring dangerous, mortally lethal snakes into our school filled with little children', does it?"

"Nagini isn't dangerous-" started Harry, feeling quite indignant in her behalf.

"You little idiot," snapped Tom as he stood to tower over Harry. "She's not dangerous to us, but she is to the rest of people-"

"Since when do you care about other people?" gritted out Harry through clenched teeth, as he glared up at his brother. "And since when are you a stickler for rules-"

"I care when it means that I could get expelled," retorted Tom, his tone of voice turning poignant as he looked down at Harry as if he was beholding a brainless slug writhing under the sole of his shoe. "And I'm not getting expelled from magic school before knowing if it's worth my while or not."

With his jaw tightening, Harry stared at him. Then he crossed his arms over his small chest and finally huffed out, "Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell her that we're leaving her behind. She'll bite me if I tell her, you know she will."

Tom let out a scoff of snide and contempt, and then said in a taunting and derisive tone of voice, "Is little, bitty Harry scawed of the tiny, bitty snakey?"

Harry's hot temper flared, but then he simply glared daggers at him and piped in a mocking tone of voice of his own, "If you are sooo brave, you tell her. You're her maaaster after all, aren't you?"

Tom hesitated for a moment; Harry was quick to catch that – Ha! He had always known that he couldn't be the only one who was wary of Nagini's temper.

"Fine. I will," bit out Tom at last, to then swirl around and finally reach the store's counter.

The shopkeeper of the Magical Menagerie, a doddering old man who seemed quite batty and partly deaf, looked mightily happy that Tom was taking the 'vulture' off his hands. The old man even threw in a few owl-biscuits for free after selling a cage to Tom, and then tried to unsuccessfully persuade him to buy a tonic for foul-tempered owls.

Furthermore, the man looked very cheerful at the galleons Tom handed over in payment for 'Lord Horkos' – the nasty thing was even overpriced, at that. Harry still didn't see the sense in spending so much just to have an intimidating and threatening-looking bird.

And while the old shopkeeper went on to explain how to take care of the owl – apparently not much had to be done since the creature hunted for food himself and only required a very neat cage, it seemed the owl was very supercilious about cleanness, Tom and he would get along famously – his brother took the opportunity to whisper demandingly.

"Are you getting a pet or not?"

"No," grumbled Harry peevishly, as he leaned against the counter and gazed around the shop with disinterest, indeed finding nothing that caught his attention.

With supreme indifference of his own at Harry's dissatisfied pouting and pigheaded stubbornness, Tom went back to continue listening to the deaf old man who yelled rather than spoke.

They finally left the shop, dragging their stuffed but weightless trunks, with Tom looking extremely smug with his purchase and carrying the cage as if the creature within was the most precious thing in the world. Meanwhile, Lord Horkos was simply perched inside, ignoring everything and everyone around, having simply stuck his ugly head under one oversized, black wing.

The creature had already savagely gobbled down all the biscuits, and that seemed to drowsily satisfy him for the moment. Though given the bird's size and thus food-intake requirements, Harry didn't think Lord Horkos would remain peaceful for long.

But that was Tom's problem, Harry thought happily, and he would enjoy seeing how his brother would attempt to explain Lord Horkos to Alice, and especially to Kathy. Oh yes, Mrs. Cole would do some yelling that night.

Vastly cheered up, Harry grinned to himself and then plucked out his letter, mentally ticking off all the things they had already bought, and then mused out loud, "We only need to get our sticks, and we're done."

"They're called wands," corrected Tom sharply, turning around to darkly glare down at him. "Start using the proper terms. I don't want you going around talking like a muggle." His eyes narrowed to dark blue slits, as he added threateningly, "It would reflect badly on me and I will not have it."

"Of course, brother dearest," intoned Harry in deceptively dulcet tones, suppressing a roll of his eyes. Then he took another peek at the letter. "It suggests here that we go to Ollivander's. Do you see it?"

"Let's try that way," said Tom as he jerked his chin to the right, his hands already occupied with trunk and cage.

They soon reached the end of the street, without having met the wandshop –clearly they had gone in the wrong direction- but before Tom could turn around, Harry grabbed him by the arm as he pointed to the building before them.

It had crooked stone columns that made it look as if it was about to collapse. Indeed, all its angles seemed simply wrong and impossible, and it had an enormous set of doors which seemed to be made of solid gold, with words running along its frame – a warning of some sort. But that hadn't caught his attention, nor the scary-looking creatures that seemed to be guarding the entrance nor the lavish marble floors rimmed with gold that he could see through the parted doorway. What had, was its name; the letters etched in stone above the doors.

"Look, it says it's a bank – Gringotts' Bank," muttered Harry, without peeling his gaze away from it.

Tom shot a glance at the building and then said indifferently, "So?"

Harry snapped his head around to stare up at him. "Banks have a lot of information, right? And we know our dad must be a wizard, so we could-"

Dropping his trunk on the ground, Tom held up a hand and said shortly, "What – ask them if our father has an account with them?" He let out a scathing scoff, looking down at him as if he was a brain-damaged simpleton. "Banks don't give away that sort of information and we don't even know his full name-"

"We know his first name, yours. And his last name, ours. Whether he has a middle name and what it is wouldn't make much difference," interrupted Harry stubbornly, his teeth then clenching together as he glared up at him. "I know you hate him and don't care. But I want to find him, and if they know…"

At Tom's hardening expression, Harry quickly changed tacks. He trailed off and then peered up at him with huge eyes, quickly blinking twice to make them watery and teary, even letting out a sniffle before he said very softly, "Tom… do it for me, please. I just want to try."

Harry saw his brother wavering and he had to bite his tongue to suppress a triumphant grin. He simply remained gazing up at Tom with an utterly heart-wrenching expression on his face.

"Alright," finally snapped Tom briskly, shooting him a vexed scowl as he grabbed the handle of his trunk and maneuvered Lord Horkos' cage to his other hand. "Let's go, then."

Harry smirked to himself and then towed his own trunk, though he nearly halted when the thought struck him that banks didn't allow children inside; at least not London's banks.

Though the next moment he saw a gaggle of teens planting themselves before the two guards, they had something in their hands, it must have been small since Harry couldn't see what it was. But the guards were clearly inspecting whatever it was, and only then allowed the teens to go through.

Nevertheless, arming himself with valor, he finally reached the two scary-looking creatures. They were just as short as he was, but they were very stout and seemed vicious, with nearly bald heads with a few scraggly hairs here and there, long, crooked and pointy noses, small beady eyes, jagged and sharp teeth, and with the longest and most knotted hands he had ever seen, the fingernails several inches long. They were even wearing chest-armors of some sort; the metalwork was quite intricate and beautiful.

"Er, Mr. -?" said Harry hesitantly, addressing the first guard.

However, the creature didn't offer any name. He simply stared down at him over his nose, and demanded sharply, "Key."

"Key?" repeated Harry dumbly, blinking in befuddlement. "Key of what?"

"Of the vault," said the creature in a bored tone of voice. At Harry's expression of incomprehension, he added briskly, "Of your vault or your family's vault. No key, no entrance."

"Vault?" muttered Harry, to then shoot a look of puzzlement at Tom. But then he shook his head and tried again, addressing the guard, "No, you see, we're here regarding our father's accou-"

"Our father's vault," interjected Tom quickly, swiftly taking a step forward as he covertly dug his elbow into Harry's ribs.

Finally, Harry quickly caught up with the situation and let out a chuckle as he slapped a hand on his forehead. "Yes, our father's vault! Heh, you see, I mean – our father, he's Mr. Riddle, you know, and he said that we didn't need the key to his vault. That if we gave you his name you could perhaps let us in-"

"No key, no entrance," interrupted the guard sharply.

Harry cleared his throat, and bravely made another attempt. He peered at the creature in the same way he had done with Tom moments ago. After all, if it worked on his brother who was the hardest nut to crack, then maybe it would work with the creatures too.

However, in the next moment it became evident that he was failing. The creature looked even more short-tempered than before, his small beady eyes narrowing with alert suspicion.

At last, with impatience, Harry dropped his trunk and took a step forward, his face inches away from the creature's, as he said candidly, "Mr. Guard, please, we only want to go inside to talk to one of the tellers. You see, our father has gone missing and we're very concerned. And perhaps our dad has been here. Perhaps one of the tellers has seen him – or even you! And perhaps the bank has his new address…" He trailed off and peered at him through his eyelashes as he said in a small, sad tone of voice, "I think he has abandoned us, or perhaps he hit his head and doesn't remember us, but maybe he told the bank where he lives, and we only want to write to him. He's called Riddle. We only want to ask-"

"No Riddle has or has ever had a vault in Gringotts," cut in the guard shortly, to then briskly gesture with one of his knotted hands as if to drive him away as if he were a noisome pest.

"Wait - what?" blurted out Harry. "What do you mean? How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure," replied the creature testily, "because we goblins know the name of every wizard and creature that is our client."

'Goblins?', Harry inwardly wondered for a brief second. Then he shook his head and pressed on vehemently, "Then maybe in some other bank-"

"Gringotts is the only wizarding bank in Europe," stated the guard gruffly, skewering him with narrowed eyes, critically trailing his gaze up and down Harry's figure.

Harry was certain the creature wasn't much impressed with him. Both he and Tom had dressed up with their best clothes, but even that wouldn't amount to much. He knew they must look like street urchins, with their cheap cotton shirts that were yellowish rather than white, their grey caps like those of newspaper boys, with their knee-length socks and short pants, and their frayed vests of brown wool, and even their leather shoes were worn; Harry's left shoe had several stitches missing and the sole flapped with every step he took.

"In Europe?" repeated Harry, frowning. "So if he-"

"If your father is living in some other continent," interrupted the guard with irritated vexation, "he could have a vault in some other bank."

"Or maybe he's dead," interjected Tom coolly as he took a step to stand besides Harry, piercing the creature with his eyes. "Maybe that's why he no longer has a vault here and why you don't remember-"

"If he had been our client in the past, we would still remember his name," snapped the guard dourly, "and if he's dead, the key to his vault would have returned to us and we would have sent it to his next of kin by blood. Apparently, we would have sent it to you, if this Mr. Riddle is truly your father."

"But – I don't understand," muttered Harry under his breath, a deep, alarmed frown on his face. "What does it mean, then-?"

"Thank you for your help," cut in Tom, his tone very polite as he then grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him away.

"But Tom, hang on, I-"

"Enough," hissed out Tom under his breath, as he managed to forcefully drag Harry along with him to where they had left their trunks and the cage. He dropped Harry's wrist and spun around to pierce him with his gaze, looking incensed and enraged. "I'm not wasting a single second more in finding out about the man who left our mother to give birth to us and die in an orphanage, and who never looked back-"

"But we already talked about that," interjected Harry stubbornly, "maybe he didn't know she had us, maybe he didn't know she was pregnant-"

"Then it means that she fled away from him!" snapped Tom irately. "And he didn't bother looking for her, did he? Or it would have possibly led him to St. Jerome's and no Mr. Riddle has come calling, has there?"

Harry adamantly shook his head. "But it could have been that-"

"There're no 'buts'," bit out Tom, clenching his jaw. "He's dead to me and that's the end of it." He skewered him with narrowed eyes and added in a low hiss, "I won't ever help you with this again. I won't discuss it again either. For all purposes, count me out."

And with that, in the next second, Tom's expression turned into an impassive one as he grabbed the cage and the handle of his trunk. "Now, let's go get our wands – it's the only thing of true value we're getting today, as far as I'm concerned." He shot a side-glance at his snoozing owl, and added with a smirk, "Besides Lord Horkos, of course."

"Of course," repeated Harry mockingly with a roll of his eyes, as he trailed after his brother with trunk in tow.

However, as they kept looking for the wandshop, they remained quiet. It was evident that their little quarrel had left neither of them too happy with the other.

"Perhaps it's that way," piped in Harry, at last breaking the tense silence which had reigned between them, as he gestured towards a sign – it said 'Knockturn Alley', with the depiction of a finger pointing towards the entrance to a very dark and narrow street.

Tom nodded and Harry started to follow him inside, though as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly saw words forming under the sign: 'Darklings, speak Dark Arts and see our true wares.'

"Did you see that?" murmured Harry, wondering what it could mean. But Tom didn't hear him, his brother was already several feet further ahead and Harry quickened his pace to reach him.

Instantly, he realized that going there hadn't been such a good idea. The alley kept narrowing and feeling more oppressive and dangerous with every step they took; he saw dodgy characters whispering among themselves and watching them with a mean glint in their eyes, he even saw a couple of hunched old women with humungous, ugly warts, and small beady eyes that observed them as if plotting what use they could make of their parts, one of them even crooned and crooked her withered finger, beckoning him.

"Um… perhaps we shouldn't be here," whispered Harry uncertainly, as he continued to uneasily glance at their surroundings – he even thought he saw a pair of orange eyes staring at them from the shadows.

However, Tom didn't pay attention to him. The boy appeared to feel quite comfortable and self-assured in the ambiance of the alley, as well as intrigued by the window displays. Though there wasn't much to look at; nearly all the shops lacked signs and seemed to be dirty and dark inside, with few items being shown in their displays.

Harry halted by Tom's side, who had stopped before a gloomy-looking store, albeit one that at least had a sign, which simply read 'Borgin & Burkes'.

Harry peered at the window display, only seeing what appeared to be the head of a mummy, given that it was a skull wrapped in bandages, and a frayed cushion on which laid a sharp dagger with dark red stains along the edges – what he surmised had to be dried blood.

"It doesn't have much," grumbled Tom with dissatisfaction. "None of these stores do."

Harry frowned, and then a thought struck him. "Perhaps that's what the words on the street sign meant."

Tom shot him a questioning glance and Harry started to elucidate, "A message appeared when…" Then he huffed and waved his hand briskly as he added, "Never mind, let me try and see…" He glanced back at the window display, and feeling a bit stupid, he simply mumbled without really knowing what it meant, "Dark Arts."

"Oh!" Harry gasped out in the next second, when the previously unoccupied space in the window display became cluttered with innumerable items. He then quickly glanced at the other nearby shops and saw that the same had happened there.

"What – what is it?" snapped Tom, looking irked and impatient.

"Say what I said," Harry intoned happily, as he started perusing the items with an interested gaze.

Tom shot him an irritated scowl. "What nonsense are you spouting-"

"Just do it," said Harry shortly as he threw at his brother a vexed glance.

"Fine," bit out Tom, looking as if the whole thing was a supreme waste of his time. "Dark Arts."

The next moment, Tom's eyebrows shot upwards as his gaze became riveted on the new items on the window display, and Harry chirped smugly, "See?"

Both then proceeded to gawk at all the weird stuff; many items had tags with short descriptions and their prices – many of which seemed astronomically high to Harry, after a whole day of shopping which had given him a sense of the value of galleons, knuts, and sickles.

One item in particular soon caught their attention, since it was the only one without a price, and its tag simply said: 'To place a bid, ask for Burke. If ye're not filthy rich, don't bother.'

"That must be the flashiest thing I've ever seen," Harry said with a chuckle, as he stared at the item in question: a heavy-looking and garish golden locket, with a serpentine S in glittering green gems inlaid on the front.

"I like the snaky S figure," remarked Tom loftily, gazing at it with an interested glint in his eyes. "And it looks expensive."

In the next second, Tom started to drag his trunk forward, with Lord Horkos' cage dangling from his other hand, as he said over his shoulder, "Let's take a look inside."

"Watch out!" was the only thing Harry had time to say, as a fat, short man lurched out from the shop, looking harassed and irritated, and collided with Tom, while a gruff and angry voice bellowed from inside the store.

"If ye want mor' galleons, bring me Bloodmoon Tentaculae next time, 'Orace!"

The stranger stumbled backwards as Tom bounced off the man's pudgy belly, Lord Horkos' cage flew up into the air, with the bird shrieking and flapping its enormous black wings in indignant anger. Harry managed to drop the handle of his own trunk swiftly, to grasp the cage with one hand while he used the other to grip Tom's arm to prevent his brother from tumbling heels over head over his trunk.

"Ufff!" let out the stranger after the collision, looking disheveled and caught unawares.

"What the bloody hell!" snapped Tom furiously, as he righted himself up, slapped Harry's helping hand away from him, and then shot a glower at the man. "Watch where you're going, you imbecile!"

The man started to mumble something, and then paused to blink down at them.

Harry stared back in bemusement at the man's protruding belly, the balding head, and the largest and bushiest moustache he had ever seen.

"What are you two boys doing here?" said the man with a frown. Then he became fidgety and nervous as he glanced around. "Where're your parents?"

"We don't have parents," bit out Tom, still angry as he continued to straighten out his clothes, "not that it's any of your damn business…"

Harry cleared his throat, and said, trying to assuage the situation, "We're looking for a wandshop. Ollivander's-"

"Oho!" exclaimed the man as he now gazed at them with interest. "You're about to start your first year at Hogwarts, then!" He let out a belly-laughter, and declared cheerfully, "Well, you're not going to find Ollivander's here." His expression then turned grave and reprimanding for a brief moment, as he added with a tut, "Knockturn Alley is no place for children. Come along now, I'll show you the way."

"We don't need an escort-" started to gripe Tom acerbically, but Harry cut him short with a "Thank you, sir!" and a beaming smile, since the old hags and dangerous-looking, dodgy wizards seemed to be lurking in the shadows waiting for them, and he thought that the presence of an adult was just the thing they needed.

Tom shot him a fulminating glare, but Harry simply ignored him as he pushed Lord Horkos' cage back to his brother and started to follow the portly, kind man through the twists and coils of the narrow, gloomy street.

The stranger didn't say much as they made their way; the man merely glanced to the sides, as if concerned that someone would jump out from the shadows and point an accusing finger at him, in recognition.

Finally, when they were about to reach the intersection with Diagon Alley, the man took a peek around the corner and declared happily, "The way is clear." Then he turned around and whispered conspiratorially as he winked at them, "Let's not tell anyone where we met, eh?"

At Tom and Harry's nonplussed expressions, the man then simply patted Harry on the shoulder and added congenially, "Ollivander's is the fifth shop to the right. I'll see you at the Sorting!"

"At the what?" said Harry in befuddlement, but the man had already left, surreptitiously slipping into Diagon Alley as if he had never set foot in Knockturn in the first place.

Tom merely let out a snide scoff. "Batty, old lardo."

And with that, he ploughed forward into Diagon Alley, with Harry at his heels.

Indeed, after weaving through the crowd, they found the wandshop precisely where the stranger had said. Before entering the store, Harry mouthed the words etched under the sign, in astonishment at the date: 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'.

The shop was narrow, shabby and dusty, with many shelves behind the counter, with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. But there was also a strange feeling to the place, something that made Harry's skin tingle pleasantly and the back of his neck prickle.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, as an old man appeared behind the counter, with glowing, pale eyes looking at them with interest. "I'm Ollivander. And who might you two be?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," said Tom coolly, inspecting the man with his own gaze and apparently finding him unimpressive. He then jabbed a thumb in Harry's direction. "He's my twin brother, Harry."

"Riddle… Riddle…" muttered the old man under his breath, as if trying to jolt his memory. In the next moment, he seemed to give up in his endeavor and gazed back at them in curiosity. "Twins, you say?"

Tom's eyes slightly narrowed, and he said tersely, "Yes."

"We're here to buy our wands," supplied Harry, quite unnecessarily but in order to help matters along, since the man seemed to be staring at them in some sort of analytical trance.

Mr. Ollivander blinked, seemingly pulled out from whatever musings, and then shot them a mild smile. "Of course you are. Finer wands than mine you will not find. Let's get to work, then."

And with that, the man snapped his fingers and soon, two measure-tapes sprung into existence, fluttering around Tom and Harry, spanning along their arms, hands, legs, and the full extent of their height, to then go around the length of their foreheads, while Ollivander took notes in a small piece of parchment.

In a couple of more minutes, several narrow boxes came flying from the shelves and Ollivander simply told them to "Give them a flick!"

The testing of wands seemed to go on for ages, though they were entertained as Ollivander went to explain the types of cores and woods, and the basics of wand-making, with Tom's mood vastly improving as he listened avidly, while Harry merely enjoyed the experience.

At last, with no winners in sight, Ollivander scratched his head, muttered something under his breath and then disappeared into the depths of shelves. Moments later, he came back with a couple of more boxes, presenting the first wand to Tom.

The moment Tom swished it, a fountain of silver specks exploded from the wand's tip, and Tom started down at it with wide, amazed eyes. In the next second, his expression turned giddy and possessive, while a wide, placid smirk spread on his face.

"Well, there you have it," said Ollivander, gazing at Tom with those creepy, moon-like eyes of his. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. With a core of phoenix feather. A very unique core." He paused to skewer Tom with an intense gaze, and then added quietly, "A powerful wand - very powerful."

Tom's head snapped up at that, his smirk widening with supremely smug self-satisfaction.

Ollivander cleared his throat, peeled his gaze away from Tom to then stare at Harry, with a musing expression on his face. Slowly, he presented a wand to Harry as he continued to fixedly gaze at him.

Harry gave it a casual flick, and then gasped as a stream of green and gold sparks shot out from the tip like a firework.

"Yes, how very interesting," whispered Ollivander, his creepy gaze flickering from Harry to Tom and back, briefly pausing on Harry's scarred forehead. "Eleven inches, made of holly. And it so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand's core gave only one other feather – for the wand that has chosen your companion. Both wands just as unique, just as powerful. You two boys have twin wands."

"Twin wands?" Harry shot him a beaming smile. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" He nudged Tom with an elbow as he chuckled. "Twins for twins!"

Ollivander quirked up an eyebrow as he flung a glance at Tom, which was met with a narrowed-eyed, suspicious and then menacing stare from Tom, while the interaction was completely missed by Harry, who was too busy with the sensations coursing through his body as he held his wand; enfolding warmth, and a flow of something within him rolling through his body and into the wand and back, like pleasant, tingling waves going back and forth like tides, as if the wand belonged to him as an extension of himself. He nearly felt drunk with the feeling.

They left the shop after Ollivander had turned strangely quiet as they paid, as Harry bubbled excitedly about their wands.

"I'm going back to Flourish and Blotts," abruptly informed him Tom the moment they stepped back into Diagon Alley. "We still have time and perhaps I can persuade the clerk to give me another discount."

Harry merely rolled his eyes and huffed. "Well, I'm not spending my last couple of galleons in a book. I'll meet you there in half an hour."

Tom shot him an annoyed glance. "What are you going to do, then?"

"I'm gonna explore," piped in Harry, knowing exactly where to go.

In their first round of shopping he had briefly seen two stores which had caught his attention but which Tom hadn't allowed him to go into: Gambol & Japes, that seemingly sold a wide variety of tricks and practical joke items, and Quality Quidditch Supplies, which he was clueless about what they sold but had seen a flock of boys and even girls excitedly talking among themselves as they pressed their noses against the display window of the shop.

In the next second, Harry let go of the handle of his trunk, chirped "Take my trunk with you!" and then quickly fled from the scene before Tom could bellow at him.

Toothily grinning to himself, he first arrived at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and had to precariously stand on his tiptoes in order to attempt to see above the sea of heads of the children planted before the store.

Aggravated at his lack of height and thus lack of success, he was about to plough forward into the crowd with the use of jabbing out his elbows, when someone careened into him, grabbed him by the arms, turning him to a side and pulling him into the crowd of children, to then squat in front of him, holding him in place by gripping his wrists, as it squeaked, "Cover me!"

"What?" blurted out Harry in bewilderment, gazing down to see that it was a boy. But the boy wasn't even looking at him, but rather fixedly gazing at some point across the street.

"Hide me – from them!" the boy said urgently, releasing one of Harry's wrists to point out with a finger.

Nonplussed, Harry followed the direction with his gaze to see a group of people strolling down the street: two women with a bunch of children. The women had supercilious and superior-looking expressions on their faces, and the children, both girls and boys of varying ages, looked remarkably alike, all with black hair and similarly hued eyes. Furthermore, from the little that Harry had seen of wizarding fashion, they all looked to be richly and poshly dressed in dark colors, with only a smattering of silver or bronze here and there.

The group soon started to pass them by, and their conversation reached Harry's ears.

"… where has that unruly boy of yours gone to, Irma?" was saying one of the women, with a harsh and disapproving expression on her face. "Really, you should have a firmer hand with him."

The other woman looked pinched as she replied with a suffering tone of voice, "I have tried everything, Melania. Not even Pollux has managed to instill in him a sense of propriety and good conduct. We have even punished him by suspending his pegasus-riding classes, but it didn't work-"

"Oh, mother," snapped sharply a plain, mean-looking girl, "just kill his crup pup and be done with it. Alphie will learn not to disobey then."

"Your idea might be worthy of consideration, Walburga dear," said the woman with a pensive expression on her face.

"Of course it is," said the girl impatiently, to then add cajolingly, "You promised I could get a new gown from Monsieur Ermenegilde for the Averys' ball of this weekend-"

The girl's mother waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, go and spend what you like. Your cousin Orion will escort you."

At that, a handsome boy, that looked a bit younger, paled significantly, while the girl gazed back at him with a victorious smirk and an infatuated glint in her eyes.

"You heard, Orion," said the other woman briskly, Melania, the boy's mother seemingly. "Take your sister Lucretia as well." She shot the pretty girl by her side a glance, as she added in a croon, "You could do with another gown yourself, dearest."

"Thank you, mother," piped in the beautiful girl in a sweet and polite tone of voice, and who was then rewarded by a pleased smile from her mother.

"Cygnus," then commanded Irma to the other boy left, who had a grave and serious expression on his face and looked quite disinterested with the proceedings. "You too, go with your sister and cousins. Melania and I will partake of tea in Leisure Alley. Don't bother us for a couple of hours. And if you find your brother, don't let him out of your sight again!"

And with that, the group scattered and their respective conversations faded away.

A loud, relieved exhalation of breath reached Harry's ears and he snapped his head around to see the boy rising to his feet. The boy had curly, black hair, grey eyes, and was just as short as him, Harry saw. Then the boy did a double-take as he looked at Harry, apparently truly seeing him for the first time since manhandling him.

In the next moment, the boy had jumped a step back, his grey eyes wide, as he stuttered, "You're a… a…"

"I'm a what?" Harry frowned at him, then dismissed the boy's stutters and huffed. "A 'thank you' would be nice, you know?"

The boy blinked at him. "Er…" He then trailed Harry's figure with his gaze, as he blurted out, "You don't have warts."

"Warts?" Harry stared back at him in bewilderment. "Why would I have-"

"Your kind has warts, does it not?" said the boy, now peering at him with much interest. "And you're all dirty and poor – well, you are that, by your looks." He gazed at him critically. "But you don't look diseased to me. But perhaps you do have lice and leprosy, eh?"

"What?" choked out Harry, feeling utterly gobsmacked and confused. Then he shook his head and bit out briskly, "I don't have any diseases, thank you very much. And what do you mean by 'my kind'? And you're very rude, you know that?"

The boy snapped his mouth shut, and blinked and stared at him, as if the notion that he had been rude hadn't even entered his mind. Then he shot Harry a sheepish grin, and simply said "Sorry", as if expecting a pat on the shoulder for that generous and altruistic gesture.

"Whatever," snapped Harry shortly, spinning around with every intention of elbowing his way into the shop.

"Wait!"

Harry grunted with irritation and shot a glance over his shoulder, seeing how the boy took a deep breath as if arming himself with courage.

The boy then stuck out his hand, and declared as if giving some kind of formal, uber-important speech, "I'm Alphard Black. Thank you for helping me escape from my family."

Harry blinked at the weird boy, then weighed his options, decided that perhaps the boy wasn't that bad -though he certainly was a bit bonkers- and fully turned to face him, shaking his hand. "I'm Harry Riddle."

The moment they released each others' grip, Alphard stared down at his hand, as if he had expected that it would rot and fall off, and was now discovering that nothing untoward had happened to it.

Alphard then shot him a lopsided grin. "Well, Riddle, I owe you one, and I always pay my debts." He jutted his chin towards the shop, and added, "You were going into the Quidditch store, were you not? I'll be your guide, if you want."

Harry frowned at him. "My guide? What for?"

"You don't know what it is, do you?" said Alphard, shooting him a knowing glance. "I can explain it to you." He beamed a smile at him, and added enthusiastically, "It's only the best wizarding sport ever! I can tell you plenty about it!"

In the bat of an eyelash, he snagged Harry by the arm, apparently no longer scared to touch him, and pulled him along, as he started to enthuse about all the rules and details of Quidditch and all types of racing brooms, snitches and quaffles.


	12. Part I: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN:**

Here's the new chapter, on time as promised, yay! ^^

Thanks for your reviews, as always, they're much appreciated.

This time, thankfully, I only have one thing to clarify:

It's the 1930s-1940s in Part I of this fic, not the 1990s like in canon, so we can't expect that everything is the same; like the guard goblins of Gringotts asking to see vault keys at the entrance (their security measures were more strict back then, and we can infer that after Grindelwald's defeat in canon they became more lax due to that span of peaceful years), the existence of Leisure Alley, the message in Knockturn's street sign, Monsieur Ermenegilde's shop, etc…

That's all, folks!

I hope you enjoy this one! It's a light one too :) Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 11**

* * *

The trip back to the orphanage was a tense affair.

Harry had had such a good time with Alphard, perusing all the marvelous items in the Quidditch shop as his new friend kept a running commentary explaining all sorts of things to Harry, that time had flown by before he had realized that he was late for meeting Tom back at the bookstore.

Reluctantly, he had informed Alphard that he had to leave, though he had been surprised when, leaving the store with Alphard by his side, the boy had stopped him before Harry could make a run towards Flourish & Blotts.

"Here, this is for you," had said Alphard, grinning at him as he plucked out a package from one of the large pockets of his dark blue robes.

Harry had recognized it. In the Quidditch shop, for a moment, the boy had slipped away and Harry had seen him buying something at the counter, to then come back holding a small package wrapped in shinny silver paper with a big, black bow. Harry had assumed, of course, that it was something that Alphard had bought for one of his siblings or cousins.

"For me?" Harry had said, looking at him in wonderment.

"Of course!" had piped in Alphard, his grin widening as he added, "For helping me out, you know, back then - and for showing me a good time."

'A good time?', Harry had thought in amazement. True, it had been fun, but it wasn't as if it merited the gifting of a present. Alphard must be a very lonely boy, the thought had then struck Harry.

Nevertheless, Harry hadn't even considered the possibility of protesting and humbly refusing the present. On the contrary, he had been rather excited of getting something new without having to spend the last galleons left in his leather pouch.

So he had swiftly grasped the package from Alphard's hands, shot him a beaming smile and had chirped happily, "Thanks!"

Alphard had shrugged his shoulders. "Don't mention it. It's only a trifle." Then he had parted from Harry with a wave of his hand as he said, "I'll see you at Hogwarts!"

Harry had waved at him as well, as he had watched as Alphard made his way to Gambol & Japes, the joke shop, feeling despondent that he didn't have time to explore that shop himself and feeling a bit sad from losing the company of his new friend.

Regardless, they would see each other at magic school, since Alphard had already told him that it would be his first year at Hogwarts as well. The boy seemingly knew all about the school, from what his parents, siblings, and cousins had told him, but Alphard had refused to tell Harry anything at all.

"You'll enjoy it more if it's a surprise for you," Alphard had told him, and Harry had simply accepted it and hadn't press for more, since he did indeed love surprises, after all.

Thus, he had finally reached Flourish & Blotts, seeing Tom standing outside, looking extremely angry, impatiently tapping his shoe on the cobble-stoned ground, with Lord Horkos' cage in one hand, their two trunks by his sides, and with the largest and thickest book Harry had ever seen tucked under an armpit – evidently, Tom had managed to charm the clerk so that they would do that trick which made things weightless.

Harry had tilted his head to a side so that he could read the title of the thick tome: 'Hogwarts: A History - New Unabridged Edition!'.

"What's that?" had instantly demanded Tom, pointing a finger at the package in Harry's hand.

"I'll explain later," Harry had quickly replied, regretting that he hadn't had a place in which to hide it from his brother. "Let's get back home before Magda realizes that we've been missing for the entire day."

"St. Jerome's is not _home_," had snapped Tom poignantly, but Harry hadn't bothered to argue as he took hold of his trunk's handle and started to make way towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom still despised the orphanage with all his hatred and bitterness, even after Mrs. Sharpe had died and Mr. Jenkins had been sacked. However, Harry still felt that Alice was like a mother to them, still loved and adored her, and still considered Billy Stubbs, Eric Whalley, and Amy Benson to be his closest friends, and thus, for him, St. Jerome's was simply 'home'.

As they finally left the Leaky Cauldron and entered London proper, with Tom still railing at Harry for having been late and for leaving his trunk with him, they managed to get on a bus which would leave them a few blocks away from the orphanage –the bus driver shot them the oddest of looks at their trunks and owl.

Then, Harry finally started to recount his meeting of Alphard Black as he unwrapped his gift, too absorbed to notice how Tom's expression darkened with every word he spoke.

When what Alphard had given him was finally revealed, Harry widely grinned in excitement.

It was a glossy book, called 'The Most Extraordinary Chaser Tactics and Maneuvers of the Century!', and he was quick to open it and start flipping through it; seeing countless moving pictures of flying young wizards doing all sorts of air-acrobatics as they scored quaffles through hoops. According to Alphard, being a Chaser was the best and most fun position in Quidditch.

Suddenly, the book was ripped from his hands, and Harry loudly complained as Tom ruffled through the book as he batted away all of Harry's attempts to get it back.

"Quidditch – a wizards' sport, you say?" sneered Tom acidly. "Looks like utter rubbish to me."

And with that, Tom briskly flung it over Harry's head.

Harry let out a startled and alarmed yell, but thankfully swiftly snatched the sailing book in mid-air before it could fly out of the bus' window.

"What's the matter with you!" Harry bellowed irately as he protectively pressed the book against his chest, wrapping his thin arms around it.

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he hissed out spitefully, "You're all giddy and happy that you have a new little friend, aren't you? Did you tell him that you're a lowly orphan? I bet he won't like you as much when he finds out."

Harry shot him a mighty glower, but said nothing. He simply utterly ignored him – which he knew was the one thing Tom hated the most- and turned around in his seat, giving him his back in an angle that made it impossible for his brother to snatch the book away from him.

He spent the rest of the bus trip eagerly going through the book, while Tom stewed in his own dark thoughts, looking resentful, bitter, and in a foul-mood.

When they finally reached the orphanage after leaving the bus and dragging their trunks for several blocks, they easily slipped into their bedroom without encountering Magda. Evidently, the girl had never checked on them and was wholly ignorant that they had even left the place.

Nagini, though, wasn't.

"_Where__ have __you __been?__"_ she demanded in a furious hiss, the instant that Tom and Harry stepped into their bedroom, uncoiling her body from her place on top of Tom's pillow to skewer them with angry, yellow eyes. _"__And __why __didn__'__t __you __take __me__ with __you?__ I__'__ve __been __alone,__ bored,__ all __day!__"_

"_It__'__s__ none __of __your __business __where __we__'__ve __been,__"_ snapped Tom shortly, while both he and Harry managed to put their trunks by the foot of their beds, occupying the last free space of their small room.

And as Harry then plopped down on his bed to placidly burrow there to continue perusing his book, Tom meanwhile cleared their nightstand and planted Lord Horkos' cage there, right below the open window.

It took Nagini a second to coil her tail and spring upwards, her gaze fixed on the usurper, as she hissed sharply, _"__What__'__s__ that?__"_

Harry's gaze snapped up from the Quidditch book to glance at the snake and his brother, his lips tilting upwards in amusement at the oncoming quarrel.

"_That,__"_ said Tom acerbically, throwing her a look of warning, _"__is __Lord __Horkos. __An __owl.__ I __bought __him __and __he__'__s __mine. __Get __used __to __it.__"_

Nagini let out a vibrant, low hiss, as if steam was bursting from her nostrils. _"__Throw __it __out! __I __won__'__t __share, __this __is __my __territory-__"_

"_This__ is __MY__ territory,__"_ bit out Tom angrily. _"__You __only __live __here __because __we __let __you,__ so __watch __what__ you __say __and __mind__ your __tone. __He __stays.__"_

Nagini's yellow eyes narrowed to slits. In the next second, she flung herself into mid-air, landed on the floor, and then quickly slithered up one of the legs of Harry's bed, finally swiftly coiling herself on Harry's lap.

She threw at Tom a resentful glare from her new spot, as if saying 'There, see who's my favorite person now.' And Harry shot his brother a smirk as he started to pet her.

Tom, for his part, looked utterly indifferent as he then proceeded to unlatch the door of Lord Horkos' cage.

"What are you doing?" said Harry with alarm. "I don't think that's a good idea-"

"I have to let him out," bit out Tom with irritation. "He has to hunt, doesn't he? And the cage is too small for him to be stuffed there all day."

Harry adamantly shook his head and opened his mouth, but Tom had by then already opened it.

Nagini instantly tensed on Harry's lap, as Lord Horkos pulled his hulking figure out of the cage, hopping and then perching himself on the edge of the nightstand, his sharp talons leaving gouges on the wood.

The owl's big, ugly head instantly snapped around, his red gaze fixing on Nagini with a hungry and vicious glint in it. In the next instant, the creature let out a high-pitched shriek, spanning out his enormous black wings and hunching, as if about to lurch forward in an airborne attack.

Harry's eyes went wide with alarm and he would have dived out of the way if it weren't for Nagini, who still remained on his lap.

Nevertheless, she was a dangerous and crafty creature herself, and Nagini reacted swiftly to the threat.

Propelling herself with the tip of her tail, she pulled herself up to her full height. She was wiry-thin, but fully elongated she towered over Lord Horkos' intimidating height. And as she swayed and undulated from side to side, as if in some kind of tribal dance preluding a fearsome battle, she let out a series of shrilly, rattling hisses - Harry had never heard something like that coming from her.

The two creatures remained thus, their gazes locked in some sort of deathmatch, Lord Horkos shrieking and flapping his wings, Nagini hissing and undulating.

Harry observed them warily, ready to jump to a side the moment the two engaged in a fight, while Tom merely watched them nonchalantly.

To Harry's astonishment, Lord Horkos abruptly let out a gruff hoot, hopped around, and then flung himself out of the window. Nagini let out a smug hiss after that, and went back to coil herself on Harry's lap.

Harry blinked down at her, and then grinned as he started to scratch the tiny, tender scales under her jaw, as he cooed with pride, _"__Aren__'__t__ you __the __scary __one.__"_

"_I __am,__"_ she hissed conceitedly, flicking out her forked tongue to contently caress his finger.

Tom scoffed at that, shooting both of them a snide look, to then merely sit on his bed and become immersed in 'Hogwarts: A History'.

A while later, Lord Horkos returned with a dead rat hanging by the tail from his beak. The creature utterly ignored Nagini as he started to gobble down his prey, and Nagini didn't even raise her head from Harry's lap.

Apparently, both creatures had already settled matters in their own way and had reached an agreement of 'live and let live'.

Half an hour had passed by, during which Tom and Harry brushed their teeth and changed to their pajamas to then continue reading their respective books, when the first sounds of activity reached their ears – the muffled, excited voices of children.

"They're back," whispered Harry. He shot Nagini a glance as he hissed urgently, _"__You__ know __what __to __do.__"_

She reared her head back to pierce him with a miffed gaze, and then she flung the tip of her tail in Lord Horkos' direction.

"_What __about __the __creature?__"_ she spat in a hiss, as if the owl was the most loathsome thing in existence. _"__If__ I __have __to __hide,__ then __it __should __too-__"_

"_He__'__s__ just __an __owl,__"_ snapped Tom from his bed. _"__They__'__ll __let __us __keep __him.__"_ He shot Nagini a harsh glance as he added crisply, _"__You__'__re __a __snake __and__ you__'__d __scare __them.__ If __they __see__ you,__ they__'__ll __kill __you.__ You__ already __know__ that.__"_

"_I__ would __like __to __see __them __try,__" _hissed Nagini, peeling open her maw to display her row of small albeit long, sharp teeth.

"_Come,__ Nagini,__"_ said Harry in soothing, soft tones, as he offered her his arm, _"__it__ will __only __be__ for __a __while. __I__'__ll __let__ you __out __afterwards, __I __promise.__"_

She let out a hissed huff of indignation but nevertheless complied, wrapping herself along Harry's forearm. He opened the drawer of the nightstand and helped her slither into it.

Not a moment too soon, when Harry had dived under his covers and hid his book, with Tom doing the same, the door of their room cracked open.

Alice stepped inside with a worried expression on her face. "Are you feeling better, Harry-"

Her mouth hung agape the next instant, her eyes going wide as her gaze flickered from their trunks to Lord Horkos, who was still perched on their nightstand savagely devouring what was left of his rat.

"What's all this? And what's that!" Alice gasped out, looking as if she was about to shriek and run for the hills at the sight of Lord Horkos.

Tom forestalled her by saying smoothly, "He's an owl, completely harmless."

"Owl?" murmured Alice, blinking, and not looking at all convinced as she gazed at the creature again. Then she shook her head and demanded, in a more forceful tone of voice, "What are you doing with an owl?" She gestured at their trunks next. "And what are these!"

"Mr. Dumbledore gave us money for things we had to buy for our school," replied Tom calmly. "Just uniforms and the sort."

Alice gaped at them. "You went to buy clothes? To London-"

"It was his idea," piped in Harry, pulling a miserable expression on his face as he pointed a finger at Tom. "I told him I felt too ill, but he forced me-"

"You did what?" snapped Alice angrily, instantly rounding on Tom. "You said you'd take care of him, that's the only reason why I agreed to leave you behind!"

Tom had already thrown a furious glare at Harry the moment he heard him, but Harry had merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

Really, what had his brother expected? He wasn't going to tell Alice that he had faked the stomachache. Besides, his version of things neatly covered their tracks and was utterly convincing.

"Oh, I shouldn't have believed you," railed Alice at Tom. "Taking care of your sick brother was too much to expect from you, I see! And dragging the poor boy to stores…" With an expression of deep concern she reached Harry's bedside, as she added frantically, "Look at him – he even looks paler than this morning!"

Harry nodded several times, let out a pitiful moan and slowly rubbed his belly, as he peered at her with wide, pained eyes.

"Oh you poor child," she crooned softly, as she sat on his bed and worriedly pressed the palm of her hand on Harry's forehead. "You haven't developed a fever, at least…" She shot Tom a sharp glance and snapped, "Not thanks to you!"

With a huff, Alice rose to her feet and said quietly to Harry, "I'll bring you a cup of chamomile tea, dear. That will help."

The second she was gone, Tom flung off the covers of his bed and jumped to his feet, as he hissed out irately, "You backstabbing, traitorous little-"

"Relax," said Harry calmly with a roll of his eyes. "It worked, didn't it? I don't see why you must get so riled up-"

Tom's dark blue eyes flashed as he took a threatening step forward to loom over Harry's supine form, as he gritted out through clenched teeth with vicious sarcasm, "You don't see why I should-"

"Oh – oh!" gasped out Harry, letting out a loud groan.

Tom gazed at him in startled bewilderment, but Harry ignored it as he continued, now in a suffering and pained tone of voice, "I'm feeling worse – so much worse! My tummy is killing me – I might even vomit!"

He then shot Tom a pointed glance, as he added loftily, "I'm very, very ill. So you don't want Alice to return and see you standing there shouting at me, do you? I suggest you go back to your bed."

Tom stared at him with incredulity for a split second, and then with murder in his eyes, as if he was about to leap forward and savagely strangle him to death. The boy's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he said very, very quietly, "You'll pay for this."

Harry shot him a toothy grin and then merely shrugged. He could deal with anything his brother dished out.

Tom threw at him one last fulminating glare promising painful retribution, before he spun around and slipped into his bed, pulling an impassive expression on his face.

As Harry comfortably burrowed himself under the covers, nearly twiddling his thumbs, he slowly mused out loud, "What do you think Mr. Dumbledore told them?"

Tom and he had discussed the possibilities earlier in the day as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron.

That morning, when they had opened their envelopes, besides the Hogwarts' letters with a list of required items and their classes, they had also discovered cream-hued, glossy parchments with seals on them displaying two intertwined M's.

They had seen that it was from the 'Ministry of Magic'; that had given them quite a lot to talk about.

Tom had fumed and angrily ranted – his brother despised all forms of authority, after all, and held them in contempt. Harry hadn't been thrilled either; it had been the first sign that indicated that the Magical World wasn't the fantasyland he had envisioned.

Furthermore, when they actually read the letters, they had both been very disappointed. Besides a formal greeting welcoming them into the Wizarding World, there had been a long list of rules that under-aged wizards, especially those living in the 'Muggle World', had to follow.

Firstly, they couldn't do magic outside of Hogwarts, not in their homes or anywhere else. Secondly, they couldn't do magic in the presence of muggles. Thirdly, they could tell no muggle about the existence of the Wizarding World; the only exception was immediately family - muggles related to them in the first degree by blood, in which case a Ministry official would have already visited their homes in order to explain matters to them. And finally, the first rule only expired when they became of age – apparently, when they turned seventeen.

If they broke any of those rules, their wands would be snapped, they would be expelled from Hogwarts, and if they were seventeen years old or over, they would also be sent to somewhere called 'Azkaban'. Obviously, it couldn't be a very nice place.

Thus, given that Alice and Kathy were just 'muggles' with no relation to them, they had wondered what Mr. Dumbledore had told them regarding Hogwarts.

The only thing they had surmised was that whatever the wizard had said must have been a very good, convincing lie, because neither of the women had even asked them any questions.

"Eh, Tom, so what do you think he told'em?" pressed on Harry when his brother remained silent.

"I'm not talking to you," spat Tom, as he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you really going to sulk and brood?"

At that, Tom shot him the nastiest look Harry had ever seen, and Harry uneasily cleared his throat and mumbled quietly, "Er… yeah... do whatever you like…"

Then he quickly rolled to a side, turning his back to Tom, though he could still feel his brother's gaze boring holes into him; it made him feel a bit nervous and uncomfortable. Tom could be very scary when he wanted.

Harry heard rustling sounds and he peeked a glance over his shoulder, seeing Tom getting up from his bed and then moving towards the door.

"Where're you going?" asked Harry in puzzlement.

"I'm going to find out what he said to them," bit out Tom as he yanked the door open. When he caught sight of Harry's beaming grin, he snarled like a wild beast, "I'm not doing it for you, twerp! I want to know myself!"

And with that, he slammed the door shut after him, but Harry kept grinning nonetheless.

* * *

Tom fumed as he made his way towards the ground floor, imagining all sorts of ways in which he would take revenge on his 'little brother', his dear 'twin', the imp who had dared to use his wiles against him, persuading him to skip the trip to Southend-on-Sea –and Tom had had great plans for that trip: the cave! – to go to Diagon Alley, and who had then betrayed him in front of Alice.

Why, he had taught the little tyke everything the boy knew!

And then, for a moment, he felt a powerful blaze of pride. Harry had tricked him, and quite cunningly and slyly, at that. Naturally, it was all because of him – since Harry was innately too much of a goody-goody two shoes. Clearly, Harry had grown to be a bit astute due to Tom, because of Tom's lessons and influence.

Those thoughts marginally assuaged his roaring bad-temper. Nevertheless, it didn't mean that he wasn't going to make his 'little brother' pay.

Tom's lips curled upwards in satisfaction, envisioning the enjoyable possibilities. And despite his inward musings, he didn't fail to notice how, as he made his way along the corridors, the children gave him a wide berth. That ultimately lifted up his spirits.

If he had been sentimental, stupid little Harry, most of those children would have been calling out to him, cheerfully blabbering like idiots to tell him all about their seaside trip, all the silly little games they played and the stupid things that Old John Bryce had told them about the Great War, and whatnot.

Instead, Tom was beheld with fear, and was given the instinctual, primal respect that came with that, in his opinion. Thus, he was left blissfully alone and in peace.

At last, he caught sight of the kitchen, where he saw Alice placing a cup of tea on a tray. But Tom dismissed her; it was Mrs. Cole, as the Matron of St. Jerome's, who would know more about it. So he turned to a side and finally reached Kathy's office.

Tom didn't bother to knock. He simply pulled the door open and nonchalantly strolled inside.

Kathy was behind her cluttered desk, looking none the more rested nor refreshed after her trip to the seaside. Her gaze instantly snapped up to sharply glance at him, her expression turning guarded, suspicious, and dour all at the same time.

Well, he despised her too. Tom returned her gaze with a frosty one of his own, as he pulled a chair and smoothly took a seat, not waiting for an invitation.

Kathy's eyes narrowed at that, and then she said briskly, "What can I help you with, Tom?"

"I was wondering," Tom said calmly, "what you knew about the school Harry and I are going to attend."

Kathy blinked at him, as if startled by a trivial question. "Well, I expect you know as much or more than I do. Mr. Bumbleboor went to speak to you, didn't he?"

"He did," replied Tom coolly, "but he didn't give us much information. Just that it was a… private…" he began, gauging her expression with every word he added to see if he was hitting the mark of what she had been told "… boarding… school… somewhere in…"

"In Scotland - yes," cut in Kathy impatiently, nodding her head and waving a hand as if wanting to quickly end a foolish conversation, "that your father selected for you boys, and fully paid, before dying."

Tom's eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. But he managed to mask his astonished surprise, and merely placidly gazed back at her, as he intoned softly, "Father… 'our' father – Harry's and mine?"

Kathy stared at him as if wondering if he had taken a hit to the head. "Yes, Tom, who else would it be?"

Tom's eyes marginally widened, but then he cleared his throat and said nonchalantly, "I see. I wonder… if our father enrolled us in the school, you must have asked Mr. Dumbledore for proof. You wouldn't have simply taken his word for it, would you?"

"Of course not," retorted Kathy, looking quite affronted. "I'm the Matron of an orphanage. I wouldn't just let two boys wander off to some mysterious school without having information about it, or documents ascertaining the validity of your enrollment." She shot Tom a most insulted look, as she started to go through the things on top of her desk, as she muttered, "In fact, Mr. Dumberdoor gave me the papers himself – with the information about the school, it's location, and even the contract your father signed before he died in that accident… or was it your grandparents?… I don't quite recall, but it's somewhere here…"

"You say you saw signatures in a contract?" inquired Tom smoothly. "Do you recall the names?"

"Yes, it was…" Kathy trailed off, abruptly deeply frowning and then rubbing her forehead. "Well, I don't quite remember right now… it was something like... like…" She huffed, apparently annoyed at her own faulty memory, and then rummaged through the papers at the right side of her desk. "I remember leaving the contract here… I must have misplaced it..."

Indeed, she only found a blank piece of paper in the place where she would have sworn she had left the document.

Meanwhile, Tom was observing her with the intensity of a hawk, a mesmerizing possibility churning in his mind nearly since the start of their conversation.

To further test his suspicions, Tom leaned forward and absorbed her with his gaze, as he murmured quietly, "I trust that our agreement still stands?"

"Agreement?" Kathy stopped perusing her desk in order to stare back at him with a perplexed frown. "What agreement?"

"The agreement we reached some years ago," said Tom carefully, piercing her with his dark blue gaze, taking notice of any possible twitch in her expression, "one night when I overheard you and Alice arguing about me and my… twin, in the kitchen. And I confronted you, because I was angry about…."

He trailed off, skewering her with his gaze as he waited for her to complete his sentence.

"Um, yes," said Kathy, blinking twice at him. "I think I remember. We argued about…" Her forehead scrunched. "Er, it was about…"

"I was very rude and angry then," supplied Tom slowly, intently staring at her.

"Yes," interjected Kathy flatly, shooting him a wry glance. "I remember _that_."

Tom shook his head, a contrite expression on his face as he said candidly, "I shouldn't have overreacted in such manner. If you and Alice wanted to convince Harry to go to church, I shouldn't have been so angry about it. I should have let you do it, instead of making you promise to leave him alone -"

"Oh, yes, you might be right! I think I recall now…"

"Of course you do," Tom said warmly, widely smiling at her.

He fluidly rose to his feet, but before he left, he said one more thing, wanting to know just how deep it went.

"I've never thanked you," he whispered quietly, gazing at her with a softness in his eyes, "for helping our mother. Alice told me the story." A gentle, deeply grateful expression unfolded across his face. "You helped my mother bring me to this world. It was a difficult childbirth, from what you told Alice. And then, you…"

"I helped her give birth to Harry too, yes," stuttered Kathy, looking utterly taken aback by Tom's sweet tone, expression, and gratefulness. A pleased, pink hue blossomed on her cheeks, as she added humbly, "Well, I only did what any charitable person would have done."

"You did, indeed," said Tom softly, shooting her a gorgeous, charming smile, "and you have my undying gratitude for it."

Kathy blinked at him, looking a bit dazed.

Tom shot her one last smile –because truly, he felt as if he was walking on clouds– before he calmly strode towards the door.

"Um, Tom! I seemed to have misplaced the papers regarding the school, would you mind telling me-"

"It's called St. Thomas' Boarding School for Boys," said Tom over his shoulder as he opened the door, saying the first name similar to his own despised one which popped into his mind, as he then continued to let the lies smoothly roll out from his tongue, "it's in a town near Edinburgh. On September the first we're expected to catch a train to Edinburgh from King's Cross Station. We'll only return for Christmas and summer holidays."

"Excellent!" Kathy beamed at him as she scribbled down the information. "Thank you, Tom. I'll have Alice accompany you two boys to the station on that date."

Tom merely nodded before strolling out of the office.

* * *

"What did you find out?" Harry immediately asked the moment Tom stepped inside their room.

Evidently, Alice had already come and gone, since there was an empty cup of tea sitting on the nightstand. And Harry wasn't expecting anyone else but him, since Nagini was out in full view, now sharing a pillow with Harry, snoozing placidly. Even Lord Horkos had returned to his cage and was sleeping with his head stuck under a wing.

"Dumbledore told them that it's a private boarding school for boys near Edinburgh, called St. Thomas'," replied Tom coolly, as he toed off his shoes and slipped inside his bed, then stretching out a hand to slightly turn the knob of the oil lamp, dimming the light.

Harry propped himself up against the wall, to have a full view of him, though careful to not disturb Nagini at his side, and he said disbelievingly, "That's all?"

Tom shot him a brief glance, and said coolly, "He also told them that our father had put our names down for the school before he died in an accident."

"What?" gasped out Harry, lurching forward on his bed to stare at him. "Dumbledore knows who our father is-"

"Of course not, you nitwit," snapped Tom with aggravation, glowering at him. "How can he, when we don't know ourselves? He lied."

Harry's forehead scrunched as he mumbled, "So our dad isn't dead like he said?"

"Don't know. Don't care," said Tom impassively, shrugging his shoulders with supreme indifference.

Harry huffed at that but made no comments. Then he frowned pensively and finally blurted out incredulously, "So Dumbledore simply said that, and Alice and Kathy believed him? They didn't ask him any questions, or asked for more information about our father or the school?"

"Apparently, no."

Harry blinked at him in puzzlement, and then huffed out in disappointment, "Well, I expected something more. I thought Mr. Dumbledore must've done some trick or spun some great, complex lie to cover it all up…"

Tom's lips tilted upwards.

He could scarcely believe it. Dumbledore had done something to Mrs. Cole, something incredible, amazing, and wondrous. It was evident. Somehow, the man had altered the woman's memories. And he must have done the same to Alice as well, now that he thought about it.

Oh, he knew that it could only mean that Dumbledore was aware that Tom and Harry weren't twins. Mrs. Cole must have told the man before he changed or wiped her memories.

Of course, it made Tom extremely suspicious regarding the man's intentions. Why had the man perpetuated the lie?

No doubt the wizard would use that information against them in the future, when it served the man's interests. That could be the only explanation possible of why Dumbledore did what he did. Thus, Tom would definitely keep an eye on him at school.

Yet, maybe Dumbledore didn't know that Tom was aware of the truth about them not being twins. It depended on whether Kathy had told him or not, and Tom had no way of ascertaining that since the woman was nearly senile!

She didn't even remember what they had been arguing about, that night in the kitchen when he had suffocated her until she passed out. She didn't seem to remember much, and clearly firmly believed that Tom and Harry were twins.

At least, she remembered Tom's mother still, but apparently had firmly convinced herself that Harry had popped out right after him. Funny, since that had been exactly the version of things that Tom had told Harry.

Regardless, the point was that Dumbledore had modified the minds of two women.

It had never even crossed Tom's mind that such thing was possible! And if something so extraordinary and amazingly useful could be done with magic, then he could envision any sort of all other things that could also be done!

Tom had never felt so exhilarated in his life.

His head was filled with imaginings of all the things he could learn to do, and the immense scope of infinite possibilities that that represented for him and his future. Obtaining everything he wanted for him and Harry could be so simple!

Furthermore, apparently there was utter impunity and no repercussions. Dumbledore had erased the memories of two muggle women as if it was a trifle, or something he did everyday, after all.

Of course, according to the Ministry of Magic's letter, Tom couldn't do magic outside school until he turned seventeen. But it mattered little; he could be patient, or perhaps he could find ways around that.

Tom's smile bloomed.

Harry caught sight of something from the corner of his eyes, and he snapped his head around to gaze at his brother.

"You're…" Harry had to take a double glance to be certain, and then he stared at him, flabbergasted. "Are you smiling?"

Harry peered at him with wide eyes. He didn't remember his brother smiling ever before in his life, not once.

It was extremely disturbing. It couldn't bode anything good, Harry was certain.

"What's the matter with you?" mumbled Harry, taken aback, never peeling his gaze away from his brother. And then Tom's smile widened even further, and Harry sputtered out warily, "It's creepy."

Tom let out a soft chuckle.

"That's even creepier!" gasped out Harry in alarm, pointing a finger at him. "Stop it!"

Tom loudly snorted and then shot him a glance. "What – I can't be cheerful for once?"

"No," retorted Harry vehemently, as if it had been the dumbest question he had ever heard. "You aren't a jolly chap, in case you hadn't noticed."

Tom scoffed, but still continued to smile up at the ceiling, with his arms indolently crossed under his head.

"It's bloody spooky, it is," groused out Harry, sleepily rolling to his side so that he wouldn't have to see it anymore.

* * *

The three weeks before September the first arrived, passed by in a flash, but not without their share of incidents.

Firstly, things had gotten very amusing and enjoyable for Harry the day that Tom plucked up a bit of courage and finally informed Nagini that they would be gone for nearly a whole year and she wasn't coming along.

Their snake hadn't taken the news well, even less when she realized that Lord Horkos, the usurper of her humans and territory, would be accompanying them.

After a hissed shouting match between Tom and her, Nagini had turned vicious.

Not a day passed by when she didn't spring at Tom the moment the boy entered the bedroom, with her jaws open, ready to chomp down on whatever part of his body she could reach.

It was a pity that Tom had a large dose of self-preservation instincts, because he always managed to dodge her no matter where she popped out from.

It would have made Harry's day to see his brother with his arms and hands covered with bite marks. Nevertheless, he sniggered and chortled and encouraged Nagini in every attack. Tom murderously glared at him, but it was worth it.

Tom became unhealthily paranoid for his own sake, and was always warily glancing at shadows and corners, in case Nagini sprung forth. The boy couldn't even sleep a wink at nights, because she had learned how to reach their bedroom from the outside by slithering up the pipes –Harry had been the one to sweetly suggest to her that solution– and their window had to remain open for Lord Horkos and his hunting trips.

Thus, Harry was vastly entertained by them during those weeks.

Secondly, as Harry knew would happen, the neighborhood became aware of the presence of a large, horrendous bird terrorizing their inhabitants with the mere sight of him.

Wild rumors ran amok, and every neighbor had their own opinion of what the creature could be: some sort of vicious eagle; inexplicably, a vulture; an airborne carnivore aberration that had escaped from the London Zoo; and whatnot.

Until, one late evening, just as Harry and Tom were about to slip into their beds, they heard shouts coming from the street.

"There it is – THERE! It has my Miss Mittens!" was shrieking a woman at the top of her lungs, sounding hysteric.

Tom and Harry had instantly reached their window, to see Lord Horkos up in the air with a huge, fat animal dangling by its broken neck from his beak.

The shrieking woman was Mrs. Smith, the butcher's wife, and her husband was already with riffle in hand, shooting bullets up into the sky. The man's aim was terrible, but it didn't mean that he faltered in his attempts, the loud banging noises soon waking up the whole neighborhood.

And they all knew who Miss Mittens was, of course. Mrs. Smith's adored fat, old cat, that spent her days drowsing at the butcher's doorstep among pots of gardenias, like a beached whale.

"I told you he'd be nothing but trouble," chirped Harry merrily, as he peered out the window.

Tom fulminated him with a dark glare, and then paled when he saw Lord Horkos flying towards them with his prized prey.

As much as Tom wildly flailed his arms, apparently trying to convey to his pet to turn around and go somewhere else, the owl obviously didn't get the message.

Looking very smug, the beast flew in through their window, perched himself on their nightstand, and then proceeded to open up the dead cat by the use of his large, sharp beak, soon beginning to devour Miss Mittens' innards.

"And here I thought that owls only ate insects and mice," remarked Harry in a mutter, his stomach sickly squirming at the gory sight.

"It went into the orphanage!" was soon heard coming from the street.

At that, Harry shot Tom an impish grin and wriggled his eyebrows. He wanted to see how his brother would get out of this one.

Harry half expected their neighbors would come with torches and pitchforks in hand to pummel at their door.

Tom, the little sneak, was quick to shove Harry out of their room, ordering him to find out what was happening.

Harry merely complied because he was feeling generous, and because he wasn't the guilty party this time and thus could enjoy the proceedings without having to worry about his own skin.

He reached the staircase of their floor and peered above the rail to watch what was going on at the entrance of the orphanage.

Their neighbors hadn't come calling for bloody murder, except the butcher who still held his riffle, but they had pounded on the orphanage's door as they bellowed.

It was Kathy who had greeted them in her usual brisk, no-nonsense manner, and now a cacophony of angered or indignant shouts could be heard as she answered them.

"Ye're tellin' me that creature's an owl? That's no owl!"

"It took my Miss Mittens!"

"What d'you mean it's the pet of one of your orphans? Since when are owls pets!"

"One of the Riddle boys? It's always 'em – those troublemakers!"

Harry merely watched them in silence, undetected. He had known that his days of being the adored little orphan of the neighborhood had ended when Mr. Jenkins had been fired and the spiteful, vicious man had spent all his nights in the pub bellowing that his disfigurement and loss of an eye had been Tom and Harry's fault.

And Tom, of course, besides that added stain on his ignominious reputation, had always had Father Patrick –the neighborhood's respected priest- publicly railing against him.

"We demand they come forth with the beast – let us get a shot at it and be done with it."

Then, Harry barely heard Kathy's calm voice saying something about boarding school.

"They're leaving?" said someone with a much-relieved tone of voice. "And they're taking the creature with 'em?"

Whatever she replied to that, it seemed to soothe their ruffled feathers, though some still grumbled as they left.

Thus, Harry returned to his bedroom utterly disappointed that his brother hadn't gotten in trouble, and merely said to Tom, "You have Kathy to thank, for saving your hide."

Tom didn't reply to that except to shoot him a sneer, and then glanced at his owl with irritation; his delusions of what a perfect pet it would be, as a tool of intimidation without bringing negative consequences, crushed.

The third incident - well, it hadn't been an incident per se, but rather his brother being the mean, spiteful git that he could sometimes be.

One afternoon, Harry returned to their bedroom to see Tom standing there, looking quite smug and pleased with himself, with a nasty glint of relishing anticipation in his eyes.

Instantly, Harry became on guard, ready for anything that his brother could suddenly dish out at him. But Tom didn't move an inch; he merely smirked at him and then pointedly glanced at Harry's bed.

Cautiously, Harry took a step forward to peer at it. There was only a handful of ashes on top of his covers.

"What's that?" he said, puzzled.

"Notice anything missing?" intoned Tom pleasantly.

Harry frowned and threw his gaze around. Then he did a double take at his closed trunk; that morning he had left his Quidditch book on top of it.

"What did you do!" gasped out Harry, his eyes wide with horrified disbelief.

Tom shot him a wide, poignant smile. "Why, I simply stuck your precious little book in the playroom's fireplace, watched it burn to cinders while I chortled, and then brought back its ashes for you to admire."

Harry didn't quite know what took possession of him. But he saw red - he felt such a surge of blinding rage as he had never before.

One second he was standing there, staring at his brother with aghast incredulity, then in the next, he had leaped at him like a feral, demented beast, letting out a shrilly, high-pitched shriek of a battle-cry that he would later refuse to admit that it had come out of him.

His reaction took Tom by surprise, no doubt. But it didn't stop Harry from pummeling him as viciously hard as he could. Tom replied in kind, and they were soon grappling with each other, landing blows and kicks as they rolled in the little space that was between their beds, hitting their heads and limbs against furniture and whatnot, like a pair of wild street cats.

Tom was a head taller than Harry, but while Tom had sneered at learning how to fight from Mr. Hutchins, Harry had not, and he knew quite a few tricks and had had practice.

Not to mention that Harry had always completely ignored Bob's rules about what was unsportsmanlike. He had good teeth and a strong bite, so Harry also used it in this occasion, chomping down on one of Tom's arms without letting go, like a determined bulldog, while he flung his small fists at Tom's ribcage.

Obviously, their furious screams and yells soon caused a crowd of children to gather at their door. And in a few seconds, they overheard the caregivers arriving at the site, shouting at them to stop.

However, they were all women and Harry wasn't ashamed to admit that he thus completely ignored them. If Bob Hutchins had been there and had told him to stop, he would have. But really, what did girls know about the need to fight to stand up for oneself?

Moreover, Tom wouldn't have obeyed anyone for any reason. Thus neither of them stopped and they completely ignored their spectators.

Until, something icily chilly splashed down on them, and Tom and Harry jumped away from each other, sputtering out water from their mouths and haggardly gasping for breath.

Drenched like pathetic kittens in the rain, they both stared at Kathy Cole, who was glaring at them with thunder in her eyes, a dripping, empty pot hanging from her hands.

"This," she snapped furiously, "is unacceptable. I expected better from you both!"

She said 'both', but she was staring at Harry in particular, because truly, it was well known that the woman had given up on Tom a long time ago. And Harry then felt a bit chagrined at the reprimand, because even though he didn't love her like he did Alice, he was still fond of Mrs. Cole.

Alice then ran into the room, with a roll of bandages in one hand and a bottle of iodine in the other, ready to gently nurse them back to health.

However, Kathy instantly forestalled her, barring her with an outstretched arm, as she snapped, "Let them feel the pain of their own stupidity." Then she skewered them with her gaze and added briskly, "You're to remain locked in your room for the day. And I don't want to hear a peep coming from here. One sound of fighting and you'll be grounded for a week."

And with that, she herded the rest of the children away and then banged their door shut.

Harry and Tom dragged themselves up and took opposites side of the room, each flopping down to sit at the edge of their beds.

Still with water dripping from his hair and clothes, feeling every crook and cranny of his body aching, Harry shot his brother a resentful, baleful glare, as he bit out, "You crossed the line."

"I don't know why you're throwing a hissy fit," acidly sneered Tom at him. "You don't even like books-"

"I liked that one, and you knew it!" spat Harry furiously. "You had no right!"

Tom shot him a vindictive smirk at that, as he intoned sweetly, "See what happens for turning against me?"

"This is because I told Alice it was your idea to go shopping when I was 'ill'?" gritted out Harry, angry beyond measure. "Then you should have done something else to get back at me. I would have never burned one of your books. And that one was a present!"

"It was a present," mimicked Tom in a high-pitched, childish voice, throwing him a snide sneer.

Harry's green eyes narrowed to slits. In the next second, he shot him a nasty, smug smirk. "Ah. I see. So that's the matter. You're jealous because I made a new friend. You're always jealous of me because I have people who like me and you don't!"

"I'm not jealous of you, you twit! And I don't want or need friends!" snarled Tom looking indignant, flinging out a leg to kick Harry in the shin.

Harry's eyes narrowed again in anger, and he returned the kick as hard as he could, as he intoned mockingly, "You kick like a little girl. You punch like one too, come to that!"

Tom's nostrils flared and he viciously kicked Harry again.

In no time, they had engaged in a kicking battle, both of them gripping the sides of their beds for support, snarling and panting heavily, until Tom roared, "Enough!"

Harry immediately stopped, but only because he was wheezing by then, his legs pulsing painfully, no doubt black and blue, and he could no longer move without groaning.

When he recovered his breath, Harry merely shot his brother a scathing glance and slowly moved to get some textbooks from his trunk.

They couldn't leave the room according to Kathy and he wasn't going to speak to Tom, so he had no choice but to entertain himself with his Hogwarts books.

The idea didn't much appeal to him, but in the end he curled himself up in his bed, inwardly whimpering due to the aches, and then discovered that the 'Charms' textbook was actually interesting; it had loads of animated pictures of wand movements and the spells did pretty awesome things.

He soon became immersed in it, while Tom read his stupid 'Hogwarts: A History', because his brother, know-it-all book-muncher that he was, had already flipped through all of his textbooks.

The following day, Harry had already forgiven him, because he still couldn't hold a grudge for long and being angry at his brother was simply exhausting and left him feeling miserable.

Nevertheless, Harry had managed to wring from his brother the promise that Tom would replace the book. He had mercilessly nagged him and even set Nagini on him twice until Tom caved in.

Harry didn't care how Tom did it: whether he had to steal galleons to buy the book, borrow them, nick the book itself, or thoroughly charm the shopkeeper so that he could have it for free. Harry just wanted that book back, and he had even been magnanimous and had given Tom the time frame of one year.

And thus, they had made their peace, as they always did in the end, no matter what.

Finally, just two days before they had to leave for Hogwarts, the last incident happened, which inevitably left Harry's innocent sensibilities a bit traumatized.

They had been peacefully sleeping in their beds when they were woken up by a girly scream.

Harry would have blissfully ignored it and gone back to sleep if it wasn't because the scream got louder and then he recognized the voice that started to frantically shout.

"Amy is bleeding to death! Help – HELP!"

It was Mary, one of Amy Benson's friends and the one who shared her bedroom.

Worriedly, Harry dragged himself out of his bed and reached the corridor. Tom trailed after him at a sedate pace, surely to see what the dunderheads of the orphanage were up to and to sneer and mock them.

Many other boys had already left their bedrooms as well; Harry saw his friends Eric Whalley and Billy Stubbs among them.

Going together, they quickly went down the stairs and reached the girls' floor, seeing a group of girls crowding the threshold of Amy's room.

Harry and his friends managed to elbow their way inside and then stood rooted in place, staring at Amy who was hysterically sobbing on her bed. There were red stains on the sheets and on her nightgown.

"What's the matter with her?" muttered Billy Stubbs, looking alarmed. "Is that blood?"

Harry could only stare without replying. It did look serious.

When he was about to take the steps to reach Amy and see where she was injured, to try to help her, Kathy appeared, barking out for everyone to make way.

By her looks, she had been having another late night in her office going through the orphanage's accounts. Alice and Robert were with her, but evidently those two had simply been spending time talking to each other in the kitchen, as they had taken to do during the year.

"Oh, stop your crying, lass," said Kathy impatiently, looking thoroughly vexed. "We told you about this two months ago when you turned thirteen. You knew it would happen at some point."

That didn't seem to help matters because Amy let out a wail of despair.

Finally, it was Alice who started patting her on the back comfortingly, as she said gently, "It only means you've become a woman, Amy. It's not a bad thing."

Evidently Amy didn't think so because, if possible, she burst into even greater tears, her sobs turning more wretched and panicky.

"She's a woman now?" piped in Eric Whalley bewildered. "How's that?"

"But she's bleeding!" said Billy adamantly. "Is she hurt or what?"

Kathy snapped her head around at that, to stare at them before she commanded sharply, "All of you boys, out! You have no business here." She shot Alice a glance, and added briskly, "Alice take charge of them, I'll take care of Amy."

Alice was quick to round them up and herd them away, but Harry refused to leave until he knew if his friend was alright, so he asked, "What's happening to her?"

"Perhaps you should explain it to them," said Robert Hutchins then. "They're old enough to know about that and about-"

"Yes, yes, fine," cut in Alice, looking weary and none too thrilled with the suggestion.

She took them to the playroom, though Harry noticed that the boys younger than him and those older by four or more years were left behind.

Furthermore, Tom had tried to slip away but Alice had instantly caught sight of his attempt and had said sharply, "You too, Tom."

"Please," Tom had scoffed out with a snide look on his face. "I already know about-"

"I don't care what you know or don't know," had interjected Alice impatiently. "You're coming along."

Tom had fumed in his indignation, apparently because it was an utter waste of his time or because he was being bundled with half-brained children. Nonetheless, he followed them in the end.

Alice then stood before them, with Robert by her side, who nodded at her as if giving her encouragement. She seemed to need it, because Alice looked fidgety and flustered.

Whatever she was going to explain had to be very important, Harry decided.

"Well, let's see," began Alice, "there are bees and flowers…"

Tom let out a loud snort, and she fulminated him with a glance, but then went on.

"What's she talking about?" whispered Harry to his friends in utter bafflement as Alice carried on with her explanation about bees carrying pollen seeds and planting them in flowers and whatnot.

"Gardening, by the sound of it," replied Eric Whalley, shrugging his shoulders.

"… and then, the married couple gets a visit by a stork, who carries their baby and leaves it at their doorstep…"

"Bees, flowers, and now storks?" whispered Billy Stubbs looking thoroughly confused.

"… and so, that's how babies are made," concluded Alice, shooting them a smile.

Harry frowned, highly puzzled. "But what do plants and bees-"

"And the stork!" whispered Billy to him, nudging him with an elbow.

Harry nodded, and continued loudly, "- and storks, have to do with Amy being hurt? And I didn't understand the baby-making part either."

Alice blanched, looking uneasy, and then she cleared her throat. "Well, you see, when a girl's body matures, when she's a certain age, she starts bleeding because it means she can have babies. But it's not a subject for polite conversation," she added, shooting them a warning glance. "So I don't want you boys talking or bothering the girls about it."

"But girls bleed from where?" piped in Eric Whalley, frowning. "Because I didn't see that Amy had an injury. And why would girls bleed if they can have babies?"

Harry nodded in agreement, extremely befuddled. "Yes, because you said that it was the bees and flowers that made babies and the stork that carries it to the parents. And I don't see how plants can have babies-"

Robert Hutchins loudly cleared his throat, looking amused for a brief moment, to then gently say to Alice, "Perhaps it would be best if I explained matters to them?"

"Oh yes, you're quite right!" exhaled out Alice, looking mightily relieved. "Of course it's better if a man explains it to boys."

And with that, she practically fled from the room, leaving Harry blinking after her, perplexed.

"Let's start from the beginning," said Robert calmly, "our male anatomy and how it works. We have penises..."

"He's talking about our willies!" sniggered Eric Whalley under his breath.

"… and you're at an age in which your body is maturing. Some of you might already be doing it. There's no shame in that. You won't turn blind or get warts on your hands. It's a completely natural…"

Harry gazed at him with wide eyes, while some of the older boys were either twittering and snickering, or looking uncomfortable, with red blotches on their faces.

"... I won't speak about the female anatomy. It's only proper that we preserve their modesty," went on to say Robert. "Only know that when you fall in love with a woman and after you marry her, your body will know what to do. You'll have sexual intercourse with your wife, or what's simply called 'sex', and your seed – as Alice tried to explain with the metaphor of bees and flowers- will be planted in your wife's womb, and your child will grow there until it's ready to be born."

Well, that had certainly cleared up many things for him, Harry thought. Though he wasn't quite sure if he had wanted to know that much. It did sound awfully troublesome to him.

"Why can't you tell us how sex's done?" groused out Eric Whalley with dissatisfaction.

"You're all a bunch of dimwits!" abruptly snapped Tom, apparently finally having reached his limit of how much nonsense he could withstand. "We've all already seen what sex is! It's what the mongrels do in the streets – one dog mounting the other, sticking it inside and rutting. That's what people do too, you simpletons!"

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, struck by the monumental revelation, with his mouth hanging agape.

Most of the other boys were wearing similar expressions on their faces as well.

"Tom!" said Robert sharply, his tone of voice censuring and reprimanding. "Enough of that."

"What – it's true!" bit out Tom with impatient annoyance. "And what you said is a load of codswallop. Men don't have to marry stupid women to have sex – they both want it for the pleasure it apparently gives. And you don't have to marry for that. I bet that half the children here are bastards, so that proves it!"

Harry blinked, but his mind was still reeling with Tom's first explanation. He gazed at him and said slowly as the astounding idea unfolded in his mind, "So a man mounts a woman like the dogs do, and that's sex?"

"Yes," said Tom coolly, just at the same time that Robert quickly said with alarm, "No!"

Harry stared at them warily, his gaze flickering from one to the other.

"People are not animals, Harry," then said Robert gently, shooting Tom a vexed glance. "We are civilized. We fall in love, we marry, and we form a family. And sex should be an act of love-"

Tom let out a disdainful snort, shooting Robert a scathing glance to then turn to Harry. "You can marry or not. You can do whatever you want, Harry. Don't let him convince you otherwise."

And with that, he spun around and strolled out of the room.

After that, Mr. Hutchins reiterated his view of things, but most of the boys were whispering among themselves regarding the things Tom had said and didn't pay him much attention. So the man apparently gave up and let them return to their rooms for a good night of sleep.

Two days later, Harry was parting from his friends at the orphanage.

After the day in which Lord Horkos had murdered and gobbled down Miss Mittens, the news that the Riddle brothers were going to a boarding school in Scotland had spread like wildfire throughout the neighborhood. Which inevitably led to Harry's friends finding out before he came around to telling them himself.

Harry's friends' reactions had been varied.

Eric Whalley had sulked for three days, envious that Harry was going to some private school while the rest of them were stuck in the neighborhood's public one.

Though then it seemed to pass and he wished Harry the best, imparting to him some sound advice: "Just bully them if those snotty, rich boys stick up their noses in the air at you!"

Harry had nodded at him, though he didn't know why everyone seemed to be under the impression that 'St. Thomas' School' was a place for posh people.

Billy Stubbs had been sincerely happy and excited for his friend, and had hugged him, making Harry promise that he would write.

And Amy Benson had taken the news hard, clinging to Harry, asking him not to leave and even sobbing twice on his shoulder.

That had made Harry feel very uncomfortable; he didn't like to see girls cry, and it always made him feel as if it was entirely his fault, somehow. And he was terrible at trying to comfort them, to boot.

She wasn't there at the entrance of the orphanage to wish him farewell like Billy and Eric. Apparently, according to her friend Mary, she was in her bedroom crying.

The moment he heard that, Harry quickly waved at Eric and Billy, grabbed his trunk, and left the place as fast as possible, just in case Amy abruptly decided to make an appearance.

At last, Tom and Harry loaded their trunks and Lord Horkos' cage at the back of Robert Hutchins' delivery wagon.

Alice was accompanying them to the station and Robert had kindly offered to drive them there. Harry, of course, tried to grasp the opportunity.

He peered up at Bob and chimed, "Can I drive?"

The man seemed to give it some consideration, but Alice instantly forestalled it by snapping, "Absolutely not! He shouldn't have taught you how to drive in the first place – you're just a child!"

Harry pouted as endearingly as he could manage, but it didn't seem to work on Alice in this occasion.

However, apparently it did with Mr. Hutchins. The man patted him on the head, shot him a wink and whispered, "I'll let you drive when you come back for the holidays - how's that?"

Harry beamed at him, and so he obediently sat at the back of the wagon with Tom, while Robert took the wheel and Alice sat with him at the front.

And thus, they made their way to King's Cross Station.


	13. Part I: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks for your reviews!

In this chappie, you can skip the whole explanation about types of magic, dark and light spells, and types of wizards. It's for Tom and Harry's 'enlightenment', to get over their first introduction to those concepts in one big swoop.

It's very similar to what I wrote in Black Heir and Vindico Atrum, I'm changing nothing here, because these issues don't play such an important part in this fic.

So it will be very boring and tedious to those of you who have read those fics. I recommend you skip that part – you'll realize what part it is the moment you start reading it.

This chapter isn't too thrilling, but it had to be covered. The important thing is the new people that the boys meet, because they will much influence their lives and the plot too, to some extent.

More serious and plot-advancing parts will come in the next chapter, I think.

**That said, I hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and let me know your opinions!**

******NEW POLL: In Twist of Fate, in which House do you want Harry Riddle to be sorted?  
**

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**Part I: Chapter 12**

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Tom and Harry were making their way through King's Cross station, towing their weightless trunks, with Lord Horkos' cage dangling from one of Tom's hands and with Mr. Hutchins and Alice whispering to each other behind them.

Tom pulled out once more, from his pocket, the train ticket that they had found inside their letters. And he scowled at the glowing golden letters that simply read: 'Hogwarts Express. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 11 o'clock.'

He had thought nothing of it the first time he had seen it, since he had never been in a train station before. But now, as they passed by platform two and started to cross platform three, it was evident to him that the platforms' numeral system didn't include fractions.

Mr. Dumbledore hadn't said anything about this. Evidently, it had slipped the man's mind, and Tom was now glaring down at his ticket. All the while, his stupid little brother didn't seem to have realized their predicament, yet. Harry was merely glancing back at Alice and Robert, a concerned expression on his face.

"D'you know what they're arguing about?" worriedly whispered Harry to him, as they started crossing platform four.

Tom glanced at him, deadpanned, but nevertheless replied in a flat, indifferent tone of voice, "Mr. Hutchins wants to enlist in the Army and Alice is trying to convince him not to." His lips curled in disdain. "She wants to get married and he wants to wait."

Harry gawked at him. "How do you know that?"

"Because I listen and I observe," said Tom shortly.

"Because you eavesdrop and you spy, you mean," quipped Harry, and then a beaming smile of pure joy spread on his face. "So they're getting married!"

Tom shot him a scathing sneer. "No, you twerp. Hutchins is going to the Army and he'll get killed in the war, no doubt. And if we're lucky, Alice will be so distraught that she'll end up killing herself."

"What-?" Harry gasped out in bewilderment, to then darkly glower at him. "Alice isn't going to off herself! And Bob isn't going to die – what are you talking about – war? There isn't any war!"

Tom glanced at him with utter contempt. "If you read the newspapers, you'd know-"

"I might not read the newspapers," snapped Harry hotly. "But I hear things, don't I? All the grown ups are talking about it, and Alice is always tuning the radio to the newscast." He shot him a hard look, as he added with utter conviction, "And no one thinks there's going to be a war."

"No one thinks so because they're all half-brained imbeciles like yourself," bit out Tom snidely. "The Germans already got the Rhineland and Austria, and have now occupied the Sudetenland - the rest of Czechoslovakia will be next, obviously," he added nonchalantly. "There _will_ be war soon. Only idiots still think that there could be peace."

And with that, he quickened his pace, leaving Harry a little bit behind as he started to glance at the signs of the platforms once again.

The moment Harry caught up to him, Tom felt too vexed and irritated to further try to convince his brother of something he knew was inevitable. Instead, he decided to close the subject with something that had been troubling him for some time.

"They want to adopt us after they get married," hissed out Tom accusingly as if it was the most heinous of crimes, the moment that Harry was about to open his mouth.

Harry snapped his mouth shut, his eyes grew as wide as moons, and then he breathed out, "They do?"

He was utterly surprised at first and then felt a surge of exhilarated happiness, as he started to envision what his and Tom's lives would be like – finally having a home of their own, with Alice and Bob as their parents, happily loving each other and them...

Harry shot the two quarreling adults behind him a look of pure love and gratefulness.

He couldn't overhear their whispered conversation, but Alice's tones now sounded imploring and frantic, while Mr. Hutchins wore a gentle and patient expression on his face, though there was a look of fierce determination in his eyes – the man didn't look as if he would be yielding to Alice's pleads any time soon.

"Don't look so gleeful," snapped Tom, shooting him an angered glare. "I wouldn't agree to it and I wouldn't let you either. We don't need _parents_," he spat, with a foul-mood expression on his face. Then he let out a nonchalant scoff. "Besides, it won't come to happen. Hutchins will die-"

"Don't say that!" bit out Harry furiously, snapping his head around to glower at him, though he couldn't help feeling a constriction of fear and worry in his chest, something lodging in his throat.

Tom merely snorted, and then abruptly halted under a platform sign with the number eight on it.

He spun around to face the two adults, who were startled out of their conversation when Tom intoned, "The train bound for Edinburgh is over there. Harry and I can manage from here. Thank you for accompanying us!"

Alice blinked at him, and then gazed over Tom's head, slightly frowning. "Where is it? I don't see it-"

"Over there," cut in Tom, vaguely gesturing with his hand at some point in the distance.

When Alice's frown deepened and when she opened her mouth again, Tom suddenly dropped the handle of his trunk, pushed his owl cage into Harry's arms, and then swiftly hugged Alice around the middle.

"I'll miss you!" exclaimed Tom in a warm, loving tone of voice, as Alice gaped down at him.

She looked startled and incredulous for a moment, but then she flushed with pleasure and tightly returned the embrace, as she murmured softly, her eyes looking a bit teary, "You'll be much missed too, Tom."

Harry merely gawked at his brother's unexpected actions. Tom did the same with Mr. Hutchins, who patted Tom on the head with fond affection.

"But we'll come along," began Alice, as she once more perused with her gaze the row of platforms, "and help you load your trunks into the train-"

"Alice, they don't want us there," interrupted Robert, glancing at them with a knowing look. "They are big boys now, and they don't want others to see them with two adults as if they were little children who needed guidance."

Tom stared at him for a moment, and then quickly nodded his head, shooting him a grateful look.

"Oh," let out Alice, looking a bit hurt and disappointed.

Robert merely smiled at them in understanding, and Tom then covertly shot Harry such an impatient and irritated glance that Harry sprung to his feet, still clueless about what was going on but nevertheless realizing what his brother wanted him to do. Thus, he hugged Alice and Robert as well, exchanging their farewells.

"Write to me everyday, if you can. I want to know all about it. And if you don't like it there, say the word and I'll come and fetch you!" said Alice, looking at them with worry and concern, before Robert gently took a hold of her and started to lead her away.

"What-?" began Harry the moment they were alone, but Tom didn't give him the chance to say more.

The taller boy grasped Lord Horkos' cage from the floor where Harry had left it and then grabbed his trunk's handle, as he snapped, "Hurry up, we don't have much time left."

Nonplussed, Harry followed him with trunk in tow. Though Tom halted a moment later, standing between two platforms, staring up at their signs.

Frowning, Harry dropped his trunk and at last plucked out his train ticket from his pocket. He blinked when he took notice, for the first time, of the Hogwarts Express' platform number.

"Er…" he mumbled, as he peered up at the sign that showed the number nine. He took two steps to the right and stared up at the sign of the other platform: '10', it displayed.

"Where is it?" he blurted out, scandalized.

"That's the question, isn't it?" quipped Tom coolly, with a frown on his face.

Harry shot him a bewildered glance. His gaze then snapped to a side, catching sight of the enormous clock perched high up near the ceiling, at the other side of the station. It was about to strike eleven o'clock.

"We only have five minutes left!" gasped out Harry in alarm.

"I know – shut up! Let me think," snapped Tom crossly, then he started muttering under his breath, "It has to be something logical… nine and three-quarters…"

"The platform must be hidden from muggles," blabbered Harry anxiously, in an urgent tone of voice. "Like Diagon Alley. It must be concealed by magic-"

"Yes, that much is obvious," bit out Tom with vexed annoyance.

Seeing that his brother was just standing there, frowning and apparently trying to solve the riddle that was the location of their platform, Harry started to glance at the people coming and going from the two platforms, in an attempt to catch someone who was weirdly dressed – someone who looked like a wizard or witch. But he saw none.

"How many arches are there between the platforms?" abruptly demanded Tom, skewering him with a glance.

"What-?"

"Go – run! Count them!" commanded Tom briskly.

Harry blinked at him, but then quickly left his trunk behind and dashed through the crowd, nevertheless feeling quite miffed at Tom's tone of voice, which the boy frequently used with him, as if Harry was his pet puppy, who had to be good and obey or else.

Regardless, given the urgency of their situation, Harry did as he was told, and a few moments later he came back, panting for breath as he gasped out, "There're eight!"

Tom solemnly nodded. "Then it must be the sixth – six is three-quarters of eight."

Harry stared at him, finally realizing what Tom had figured out, if his brother was indeed right. And he didn't waste a single second in following Tom as the boy made his way towards the end of platform nine.

Counting them in their minds, they both finally halted before the sixth arch, which stood between the two platforms like a brick-wall column supporting the station's roof.

"So you think that's the entrance to the platform?" muttered Harry, inspecting it a bit warily. "How do we cross it, d'you suppose?"

Tom frowned, took a step forward and slowly pushed his hand against the bricks. Nothing happened, and Tom scowled.

Harry then decided to try for himself, though unlike his brother, he did it in a reckless manner because, really, they didn't have the time to do things cautiously and primly, like Tom had just done.

Thus, he threw a punch at the bricks, suppressing the instinct of closing his eyes against the oncoming pain. However, in the next moment, he blinked when his fist went through, and he stared at his wrist, which stuck out from the arch, while he felt the unseen part of his hand tingling.

With a gasp, Harry quickly withdrew his hand, gazing at it to make sure it was whole and unharmed. It was, thankfully.

"I see," muttered Tom. "So that's how it is." Then he shot a glance at him and said sharply, "You go first. It has to be quick, apparently - make a run for it."

Harry threw him a withering glare. "Right, I go first, because if something bad happens it will be my hide and not yours."

He then let out a huff but nevertheless complied, because spending time bickering with his prat of a brother would surely make them miss the train. And they had no idea how to get to Hogwarts if they did – they didn't even know where the school was, exactly.

Harry took several steps backwards, grasped his trunk, and then pelted forwards, tightly clenching his eyes shut as he made a straight run towards the arch.

The next second, he felt his body tingling and prickling unpleasantly, and then he smashed against something – someone, he realized, the moment he opened his eyes and found himself at the beginning of a platform.

There were lots of wizards and witches waving at a shinny scarlet train and at the children that were leaning out from windows, waving back – on a train that was puffing out smoke and already moving and leaving, he saw with alarm.

Harry then snapped his gaze up at the man he had careened into, and said urgently, "My brother is coming through – please move to a side!"

However, the man didn't comply. He was a wizard by the looks of him, tall, imposing, and broad-shouldered, with a cravat around his neck with a pearl pin, dressed in velvety black robes lined with soft, grey fur at the lapels, with a familiar-looking, blood red flower pinned in the middle of his chest. He had long, golden blonde hair peppered with grey tied at the back of his neck, and held a cane in his right hand, which had the silver head of a snake with a small crest displaying an ornate 'M'.

The wizard was staring down at him with a repulsed and enraged expression on his face, the man's blue eyes narrowing with contempt and hatred as he gazed at Harry's clothes.

"Mudblood," the man spat viciously, to then abruptly swing his cane forcefully at Harry's head.

Utterly taken aback by the startling and unprovoked attack, Harry ducked and managed to dodge the blow, as he yelled frantically, "What are you doing!"

The wizard snarled like a vicious beast, flinging his cane at Harry once more – and Harry just knew that if it struck him, he would be laying on the ground with a cracked skull.

Just then, Tom appeared with Lord Horkos and trunk in tow, unharmed, since thankfully, the deranged wizard had moved as he continued to attack Harry.

As Harry avoided another strike, he yelled frenziedly at his brother who was standing there with his mouth slightly parted open, blinking at the scene, "He's howling mad! I did nothing to him, I swear!"

"Filthy mudbloods!" hissed out the demented wizard, his cane up in the air ready for another volley, though this time it seemed that he would make Tom his target as well.

"What's going on there!" someone bellowed, and Harry saw that they had started to attract much attention, since a group of parents, wizards and witches, were making their way towards them.

Apparently, Tom and Harry had the same idea right then, because they grasped the opportunity and simply started running, fleeing from the loony.

Panting for breath, they made a mad dash – Harry could only see a few carriages still accessible from the platform, since most of the train was already outside, its speed increasing with every passing second.

Harry moved his short, skinny legs as fast as he could, though Tom was ahead of him, since the boy's taller height and thus longer limbs gave him an advantage.

Finally, Tom threw his trunk and owl's cage into the entrance of the last carriage. A second later, he had helpfully taken Harry's trunk and done the same, to then leap into the carriage himself, grasping a side-handle as he outstretched an arm.

"Grab my hand!" shouted Tom above the loud noise of the train's steam engine and speeding, rumbling wheels, a look akin to panic on his face as he gazed at his brother who was still madly running, trying to catch up.

With a last spur of energy, Harry jumped from the very end of the platform, for a second airborne and thus a bit worried as he flailed his limbs in mid-air, before Tom's hand shot out and grasped him by the wrist, yanking him into safety.

Harry smacked into his brother with the force of the pull, and they both tumbled down to the carriage's floor, gasping for breath.

"That was wicked!" wheezed out Harry, sprawled on top of Tom, a wide, exhilarated grin on his face.

"If you think that, then I should've let you smash into the train-tracks!" groused out Tom acerbically, shooting him a glare. "Get off, you idiot, your puny elbows are digging into my ribcage!"

Harry jumped to his feet and grasped his eyeglasses, which were precariously dangling from his left ear. He had nearly lost them.

He stuck them into place, pushing them up his nose, and then shot his brother a beaming smile. "You saved me."

Tom merely grunted at that, as he picked himself up from the floor and started to straighten out his clothes. He shot his brother a glance, as he frowned and murmured, "What do you think the nutter meant – by calling us 'mudbloods'?"

"I haven't the foggiest." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't anything nice, though."

Tom frowned once more, but then simply commanded, "Let's find a compartment."

Taking hold of their trunks, and Lord Horkos' cage too in Tom's case, they started down the corridor of the carriage, seeing that all the children had already comfortably settled themselves. They didn't find a single compartment with spare space for them, and thus crossed to the next wagon.

Mid-way through it, Harry halted when he caught sight of Alphard Black and his cousin Orion, with a couple of other boys and plenty of extra room. Alphard paled when he saw Harry through the compartment's window, and even quickly shook his head at him, looking aghast.

Harry frowned, wondering what was wrong with his friend, and simply opened the door and stepped inside as he exclaimed enthusiastically, "Hullo - I hoped I would find you!"

To his perplexity, Alphard cringed and quickly glanced away from him, saying nothing.

"Who are these, Black?" said a smooth, low voice.

Harry snapped his head to a side and then halted in astonishment when he saw the boy who had spoken.

He didn't think he had ever seen someone like him before. The boy seemed to be as tall as Tom, with chin-length platinum hair and the strangest yet most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; they weren't light grey or pale blue – no, they were purely silver.

The boy was extremely good-looking, but not prettily beautiful in a feminine way like girls could be, but with the kind of unique handsomeness in a boy that made people look twice and then stare, gobsmacked.

Harry even caught sight of a signet ring on one of the boy's fingers, with a crest that looked exactly like the one on the deranged wizard's cane. He felt a bit of trepidation at that: perhaps they were related, and the wizard had been bonkers, so perhaps the boy was too.

Nevertheless, Harry couldn't stop staring. He felt weirdly dazed as he kept gazing at the boy without being able to peel his eyes away.

"He's no one, Abraxas," then said Alphard quickly, still without looking at Harry, his face pale.

Harry huffed angrily at that, shooting his friend a scowl – though evidently the boy wasn't his friend anymore, because Alphard was fixedly staring out the window as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"I'm Harry Riddle," said Harry firmly, sticking out a hand as he jerked his chin towards Tom, who was standing behind his shoulder. "And he's my twin, Tom."

The boy – Abraxas, apparently– narrowed his eyes at them, his gaze trailing over their worn clothes. "Riddle… Riddle…." His silvery eyes then narrowed to slits, as if he had suddenly figured something out, and he hissed under his breath, "You're mudbloods."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Harry, pulling his hand back and feeling irked beyond measure. That was twice that they were called that, as if it was the most grievous and horrid of insults and some ghastly, shameful fault of theirs.

"If you don't even know," said Abraxas in a low, sharp voice, his face pinched with disgust and anger, "then it further proves you're mudbloods." Then he leveled at them a glare of utter scorn and revulsion, and bit out forcefully, "Get out! Your kind isn't welcomed here."

"You're under the impression that you can order us around?" came a cool voice behind Harry. "Or force us to do as you wish?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Tom skewering Abraxas with a narrowed-eyed gaze, his face with a chilling and hard expression on it.

"Oh, I can force you, alright," said Abraxas poignantly as he pulled out a wand from his robes' pocket.

"You can't use magic outside Hogwarts," pointed out Tom scathingly, shooting him a mocking, snide look.

"True," retorted Abraxas tersely, "but I don't need it." The next moment he shot a glance to the boy seated next to him, and snapped commandingly, "Avery!"

A hulking boy rose to his feet, his small, beady eyes glinting with a hungry, mean look of anticipation in them, as he fisted his meaty hands and menacingly cracked his knuckles.

"Touch us," hissed out Tom in a very low, quiet tone of voice, that made his words sound all the more scary and intimidating, "and I'll make you rue the day you were born."

His brother made no attempt to whip out his wand and cast whatever spells he had learned from Hogwarts' textbooks, if any were useful in such situation. Evidently, he didn't want to do anything that could possibly lead to his expulsion from magic school.

Moreover, Harry knew that Tom wouldn't resort to a physical attack with his fists, because his brother scorned such things. And honestly, his brother truly didn't know how to fight.

However, Harry was well aware that his brother didn't need his wand or fists to hurt people. The day in which Tom had made Dennis Bishop scream and writhe on the ground was still fresh in his mind. Furthermore, he had no idea if what Tom could do was magic that could be somehow detected. Tom was evidently betting that it wouldn't, and thus wouldn't lead to any negative consequences for him.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't want to find out.

"Drop it – it isn't worth it," he whispered as he grabbed Tom by his forearm. "Let's just leave."

Tom didn't pay him attention, he still had his blue-eyed gaze fixed on the Avery boy, gauging and challengingly. He almost looked feverishly giddy, as if he would relish the chance to do to the boy what he had done to Dennis – expression that alarmed Harry even further.

"Tom!" snapped Harry then, giving him a small shove towards the door. "We're leaving!"

He didn't give his brother the opportunity to refuse or protest, he kept shoving him until they were out of the compartment with their trunks in tow and with Lord Horkos shrieking at the rough handling of his cage.

Though, Harry did shoot Abraxas and his friends a scowl over his shoulder.

A boy on the corridor nearly crashed into them the moment they stepped outside, just as the compartment's door was slammed shut at their backs and the shade of its window was yanked down.

The ginger-haired boy glanced at them and then at the compartment's door, his lips twisting as he said wryly, "Malfoy and his cronies kicked you out?"

Harry blinked up at him. The boy was a few inches taller than him, though he was lanky instead of stout, with bright red hair and weird eyes; one was hazelnut brown, the other sky blue.

"Yeah," mumbled Harry, "we were looking somewhere to settle-"

"Oh!" The boy's expression brightened, and he shot them a warm, friendly smile. "My sister and I have a compartment all to ourselves. You're welcome to come, if you want."

"Sure!" piped in Harry, beaming a wide grin at him. "Thanks!"

"No problem," said the boy shrugging his shoulders, as he started down the corridor. "I'm Felix Prewett, by the way. And you are?"

Harry made their introductions, since Tom was merely following them in silence. No doubt, his brother was still angry and resentful after the 'disrespectful' way in which he had been treated by Abraxas and the others, surely brooding and planning what he would do in retaliation.

So Harry merely left his brother to his dark plots and merry thoughts of carnage and revenge.

"You're twins?" exclaimed Felix at the news. "My sister and I are too! We'll all be good friends, then, I'm sure." He shot Harry a wink. "We twins have to stick together, eh?"

Harry grinned at him, already liking the boy very much, since even though Felix was wearing robes that looked posh and expensive to his eyes, the boy was clearly the kind of friendly, unpretentious, and carefree sort.

When they stepped inside the compartment, Harry saw a girl with a book in her hands.

The moment she raised her head and glanced at them, Harry's eyes widened slightly and he felt a bit flustered.

She was Felix's twin, no doubt, but her features were more delicate, and her mismatched eyes made her look even more beautifully exotic and compelling. Not to mention that she also had ginger hair; long, cascading down in pretty ringlets, which made Harry want to touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Abruptly, he felt Tom's gaze boring holes into him, and Harry quickly suppressed the urge, wary that his brother would openly mock him.

He had discovered he had a strange fascination for girls with red-hair, and Tom knew this well.

A year ago, a seventeen-year-old girl had stayed at the orphanage for a few weeks. The only parent she had had, her mother, had died and her relatives couldn't immediately pick her up. So the girl had stayed at St. Jerome's before her uncle from Manchester, or some such place, came to get her.

Harry didn't remember her name and not even her face. But he remembered how he had dazedly gazed at her, surreptitiously following her around the orphanage, simply wanting to see more of her – of her hair, more precisely. It had been long and prettily curly, too.

Back then, Tom had instantly noticed Harry's strange fascination, of course, and he hadn't stopped mocking and taunting him with anger and disdain, because according to him, Harry had trailed after the girl like a pathetic, love-sick puppy.

So now, Harry quickly ripped his gaze away from this girl before Tom could say anything, and he busied himself with stuffing their trunks under the seats.

"Felicity," said Felix as he helped out Harry, "these are Harry and Tom Riddle – they're twins!"

The pretty girl shot them an interested look at that, warmly smiling at them.

Doing the utmost to not see her, Harry finally flopped down on a seat, while Tom did the same after placing Lord Horkos in the privileged spot by the window. The beastly owl was apparently satisfied with the honor conferred to him, because he soon stopped angrily hooting and shrieking and settled down to gaze at the passing scenery.

However, once seated across from the Prewett twins, it was impossible not to meet the girl's gaze.

"Your eyes are pretty," suddenly blurted out Harry, in the next second blanching when he realized what had come out of his mouth, feeling utterly mortified.

Tom let out a snort of contempt, the girl's cheeks went pink, and Felix let out a peal of laughter, to then wriggle his eyebrows at Harry, as he intoned with vast amusement, "Think my sister is pretty, do you? She has loads of boys trailing after her, so you'll have competition!" Then he shot a smirk at his twin. "You've snared another one!"

"Oh, hush you!" Felicity snapped, slapping her brother upside the head. Then she turned to stare at Harry, leaning forward a bit as she peered at him. "You have pretty eyes too. They're green, are they not?" She flushed, as she added in a soft murmur, "They're lovely."

Harry felt his cheeks heating up and the tips of his ears turning red, he stammered something or other, and then decided to simply shut his mouth and sit still. He even saw Tom glowering at him and then glancing at the girl with masked dislike.

"Break it off, you love birds," piped in Felix, toothily grinning at them. "You'll have plenty of time to continue this budding romance at Hogwarts, so there's no rush."

His sister threw him a vexed look, but the boy forestalled any reprimand by shooting her a pointed glance, as he said in a low tone of voice, "I found them coming out from Abraxas Malfoy's compartment, you know."

"What did Abraxas do?" asked Felicity instantly, a frown on her face.

Before Felix could reply, Harry noticed the use of the boy's first name, and already having recovered from his chagrin, he said cautiously, "He's a friend of yours?"

Felicity huffed, snapping her book shut on her lap. "We were childhood friends - good friends, at that. With him, Neron Lestrange, the Blacks, and their sort."

"What changed?" inquired Tom softly, and Harry shot him a glance and saw the greedy glint in his eyes.

Then he understood his brother's sweet tone of voice. Of course Tom wanted to know as much as possible regarding his new 'rival'; the boy had the firm conviction that information was vital in order to swiftly and successfully take down an enemy.

"They changed, we changed," murmured Felicity. "Our families did, that is." She then shared a glance with her twin, trading some kind of silent conversation.

Felix adamantly shook his head, but a look of determination crossed Felicity's pretty features, and she said firmly to her twin, "They should know. It affects them, doesn't it?" Then she glanced at Tom and Harry and asked quietly, "You're muggleborns, aren't you? Given your clothes, you seem to be…"

She trailed off, looking a bit uncomfortable and then waiting for their reply.

"Muggleborns?" Tom stared at her intently. "What does that mean? Does it have something to do with the term 'mudblood'?"

Felicity went rigid, anger flickering in her mismatched eyes. "Abraxas called you that?"

Intrigued, Harry nodded in reply.

"He shouldn't have," she said hotly, then letting out a sigh. "Well, I'm not even surprised. Mudblood means muggleborn, yes, but the word is meant as an insult, and no one polite would say it."

"But what does it mean?" bit out Tom sharply, his look impatient.

Felicity shot him a startled glance, due to his tone of voice, no doubt.

Though Tom was quick to mend his error, and he beamed a gorgeous, charming smile at the girl, as he intoned softly, "Please, if you'd be so kind to tell me…"

The girl gazed at him, looking a bit entranced, her cheeks prettily flushing. And Harry scowled at his brother. He saw Tom's lips curling upwards, smugly, at Harry's reaction.

At that, Harry smoothed his expression – he wasn't going to give Tom the satisfaction.

He knew well that Tom was merely charming the girl to pump out as much information as possible from her. Tom had always considered girls, and women in general, to be stupid, vapid, and bothersome creatures not worth his notice.

Furthermore, it wasn't as if Harry was interested in Felicity – not in that way, he decided. After his experiences with Amy Benson, girls seemed utterly incomprehensible to him, and too much trouble. It even made him shudder.

He had never felt attracted to one either, not like Eric Whelley and other boys, who were always attempting to peek down girls' shirts. Perhaps he was too young still, to feel those urges, he wondered.

Regardless, he simply thought that Felicity was pretty, and he liked her hair and eyes, and merely wanted to be her and Felix's friend, if possible.

"Muggleborn are those who have two muggle parents," said Felicity calmly. "It's the opposite of pureblood. Felix and I are that - our parents are magical, purebloods themselves, and there has never been a muggle in our bloodline."

"I see," muttered Tom quietly, to then gaze at her as he gently prodded further. "Abraxas Malfoy and his friends are also purebloods?"

"Yes," she replied, her jaw clenching. "But they're dark purebloods…"

And Tom went on, gently and subtly pressing her for more, and Harry's brain soon became stuffed with too much convoluted information, with concepts that were too new to immediately make sense to him, as Felicity and her brother traded turns to answer all of Tom's questions.

"… purebloods are all related to one another, however distantly," said Felicity at some point. "It's inevitable because blood purity is very important to us – it's a matter of ensuring that wizarding kind doesn't become extinct, you know? So none of us would marry a muggle. And many purebloods even take it further and would never marry a muggleborn or even a halfblood."

"Our great grandaunt was a Malfoy, for instance," supplied Felix, when Tom wanted to know the difference between dark and light purebloods. "So even though we Prewetts have always had light magic coursing through our veins, we also have a bit of dark magic in us."

Felicity nodded, as she added, "And the type of magical blood we carry defines the kind of spells we can cast, and what we feel more akin to. For instance, charms, hexes, and jinxes can be cast by everyone, because they're pretty basic and don't require any special kind of magic. But powerful light spells, like the Patronus Charm, for example, usually can only be cast by light wizards, or those who have some measure of light magic from their ancestors. And the same happens with dark curses – dark wizards master them more easily and quickly, because they were invented by someone of their kind and for their specific use. Most light wizards wouldn't attempt to learn dark curses or wouldn't even manage to, if they wanted."

"And muggleborns?" interjected Tom, looking vastly interested and as if it all made much sense to him.

"Their case is peculiar," replied Felix musingly. "They have no problem doing normal light and dark spells, but it's said that they have difficulty in mastering those that are more complex and require more magical power." He shrugged his shoulder, and then shot Tom a sympathetic look. "Sorry mate, but muggleborns, like yourself, are never very powerful."

Tom looked utterly impassive at that, and when Harry opened his mouth to rectify the misconception that they were indeed muggleborns –since he wasn't too sure about that- he then kept quiet when his brother shot him a sharp, warning glance. It befuddled Harry, but he let it slide.

"I understand," said Tom, shooting the Prewett boy a warm look. "Then, basically, the difference between light and dark spells depends on whether the spell was made to be cast by a light or dark wizard, given the case?"

"Yes, in essence," replied Felix, before he briefly hummed pensively. "Though regarding a spell as light or dark became more messy when the Ministry of Magic was created, several centuries ago. You see, throughout time, when the Ministry had a light wizard as the Minister, they labeled many spells, potions, and curses as 'dark' not because a wizard required to have plenty of dark magic in him to be able to cast the spell or produce the potion, but because the potion or spell was used to harm people…"

"And in the political quarrel between light and dark wizards," piped in Felicity, effortlessly continuing his twin's explanation as if they shared one same mind, "the light-oriented Ministry decided to label those spells and potions as 'dark', giving the word a negative connotation and thus scoring one against their political opposition..."

Felix nodded his head. "Due to that, nowadays there are many spells labeled as 'dark', and even banned by the Ministry, because they've claimed that they require the user to have 'evil' intentions. For some horrid dark curses it's true, granted, but not for the majority of them."

"The same happens with some charms and many spells regarded as 'light' and harmless," interjected Felicity matter-of-factly. "There are many of those, if one is creative, that could be used to hurt people or even kill them. But because they aren't commonly employed for that, but rather to heal or do useful and practical things like making something float, for example, then they were never banned."

"I don't get it," finally cut in Harry, feeling his head throbbing. "You say you're light purebloods, but you seem in favor of these dark spells, potions, and spells you speak of."

"Well, I would never delve into the Dark Arts myself!" sputtered Felicity, looking appalled. "If you're not a dark wizard and don't know what you're doing, they can be seriously harmful to you. Many curses were only made to be used by dark wizards and they can lash back at you if you're not." Then she shrugged, as she added calmly, "But if they aren't used to hurt people, I have nothing against them. They're part of the Wizarding World's legacy - magical knowledge that our ancestors have gifted us with. Thus, the Dark Arts should be preserved and respected, even by those who don't use them, like us."

Felix nodded in agreement. "Our family is liberal minded in respect to muggles and muggleborns. We don't despise muggles though we wouldn't marry one, and we don't think that muggleborns shouldn't be allowed into our world or be forbidden from learning at our schools. However, we take seriously the upholding of our traditions and knowledge. We think blood purity is important and that the Wizarding World should be kept hidden from muggles."

"Is that why you stopped being friends with Abraxas Malfoy?" interjected Tom, his gaze piercing and extremely interested. "Because his family isn't 'liberal' and he despises muggleborns?"

"Sort of," replied Felix tersely, looking unwilling to say more.

"That's not the full extent of it," said Felicity softly, garnering a sharp glance from her twin, which made her snap her head around and say crossly, "They have a right to know! They're muggleborns and it affects them directly, as I said before!"

"Father told us not to speak about it, Lissie," bit out Felix pointedly.

"We can trust them, I'm sure," she said in clipped tones. And with that, she turned around to gaze at Harry and Tom. "It began when Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore?" Harry blinked at her. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh, you know him?" Felicity beamed at him. "Isn't he wonderful!"

"Er – yes, I suppose," muttered Harry without much conviction, a bit taken aback as well, by the girl's gushing tone of voice. "He was the one who came to our orph-"

"To our house," interrupted Tom smoothly. "He gave us our Hogwarts letters and explained to us and our muggle parents a bit about the Wizarding World."

Harry threw him a glance at that, his eyebrows shooting upwards, now seriously wondering why his brother insisted in making the Prewetts believe that they were muggleborns, when they didn't have solid evidence one way or the other.

It couldn't be just as simple as Tom not wanting anyone to know they were orphans, not when it came at the cost of everyone believing they came from two muggles. Especially given how much Tom looked down at muggles now, ever since his perpetual conviction of being superior to everyone around him had been validated when he had learned the word 'muggle' and what it meant from Dumbledore.

Thus, it had to be due to some manipulative reason and dastardly plot of Tom's, Harry concluded.

"He's the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, you know?" carried on Felicity in admiring tones. "And the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster, but also so much more! He's a respected member of the Wizengamot and has done loads of wonderful things – like helping merfolk and the centaurs, and what he did for the Union of the Americas!"

She leaned towards them, and added in an excited whisper, "Many say he's one of the most powerful light wizards alive – and that he has all sorts of secret magical abilities! Most wizards wanted Dumbledore to become the Minister of Magic instead of Charlemagne McLaggen, you know? But Dumbledore gently refused – I'm sure it was because he's too much of a-"

"Gulping gargoyles, Lissie!" groused out Felix, looking thoroughly vexed. "No need to sing a sonnet about how marvelous, divine, and sublime you think he is! Our poor new friends don't need to know how much you adore the man. If you're going to tell them, then get on with it!"

"Fine," said Felicity shortly, looking disgruntled for a brief moment, before she glanced at Harry and Tom again. "The point is that Dumbledore started warning people about what was happening in Wizarding Europe - in the continent, that is. He warned people about Gellert Grindelwald."

At Harry and Tom's nonplussed expressions, she added quickly, "He's a dark wizard - he's the German Minister of Magic now." She let out an angered scoff. "That's what the man calls himself in public! But Father believes Dumbledore and so do I, and Dumbledore said that he's really a Dark Lord!"

"A what?" muttered Harry, befuddled.

"A Dark Lord is, usually, a wizard that self-proclaims himself as the leader of dark purebloods," replied Felix nonchalantly. "There have been several throughout history. They're always very powerful and are followed because of that, and because they usually uphold the most extreme of pureblood ideals – like getting rid of muggles and muggleborns. Most of them ended up doing terrible things."

He shot his sister a pointed glance, as he added, "Though there hasn't been one in ages and there's no proof that Grindelwald is one himself."

"So what do you think happened to Auntie Nettie, then?" snapped Felicity heatedly, glowering at her twin. "She just vanished from existence on her own accord, did she?"

Felix blanched at that, looking suddenly pale, and remained silent.

His sister scowled before she turned to face Harry and Tom again, her voice going very soft and quiet as she murmured, "Our Aunt Nettie was married to an Austrian wizard – he was an Auror, and they both lived in that country. The day that the news reached the English Ministry that the Austrians had 'agreed' to merge with the German Ministry of Magic, under Grindelwald's sole leadership, our Father knew something was not right. Father is the Head of the International Magical Cooperation Department in our Ministry, so he had inside information that implied that what had happened hadn't been at all peaceful, while the Daily Prophet and our own Minister were saying that no fighting had occurred in the Austrian Ministry and that no coercive force had been used by the German wizards."

She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, before she continued, "So Father went to look for Aunt Nettie, in her home in Austria. He didn't find her or her husband, and when he went to the Austrian Ministry of Magic, he was told that Uncle had resigned from his job and that they didn't know where he was nor could be expected to know, since Uncle was no longer under their employment. Father never found either of them, and he discovered that many other Aurors and some other officials in the Austrian Ministry had also disappeared the day the Austrian wizards 'voluntarily' annexed themselves to the German Ministry of Magic."

Her jaw clenched as she gritted out through her teeth, "They were killed by Grindelwald – he killed those who opposed him and his followers when they took over the Austrian Ministry of Magic! Only the cowards remained unscathed. Dumbledore believes this and so does Father."

"Do you know if that happened the same day, or around the time, when the Nazis occupied Austria?" inquired Tom coolly, though there was something glinting in his eyes - Harry saw, and immediately discerned what it was.

His brother was giddy, exhilarated, and thrilled for some mysterious reason - it couldn't possibly be due to what Felicity had told them, Harry hoped, since it was quite awful.

"Nazis?" Felicity mumbled, looking confused. "Oh, those muggles!" She shook her head. "I don't know. We don't follow muggle news."

"It did happen the same day," interjected Felix, shooting Tom a curious glance, before he turned to his sister. "Father said so. And Dumbledore told Father that he believed Grindelwald was the mastermind behind it all, using German muggle troops to occupy the country at the same time that he sent his followers to raid the Austrian Ministry of Magic. We overheard them discussing it – remember?"

"Oh, you're absolutely right!" breathed out Felicity, her brown and blue eyes growing wide.

"Mastermind?" whispered Tom, his own eyes slightly widening as he fixedly stared at them with an odd expression on his face. The next moment, his eyes sparkled with triumph, as if their words validated some deep suspicions he had held for a long time.

Though he was quick to mask it the moment he saw Harry staring at him, frowning.

Tom cleared his throat, and intoned quietly, "And he's just one wizard, doing all these things? Is he very powerful, this Gellert Grindelwald? I suppose he knows all sorts of Dark Arts, as you call them, does he?"

"Um, yes," replied Felicity, blinking at him.

"I see," murmured Tom, the feverish, gleeful glint in his eyes not escaping Harry's notice.

Harry shook his head, deciding to ignore his brother's weird behavior, for the time being, and then glanced at the twins, a bit confused. "So you stopped being friends with Abraxas Malfoy and other dark pureblood children because of that? It couldn't have been their fault-"

"Of course it wasn't," said Felicity firmly, "but it was the last straw that broke the hippogriff's back."

At Harry's look of utter incomprehension, she elucidated further, "Our family had always been close with the Malfoys, the Blacks, and such, since the day when our ancestor married a Malfoy witch, centuries ago…"

"Those sorts of marriage matches," piped in Felix, "are to form alliances between families."

"Exactly," carried on Felicity, "so all was well between our families. But a couple of years back, when Dumbledore started saying that Grindelwald was dangerous, Father believed him and they became close friends. That started to cause problems between Father, Maximilian Malfoy and Pollux and Arcturus Black, because those wizards have always despised Dumbledore, and they didn't like that Father was getting all cozy with him…"

"And Father," added Felix coolly, "started suspecting that they knew about Grindelwald being a Dark Lord and that they were secretly supporting his cause by giving the wizard loads of galleons. Malfoy and the Blacks fiercely denied the accusation and they quarreled with our father…"

"And after that," continued Felicity, as she nodded at her twin, "he forbade us from going to their manors and playing with their children. And then Austria happened, and Aunt Nettie and Uncle disappeared, and Father began to openly support Dumbledore in the Wizengamot…"

"And Malfoy and the Blacks started calling Father a bloodtraitor for that," grumbled Felix angrily, "which further heated the quarrel between them."

"So now they hate Father," supplied Felicity shortly, "and he hates them back."

"Er…" said Harry, as the twins stared at him, apparently waiting for a reaction of some sort. "Um - it's understandable, I reckon."

They beamed at him, with such identical grins and expressions that Harry blinked.

"I'm still not convinced," said Felix then, as if wanting to explain himself to Harry, "that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord, but nevertheless I-"

"You're not 'convinced'," quipped Felicity, but her tone wasn't angry or chiding this time, but rather playfully taunting, "because you hope it isn't true – because the possibility scares you."

Felix shot her a shameless, toothy grin. "True. But my point is that I still support what Father did." He fiercely scowled. "Being accused of being a bloodtraitor is the worst insult for a pureblood. Father took it very hard. And it's unforgivable. The whole issue started a feud between us, Prewetts, and the Malfoys in particular, because Pollux and Arcturus Black follow old Maximilian Malfoy's lead…"

"And feuds between wizarding families," piped in Felicity, "are a very serious matter – they can last for centuries and many generations. So Old Malfoy also has the fault for starting something so grave."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't quite fully understand what it meant for them. Then, he shot a glance at his brother, who had been strangely quiet all that time.

He saw, though, that Tom appeared to be immersed in his own thoughts. And most disturbing of all, the boy was unseeingly staring at some point in the air, his lips curled into a smirk, as if whatever was swirling in his mind was giving him much satisfaction.

Harry eyed him suspiciously, but he was yanked away from his efforts, the very next second, when a voice suddenly called out from the corridor.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

The Prewett twins jumped to their feet at the same time, wide grins on their faces, as Harry glanced at them in bewilderment.

Felicity took notice of his expression, and she said quickly, "She sells all sorts of candies - they're magical! Don't you like sweets?"

"I do!" affirmed Harry immediately, his eyes wide with anticipation as he started to search for his leather pouch – for candies, he was very willing to spend the couple of galleons left in his leather pouch, there was no thinking twice about it.

"Don't bother," said Felix, waving a hand dismissively, "it will be our treat!" He shot his sister a toothy grin, as he added, "Won't it, dearest twin of mine?"

"Oh, yes, brother darling!" chirped Felicity, as she repeatedly nodded her head. "We'll buy bunches of all sorts and make him try them all." She beamed at Harry. "It will be your introduction to the magical world of wizarding candies! But you'll have to try them all without complaint, that's the deal!"

As soon as she said that, both Prewett twins shot him identical manic grins that made Harry shudder with wariness.

And thus, all conversation about Dark Lords, wars, deaths, and whatnot, were soon forgotten in lieu of the Prewett twins grinning and chortling and letting out peals of guffaws, every time Harry tried a different sweet.

The Pepper Imps made Harry belch out short puffs of fire, as steam gushed from his ears. When he chewed on Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, the compartment became filled with bluebell-colored bubbles that kept popping out of his mouth. The Fizzing Whizbess popped and crackled in his mouth, and made him levitate and placidly float a feet from his seat – they soon became his utmost favorite!

When he bit down on the exploding bon-bons, Harry opened his jaw wide so that the twins could see the tiny fireworks that were bursting in his mouth, making him all tingly and giddy. And when he munched down on a cockroach cluster, believing it was just made of chocolate, he had to splutter out the insect that he had suddenly felt moving inside his mouth, leaving him thoroughly disgusted and horrified.

Tom had taken the safest route and politely declined what the twins so cajolingly offered to him. Harry didn't think his brother did so merely because he disdained all sweets in general.

Finally, Harry managed to extricate himself from trying more bizarre sweets for the twins' entertainment, and chose the candy that looked the most innocent of all.

Indeed, he happily munched down two chocolate frogs, managing every time to swiftly grasp the frog in mid-air as it leaped and tried to make its bid for escape.

And even though, after having perused most of his Hogwarts books, he had become accustomed to seeing moving wizarding pictures and such, he was still thoroughly surprised by the chocolate frog cards, and then thrilled as he read them.

He soon shoved them into Tom's hands, as he said smugly, feeling utterly vindicated, "Not all of Alice's tales were rubbish! See? See?"

The first card had a moving picture of Malodora Grymm. A witch of the Middle Ages, who used a beautification potion to conceal her true ugly form, married a king, and used a charmed mirror to reinforce her self-image. Then became jealous of the most beautiful girl in the land and fed her a poisoned apple.

The second was of Leticia Somnolens. This spiteful hag of medieval times was jealous of the king's daughter, and caused her to prick her finger on a spindle tainted with a Draught of the Living Death. A young wizard, who had smeared his lips with Wiggenweld potion, kissed the princess and brought her back from her eternal sleep.

After Tom read them, though, the boy looked utterly unimpressed, and merely snidely scoffed as he flung them back at Harry.

Well, Harry knew that he couldn't have expected much else – Tom was too much of an arrogant git to admit that Harry had been right.

Nevertheless, Harry carefully pocketed the cards, treasuring them, because what they said were proof that the Magical World was indeed a land of fantasy, only that the 'fantasy' aspects were produced by potions, spells, charms and such. And Harry liked that even more, because it meant that if he learned how to do them, then he could fit in in that wondrous world were the unimaginable was possible, and thus feel he belonged.

Afterwards, their conversation inevitably turned to Hogwarts, but Harry didn't refuse to hear the Prewett twins telling them about the bits they knew.

It was impossible to not want to listen to the ginger-haired twins' cheerful conversation and good-natured bickering, so he found out about the Four Houses, the system of points, the Quidditch Cup, the hierarchy of Prefects and Head Boys and Girls, and the annual point competition for the House Cup.

"We still don't know," said Felicity, as she bit down on a sugar flobberworm by the middle, tearing half of it and starting to munch it down, "how the Sorting into the Houses happens."

"Our parents wouldn't tell us." Felix nodded, popping a cauldron pasty into his awaiting mouth.

"But we managed to glean that it's done by a magical artifact of some sort." Felicity's mismatched eyes grew big, as she gestured with the bit of the sugar flobberworm that was left, flailing its tail in mid-air. "Imagine that! I could be anything. And who knows what the thing does to us!"

"'Hogwarts: a History' doesn't say anything about the Sorting, either," groused out Tom, looking utterly annoyed that for once he wouldn't have information beforehand, and thus would be caught unawares and unprepared.

"Our cousin, Ignatius Prewett," said Felicity then, as she finally popped into her mouth the rest of the sugar flobberworm, "finished Hogwarts last year, and he was a Ravenclaw. And Mother says that I have a Raven's mind too." She scrunched up her small button-nose. "But I rather not end up there. They're too boring and stuffy, from what I've heard."

"Very true!" piped in Felix, nodding adamantly, to then shoot his twin a toothy grin. "But we have another cousin, Muriel, and she's a Gryffindor in seventh year. So our prospects are good."

"Oh, yes! It's the Gryffindors who have all the fun, apparently."

"So that's where we want to end up," they then chorused together, beaming a smile at each other.

"And you?" said Felicity, shooting Harry an interested glance. "In which House would you like to be?"

"Um - they all sound good to me, from what you've said about them," said Harry, then shrugging his shoulders. "I don't mind which is it, as long as it's the same as Tom's."

At that, Tom shot him an utterly pleased, satisfied smirk. Though Harry didn't see how his brother hadn't already known how he felt about it. Really, now that they weren't in the orphanage, he considered that 'home' was his brother. And he could think of anything worse than spending the next seven years separated from his twin, in different Houses. If there was something he could do about it, he would make sure they stayed together.

"I completely understand you," said Felix, nodding in sympathy and agreement. "I couldn't bear it if I wasn't with Lissie."

"Nor I without Felix," breathed out Felicity, her expression aghast as if simply considering the possibility was too horrid to be borne.

"And you, Tom?" piped in Felix, shooting the boy a scrutinizing glance.

"Slytherin House, of course," said Tom coolly, arching an eyebrow, his conviction as solid and hard as rocks. "It's the only worthy one, from what I've read."

At that, Harry snapped his head around to shoot him a miffed, indignant glare.

"The House of the cunning and ambitious," quipped Felix, quizzically gazing at Tom, to then grin toothily. "Yep, I can easily see you there."

"Um... I don't know about that," interjected Felicity hesitantly, eyeing Tom closely. "I've never heard of a muggleborn being sorted into Slytherin. If you are, it won't be easy for you. The purebloods will make your life a nightmare, no doubt."

Tom imperiously waved a hand dismissively, his expression one of absolute arrogance and self-confidence, as he intoned nonchalantly, "I can manage, I'm sure."

"And what?" snapped Harry, scowling at him. "I'll have to 'manage' too? You want me to end up there with you? It doesn't sound all that nice, given what Felicity has just said-"

"It's you who wants to end up there," interjected Tom impassively, arching an eyebrow at him. "Where I go, you go - that's what you said, basically."

"Oh, I see," bit out Harry hotly. "But I wasn't expecting that you'd decide which House you wanted and then expected me to follow like an obedient pet. I expected you to say that you also wanted to be wherever I was…"

The Prewett twins gazed at them in fascination, their mismatched eyes snapping from one to the other. Evidently, they enjoyed Tom and Harry's bickering as much as Harry had felt amused by theirs.

However, the Riddles' kind of 'bickering' was much different from the Prewetts'; certainly, it was tempestuous most of times and could turn dangerous and even vicious, given the boys' clashing personalities – Harry's stubbornness and short-temper and Tom's arrogance and high-handedness, in particular.

"It doesn't matter," finally interrupted Felicity in mollifying tones, "which House you'd like to choose. It's the magical artifact that will choose for you, that much we know. There's no point arguing about it."

Harry snapped his mouth shut at that, and merely huffed, shooting his brother one last scowl, just to let Tom know that -even though what the girl said was apparently true- he still resented him for being such a selfish prat.

Gratefully, any further arguments were forestalled when they heard a Prefect going down the corridor, announcing that they would soon be reaching Hogwarts' station.

The three boys immediately pulled their school robes from their trunks and then took turns in the carriage's toilet stall, to change their clothes, while they left the use of their compartment to Felicity.

In no time at all, they were all towing their trunks and cages out of the train.


	14. Part I: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all the readers who sent reviews with their choice of a House for Harry, and those who voted in the poll while it worked. It helped a lot! You'll soon see which House won : )

On another note, a couple of reviewers had some questions, but I won't reply this time since they will be answered as the fic advances – I don't want to spoil things for you ^_^

This chapter is shorter than the rest. I thought it would be best to post what I had written so far instead of making you wait for another week or so for a longer chapter.

**Important:** A reviewer pointed out to me that the fic is moving too slowly and that it could get tedious. This worries me, I'll admit, so I would like to know what you'd prefer: to see how the boys progress through their school years, more or less in the same pace as now, or to have a time-skip and see them in 4-5th year? Or perhaps some other alternative? I don't know - I just don't want it to feel boring or too drawn-out. So please let me know.

That said, I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

** Part I: Chapter 13**

* * *

Children of all ages were pushing their way through the small station's platform, while Harry shivered in the cold night air.

He wrapped his robe tighter around his body, for once grateful that Tom had insisted on buying one set of school robes from Monsieur Ermenegilde's.

His expensive robe was plain black and fitted him well, and surely made him look posh – as Tom had intended- but the important aspect was that it was made of a very warm material, and so velvety and soft to the touch that Harry wouldn't mind bunching up the robe to use it like a pillow, to contently rub his face against it like a pleased, purring cat.

"Leave your trunks and cages over here!" suddenly called out a squeaky voice.

Harry glanced at the wizard who had suddenly appeared in their midst, with a lamp dangling from his hand. The man was very plump and short, barely a few inches taller than Harry, wearing brown woolen clothes, and with such a bushy beard that only his eyes could be seen.

"The house-elves will take your luggage up to your dorm rooms after the Sorting," added the wizard in his high-pitched voice. "Hurry up now!"

"Elves?" Harry blinked, his eyes then widening with amazed astonishment. "Did he really say elves?"

However, Tom didn't hear him. His brother was already several feet ahead of him, dropping his trunk at one side of the platform, next to the large pile of luggage that had already been left there by the older students.

Harry quickly advanced forward to do the same, and just when Tom had carefully placed Lord Horkos' cage on top of his trunk, looking reluctant to leave his pet behind, the short wizard spoke again.

"First years, gather around – gather around!"

They soon complied, and Harry saw that there had to be about forty children or so, in all.

"I'm Figwig Ogg, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts," announced the plump wizard congenially. The man's smile was hidden by his overlarge, bushy beard, but there was no mistaking the kindness and welcoming warmth in his eyes. "Now follow me for your first trip across the Black Lake – no dawdling behind, if you please!"

They all trailed after the man, whispering and murmuring with excitement, while Harry saw that the older children had taken another path that veered to the right. Even from a distance, he could see that those students were taking open carriages that were being pulled by very weird-looking, skinny horses - they even had leathery wings, it seemed.

Just when Harry was going to quicken his pace to catch up with the Prewett twins, who were up ahead, Tom grasped his forearm, pulling him back towards him.

"We're not going with them," whispered Tom sharply.

"What –" Harry snapped his head around to stare at him, incredulously. "You don't like Felix and Felicity?"

"Do you even need to ask?" scoffed out Tom, to then shoot him a sneer at his stupidity, apparently.

"Someday, you'll have to get friends," groused Harry, following his brother along the path, far from the ginger-haired twins.

Though, he was determined that he wouldn't let Tom pull him away from the Prewetts once classes started – that would distract his brother and make it easier for him to slip away.

"You can't still keep me all to yourself, you know?" continued Harry, highly miffed. "It's not healthy! And you need some other friend besides me."

"You aren't a friend, but my twin," snapped Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at him. "So I have every right to 'keep you all to myself', as you put it." His eyes further narrowed to slits, as he hissed out poignantly, "And I don't even do that. I don't know how you dare accuse me of it, as if I needed you-"

"But it's true," quipped Harry, impishly grinning at him. "You do need me - you like me, you could've never wished for a better brother than me, and you know it. And you're scared that someday I'll like someone more than you, and that I'll have a new best friend and ditch you."

Tom fiercely glowered at him, looking murderous. But then, the steep, narrow path they had been following suddenly opened onto the edge of a great lake, with a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

"No more than four to a boat!" loudly warned Mr. Ogg.

Harry grasped the opportunity -before his brother could retaliate with some nasty retort- and he dashed away, cheerfully calling out over his shoulder, "First one to make it to a boat is owed a galleon!"

He quickly climbed into the first boat he saw, which was already occupied by a boy and a small girl, sitting apart from each other.

Glancing back, though, he saw that Tom hadn't bothered to take up his challenge. His brother was leisurely making his way towards him, coolly sauntering as if he had all the time in the world.

The second Tom finally climbed in, being the last child to finally settle, Figwig Ogg, standing in another boat all by himself, squeaked merrily, "Forward we go!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which looked as smooth and unperturbed as glass.

"You owe me a galleon," was the only thing Harry whispered smugly to Tom, before he snapped his eyes forward, to gaze at what could be seen in the distance, across the lake.

There was a high mountain on the other side, and perched atop it, a vast castle with many turrets and towers, its windows shinning in the starry sky. Harry's eyes widened as he stared at it, mesmerized. It even seemed to him that the castle glowed with streaks of many colors, as if it had an enormous sparkling mantle draped over it.

"What was that?" cried out a shrilly voice. "I saw something there!"

Harry's head snapped around to glance at their companion. Tom and he had taken the front of the boat, and at the back were a boy and girl, seated at opposite sides.

The boy had a rich cloak on top of his robes, lined with heavy fur, and had a contemptuous expression on his face, his nose stuck up in the air.

But it had been the girl who had spoken; plain looking, with lank hair, pimples and thick eyeglasses. She was squatting away from the edge of the boat, pointing a shaky finger at the water.

"There! Something's there!" she abruptly screamed hysterically, flinging herself to a side.

Their boat lurched and dangerous rocked to the right, water spilling over the edge and splashing them.

"You stupid girl, stop moving!" snapped the boy at her side, roughly shoving her off him.

"There's something lurking in the water!" she shrieked frenziedly, as she let out a high-pitched sob. "I want off this boat! Make it turn back! Make it turn back NOW!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" hissed out Tom furiously. "There's nothing in the water – stop screaming and sit still!"

Just then, a huge tentacle broke out from the surface of the water, for a brief moment, and the girl jumped in the air, letting out a strident, terrified wail that made Harry wince, his eardrums nearly popping.

"It's just the Giant Squid, you lamebrain!" bit out the boy next to her, scowling. "It's harmless."

"I want to get off this boat! I want to go home – I want to go home now – this is horrid!" the girl continued to wail, shriek, and bemoan, looking out of her wits as she frenziedly grasped the edges of the boat, letting out loud, weeping sobs.

"Then get off the boat!" snapped Tom angrily. "Do us a favor and fling yourself over the edge before you make us capsize!"

At that, something ugly seemed to posses the girl, because her sobs abruptly halted and she snapped her head around to glare at Tom, her expression thunderous as she bellowed, "Right! Let's shove silly, weeping, sobbing Myrtle off the boat, because she's nothing but a pest!"

Harry blinked at the barmy girl, thoroughly perplexed by her sudden mood-swing. She was mad as a hatter, this one!

Tom looked ready to leap at her and throttle her. Though, instead, his brother gave him a small shove, as he commanded briskly, "Harry, deal with her. Calm her down before she overturns the boat."

Harry nearly toppled over his seat at Tom's push, but he managed to grip the edge of the boat, steadying himself, before he shot his brother an incredulous look, aghast. "What? Why me-"

"Because you're good with people," hissed out Tom in an angry whisper, "with stupid idiots like her. So do it!"

"I don't know how to deal with crying girls!" whispered back Harry sharply. "And she's a loony!"

"A loony!" cried out the girl, evidently having overheard him, shooting him a look of pure fury. "Bonkers, am I? A nutter, batty, off my rocker, raving mad, am I!"

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open. The other boy had pushed himself as far away from the girl as possible, a sneer of disdain on his face. While Tom sat there, boring holes into Harry, pressing him to take action.

Finally, Harry huffed. Cowards, those two. So he crawled to the back, taking the seat the other boy had left, and then warily met the gaze of the deranged girl.

"Look," he said as gently as he could, shooting her his best friendly smile, "just calm down, alright? Let's just-"

"Let's just what?" she snapped, glowering at him through her thick spectacles, before she spat accusingly, "You're going to shove me off the boat, aren't you? That's why you've come to sit with me – to make me think you want to be my friend, but you'll just push me over!"

"No one's going to do anything to you," he gritted out with irritation. He took a deep, steadying breath, and added soothingly, "Let's just calm down." He shot her a wide smile. "I'm Harry Riddle. What's your name?"

"I already said it!" bit out the girl. "Or are you deaf as well as dumb?"

Harry's jaw clenched, but he strived for patience, and then said kindly, "Myrtle, right? But what's your full name?"

The girl eyed him suspiciously, and then said sharply, "Why? Want to mock me?" She pointed a finger at the other boy and Tom, as she added shrilly, "Will you make jokes about me with your friends, and call me names, and make fun of me!"

"Of course not," said Harry very gravely.

"Fine," said the girl briskly, to then peer at him closely through her thick glasses. "I'm Myrtle Mimbletinon."

Harry's lips twitched, but he managed to keep his expression smooth.

In the next second, before he could say anything more, the girl's brief moment of relaxation vanished, as she started again to snap her head to one side and the other, her eyes wide and terrified as she scrutinized the surface of the lake.

Seeing this, Harry intoned soothingly, as he gestured at the other boy who had been quick to take a seat besides Tom, "That chap said that it was only a giant squid, and that there was nothing to fear."

Myrtle spun around on her seat, to whisper sharply, "It wasn't a tentacle what I saw at first." Then she let out in a low, strident wail, "It was some kind of hideous creature – a monster! Staring at me from under the water!"

Just as if her words had summoned it, right by their side of the boat, a head popped out of the water, with very long, knotted hair, its features wrinkled and ugly, a thin-lipped mouth revealing very sharp, jagged teeth.

"The monster has come for me again!" wailed Myrtle, jumping on Harry and making their boat dangerously swing from side to side, as she desperately clung to him. "Save me!"

"It's a mer-maid!" shouted the boy by Tom's side.

Abruptly, just as Harry kept staring at the creature, blinking, he saw its features changing, and he was suddenly gazing at the face of a mesmerizingly beautiful woman, with long, silky, pink hair and striking purple eyes, her full lips curving into a tantalizing smile.

"Don't look at it, you fool! What are you, a muggleborn, that you don't know what it does?"

Someone grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him away and shaking him violently, but he couldn't stop gazing dazedly at the woman, her head moving closer and closer to his side of the boat, her beautiful purple eyes fixed on him.

"It's a female merfolk," continued yelling the other boy, "she becomes beautiful to entice you and then drag you into the depths, into their lair, to eat you! Stop staring at it, you dolt!"

"Harry!" bellowed Tom into his ear, angry and anxiously.

Harry blinked, and then peered up at his brother, who had his arms around him, panting hard, and was now also scowling down at him.

Then he glanced around, perplexed, yet soon realizing that at some point they had all moved to the opposite side of the boat, and Tom had apparently dragged him with them. That edge of their boat was dangerously close to the water now. And it didn't help matters that Myrtle was sobbing, wailing, and moaning in distress and fear.

"The Giant Squid will surely appear soon," rushed out the other boy. "That's what it does – keeps the merfolk under control, so that they don't prey on the students."

Except Myrtle, they all kept a tense and wary silence, not for a moment looking over the other side of the boat where the mer-maid no doubt lurked.

A moment later, as prophesized by the boy, a large tentacle shot out from the water and then splashed down. A horrible screech reverberated all round them, so earsplitting that they all cringed and slapped their hands over their ears.

There was blissful silence after that, and they all let out deep sighs of relief, taking back their seats, except Myrtle who clung to Harry like an eel, as she moaned and let out wailing sobs.

Finally, their boat reached the cliff on which the castle stood and it carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening on the cliff's face. They sailed along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor.

The moment their boat struck shore, they all quickly clambered out onto rocks and pebbles; the boy whose name they still didn't know bolting away without sparing them a backward glance.

"Harry –wait!" called out Myrtle, quickly taking a hold of him. She sharply stared up at him through her thick glasses. "You'll be my friend now, right?"

"Sure," said Harry beaming a smile at her. Though not if he could help it. He had had enough of her to last him a lifetime.

He gently extricated his arm from her clutches, as he said calmly, "I'll see you tomorrow. Now I must go with my brother."

And with that, he scampered off, dashing and catching up with Tom, as all the children followed Mr. Figwig Ogg through a passageway in the rocks. They soon came out onto smooth, damp grass, right in the shadow of the castle. Then they took a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge oak front doors.

There, the Groundskeeper left them in the hands of a very scary looking man who gruffly introduced himself as the Caretaker of Hogwarts, Apollyon Pringle. He was a swarthy and scruffy looking man, rail-thin, his skin leathery, with a red patch covering his left eye, a wooden leg that clanked with every step he took, and a crow perched on his shoulder.

The man introduced his beloved pet as 'Rascal the Corvus' -while the creature gazed at them with its small, beady orange eyes, with a distinct malevolent gleam in them- and warned them with much relish that Rascal always found any students who violated the rules, misbehaved, or broke curfew, and would savagely peck them until they bled and even gouge out their eyes if they weren't careful.

Then Mr. Pringle led them into the castle, and Harry's attention was soon snatched.

From the moment he stepped inside, his eyes had widened, the streaks of colors that he had seen the castle glowing with from a distance, now fully revealed before him.

They were everywhere, like a marvelous lattice, spanning like swirls or thin cords or veins along the floors, across the ceilings, and throughout the walls; braids of silver and emerald, yellow and black, blue and bronze, or crimson and gold. They glowed, they shone, and they thrummed.

And his skin felt prickly, like had happened in Diagon Alley, particularly in Ollivander's store. But while the feeling had been heavy and oppressive in the wandshop – as if the place had been too small and stuffy to contain it- the feeling in Hogwarts was soft, warm, and airy, as if the magic freely floated and flowed throughout the vast spaces, and much more vibrantly and powerfully.

However, it didn't escape his notice that one seemed to see it, not even Tom.

The children didn't gape, mesmerized, at the flagged stone floors and walls. They whispered about the gigantic hog statue they had come across at the entrance, or the magnificent moving marble staircases they could now see above them, or the magical portraits and landscapes hanging high up above their heads in rows upon rows, becoming smaller in the far distance. But none of them murmured about the streaks of colors everywhere.

So when the Caretaker halted before the grand, parted double doors of what he called the Great Hall, and commanded them to wait in silence until the Sorting Ceremony commenced, Harry tugged on Tom's robes and dragged him till they were at the very end of the crowd of first years, several feet behind them.

"Stop pulling me!" snapped Tom angrily. "What's the matter with you?"

Harry dropped his hand from his brother's sleeve, frowned at him, and pointed a finger at the wall they had before them, as he demanded, "Don't you see it?"

Tom glanced around, and then shot him an annoyed scowl. "See what?"

"You really don't see the colors? The streaks – on the wall?" murmured Harry, eyeing him with agitation.

"What are you yammering on about?" bit out Tom briskly. "There are no colors, just plain stone." He let out a disdainful snort. "You've gone round the bend!"

Harry mutely shook his head and then intently gazed at the wall again. Right before his eyes, it was vibrating and pulsing with the braids of colors – he wasn't imagining things!

He took a step forward, and then pressed the palm of his hand against the stones. His fingers and hand were instantly suffused with tingling warmth, the lattice of colors spanning across the wall suddenly expanding and contracting under his touch, as if it were breathing.

"It's alive," he breathed out, his green eyes wide as moons and riveted.

Tom shot him a glance, and then mimicked mockingly in a high-pitch, "It's alive!" Then he scoffed snidely. "What – you're Dr. Frankenstein now?"

"What?" said Harry bewildered. Then he fiercely scowled at him. "No, you idiot! I see bloody colors! I think its magic, and I can feel it more intensely when I touch the wall, too."

"You've lost your marbles-"

Irked beyond measure, Harry brusquely grabbed Tom's hand and forcefully pushed it against the wall, glancing up at him as he snapped, "You don't feel anything either?"

But then, an odd expression crossed Tom's face; the boy blinked, and then frowned.

Harry dropped his hand from Tom's, and fixedly gazed at him, scrutinizing. "Well – do you feel something or not?"

Tom didn't say anything, but in a second he had yanked his hand away, taking a step back and then scowling up around him, as if expecting something to be lurking above, ready to jump on him. He looked suspicious, wary, and angry.

"You did feel something," whispered Harry sharply, skewering him with his gaze. "What was it?"

Looking disconcerted for a moment, Tom glanced at him, then his jaw clenched and he gritted out, "I think the bloody thing is sentient. Something brushed my mind, like a ruddy caress." He shuddered, and then sneered, "It was warm and embracing, as if it was joyfully welcoming me. It had no business doing that to me!"

Harry gaped at him, and said astonished, "The castle spoke to you?"

Tom rounded on him like a puffed up, bristling cat, spitting, "No, it didn't _speak_ to me, you halfwit! It's a bloody building! Since when do-"

"Dumbledore said Hogwarts was a good example of an enchanted castle," ground out Harry. "Remember?"

"He didn't say it was alive and sentient, though," hissed out Tom angrily, glowering at him. "Did he?"

Harry stared at him with big eyes. "So you _do_ think it's alive?"

"I don't know," bit out Tom churlishly, then glancing up uneasily as if expecting that the castle would suddenly strike him down with a lighting bolt, "but I don't like it - not one bit."

Harry scowled at him, miffed. "I don't see why not. It 'touched your mind', as you put it, and welcomed you." He paused and then complained with a disappointed whine, "How come it didn't do that to me?"

"And how come you see colors," groused out Tom disgruntled, "it's magic, apparently, and I don't?"

Harry stared at him. "Er – well, you have a good point there."

"Of course I do," said Tom, looking furious. "And I rather see things than have my mind attacked – I can assure you of that!"

"It didn't attack you," pointed out Harry sensibly, rolling his eyes. "It welcomed you, you said."

Tom briskly waved a hand with vexed irritation. "Same difference."

Harry shot a glance at the crowd of children a few feet away from them, and murmured quietly, "But no one seems to be aware of it, though."

"Best keep it to ourselves, then," said Tom firmly, a deep frown on his face.

Then, Tom quickly grabbed Harry by the hand, pulling him towards the group of awaiting children and apparently deciding they had had enough weirdness and excitement for one day.

Through the sea of bodies of the children, Harry managed to take a peek inside the Hall, and he gazed in fascination. The impossibly high ceiling was transparent, showing a velvety black sky dotted with countless stars. The hall itself was lit by thousands of candles that floated in mid-air, above four long tables where the rest of the students were sitting. At the top of the hall was another long table facing the students, where a row of adult wizards and witches sat – they had to be the teachers. And right in front of it was a four-legged stool, with a pointed wizard's hat on top – very patched, frayed, and dirty looking.

Just then, the hat suddenly twitched, a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing. Harry gawked.

When the song ended, having basically revealed the attributes of each House that he had already learned from the Prewett twins, everyone in the Great Hall loudly applauded. And then, at last, one of the teachers –Dumbledore, he saw- stood next to the stool, with a roll of parchment in hand, and called out the first name.

It was Thaddeus Avery, the hulking, bully of a boy that Abraxas Malfoy had ordered to throw Harry and Tom out of the compartment. The hat was placed on the boy's head for a split second, before it bellowed, "Slytherin!"

A girl was called next, and then Alphard Black. This time, the hat twitched and shifted on top of the boy's hair for a few moments, but at last also sorted the boy in Slytherin, which garnered a round of constrained applause from the table with the students with green and silver ties.

Alphard's handsome cousin, Orion Black, followed afterwards, and it just took the hat two or three seconds to yell "Slytherin!" again.

And so the Sorting continued, with Harry only paying attention to those he knew from sight or brief acquaintance.

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with curly dark hair and brown eyes was called at some point, and Harry recognized him as one of those who had been with Abraxas Malfoy.

He was Neron Lestrange, apparently, and Harry remembered that Felicity had mentioned him in particular, as one of twins' former childhood friends. Unsurprisingly, the boy was also sorted into Slytherin, soon followed by Abraxas Malfoy.

"McLaggen, Tiberius!" was called out next, and a frisson of excitement ran throughout the Hall, many looking excited, envious, awed, or resentful.

"…he's the Minister's grandson!" someone said breathlessly.

Harry blinked when he saw that it was the boy who had been in their boat. The boy strutted down the Hall like an arrogant peacock, with his nose stuck up in the air - a pompous prig that one, no doubt, Harry decided.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat yelled as soon as it touched McLaggen's head.

The Ravenclaws, who thus far hadn't hooted and clapped as boisterously as the Gryffindors or as warmly welcoming as the Hufflepuffs, erupted into a long round of applause and cheers, looking extremely proud and smug of their new member.

The girl Myrtle Mimbletinon was next, and to Harry's astonishment, she was sorted into Ravenclaw as well. But none of her housemates seemed to even notice her, since they were still patting McLaggen on the back as the boy took a seat among them.

Soon, it was Felicity Prewett's turn, and then Felix's. With Felicity, the Hat took several seconds; with her brother, it announced it immediately. They were both sorted into Gryffindor and their rowdy housemates welcomed them very cheerfully and excitedly.

Harry saw that there was one girl in particular who had stood up and clapped the loudest; she was older, plump, with auburn hair and brown eyes, with a golden badge pinned on her robes displaying the letter 'H'. She was the Head Girl, then, and had to be Muriel, the cousin in seventh year that the twins had mentioned.

Some time afterwards, he suddenly heard, "Riddle, Harry!"

Shooting a glance at Tom, who nodded at him reassuringly, Harry then made his way through the few unsorted first years left, entered the Great Hall, and walked down the aisle that separated the four tables by the middle. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying him much attention.

He plopped down on the stool and Albus Dumbledore carefully placed that hat on top of his head.

The next second, the hat shifted and Harry waited, not sure of what was supposed to happen.

Suddenly, a small voice said in his ear, "Hmm, what have we here? Let's see… Ah, a kind heart and deep loyalty towards those you care for – Hufflepuff could be the place for you, especially with your yearning for a complete family and your desire to belong."

Harry gripped the edges of the stool, a bit startled by the voice, but remained quiet.

"Oh, quite a good mind you have, sharp and perspicacious when you bother to take an interest or apply some effort. Always brimming with curiosity too, and that is ever the catalyst for thought. Then perhaps Ravenclaw, but… Aha!" The voice chuckled wryly. "No, not Ravenclaw for you, it would stifle you! You have an adventurer's soul! And clearly an utter disregard for rules. Plenty of courage, as well…Yes, you would do well in Gryffindor, and… My, my, what an accomplished thief you are-"

The hat wasn't going to tell on him, was it?, thought Harry with some anxiousness.

"No, no, don't fret, I cannot disclose to others what I learn in your minds. But I must say, you can be quite the innocent-looking manipulator. Quite an actor you are – cunningness indeed! A skill only best honed in Slytherin...Well, what a dilemma, you are a hard one to sort. I haven't had such a challenge in a long time!" It chuckled merrily. "I'll have to take a deeper plunge!"

Harry felt the hat gripping his head tighter, shifting and squirming.

"Oh – ah! What's this?" The hat moved again, with agitation it seemed to Harry and he started to get worried.

"Well, I've never encountered one like you before. Quite an unparalleled situation it is. You don't belong here."

Harry began to panic, before the hat's gruff voice snapped in his ear, "No, no, I didn't mean it that way. You are indeed a wizard, don't get your undergarments in a twist. But your life has been tampered with, and twice in that very same night, no less!"

An avalanche of nonplussed, bewildered thoughts swirled in Harry's mind, but the hat didn't seem to take notice of them this time. Instead, it started squirming uncomfortably, as if someone was tickling him.

"Hold your hippogriffs! Yes, yes, I know it's a grave matter. No – but – you want to come out, then? Oh well, have it your way," the hat snapped with irritation, and then it went completely still.

'Oh you poor, poor child,' said a soft, sorrowful voice in Harry's head. 'What a grave misdeed has been done to you-'

'Get a grip on yourself, Helga,' said a sharp, female voice briskly. 'It does no good to get agitated. We all know this is a complicated situation.'

Helga? thought Harry bewildered. He had heard that name before. In the Hogwarts Express, Felicity had mentioned the Founders. Were they really-

'Of course we're not the Founders themselves,' spoke the sharp female voice again. 'We are the bits that the Founders used to create the Sorting Hat – we are their judgments. Now keep still and let us speak, there's much we have to discuss.'

'We cannot sort him, Rowena,' interjected a low, deep male voice. 'It's not his time yet. Hence, we posses no right to do so.'

'Oh, but we can't just turn him away!' anxiously retorted Helga's voice – er, judgment, or whatever it was; Harry still felt a bit dazed, confused, and astonished by the whole affair.

'That is not what Salazar meant,' said Rowena sharply. 'The crux of the matter is that the presence of this boy here, in this time and place, is no accident or consequence of a natural event. That much is clear-'

'I'm with Helga in this,' interrupted a strong, vehement voice. 'The boy should stay. Hogwarts will always be a sanctuary for those who need it!'

A snide scoff was let out, before an incisive male voice snapped, 'It is not a matter of giving sanctuary, Godric, but of whether we should sort him or not.'

'Precisely,' interjected Rowena, her tone matter-of-factly. 'As Salazar says, there's no question about the boy staying or not. My Ledger detected him. Thus, despite that his being here should not have happened, he nonetheless has the right to attend Hogwarts. And Hogwarts evidently wishes to protect him. However, we cannot sort him.'

'He must choose himself,' said Salazar firmly.

'Oh well, if that's all, then it's a simple matter,' said Helga's voice with much relief. Then her tone softened as she added warmly, 'My dear child, in my House you will have loyal friends – you will need those. They will warm your heart and they will be your most treasured gift. You will have this in Hufflepuff, my child. And my House will teach you to forgive those who have acted wrongly towards you, bringing you peace, happiness, and tranquility-'

'He does not need peace and he should never forgive!' interrupted the adamant, boisterous voice. 'He needs to become strong and brave, to be able to battle the foes who have committed this nefarious crime against him. My House will prepare you for that, boy. Choose Gryffindor!'

'Nonsense. He needs a sharp, brilliant mind to garner the knowledge he requires to comprehend his situation and thus act accordingly. You need to be in Ravenclaw, boy, it will shape your mind well.'

'He does not require happiness, or courage, or knowledge,' interjected snidely the deep male voice. 'He needs astuteness and cunningness in order to unravel the puzzle that is his existence and hence best his opponents using their own wiles against them – fighting fire with fire!'

It paused and then added gravely, 'It's clear to me that you are the tool of titans, boy, and you'll need to become one yourself if you wish to survive! Only my House can prepare you for that.' The male voice changed into a whispery murmur, 'And you are one of mine, boy. You have my tongue, my blood. There is no other place for you but Slytherin.'

'Choose, my child,' prompted Helga's voice gently.

Agitated and with confused, warring thoughts clashing in his mind, Harry helplessly glanced around him. He saw that many students were staring at him with irritation or impatience. No doubt, to them it had to look as if the Hat was taking too long to sort him.

'Choose!' pressed on Godric's voice adamantly.

At that, Harry glanced at the Prewett twins seated at the Gryffindor table. They were looking at him with expressions of eager anticipation and expectation. Felicity was warmly smiling at him and Felix was giving him a thumbs-up.

'Don't be swayed by such sentiments. Friends is not what you need,' silkily whispered Salazar's voice. 'And you want to be with your... twin, do you not? I've seen him in your mind. He'll be in my House. Do you really want to be separated from him? Look at him!'

Harry's gaze snapped to Tom, who was one of the few first years left standing by the Great Hall's threshold. His brother was frowning, looking slightly worried.

'If you want to be with him, choose Slytherin - SAY IT NOW, boy, or you'll lose him!'

"SLYTHERIN!" Harry bellowed frenziedly. But in the next instant he realized that it hadn't come out of his open mouth. Instead, it seemed to have travelled from his vocal cords, up his head and through the hat, since it had been the Sorting Hat that had yelled the word in its gruff voice.

Harry immediately jumped to his feet and ripped the hat off his head, letting out a haggard pant of breath.

Albus Dumbledore was intently gazing at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his stare piercing, but Harry didn't pay him any attention.

He simply shoved the hat into the wizard's hands and fled as far away from the hat as possible. He ran towards his House's table.


	15. Part I: Chapter 14

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thank you all for giving me your opinions about what should be the pace for this part of the story!

It helped me loads, and I finally decided to cover all the years, doing no time-skips. However, I won't describe every little thing of each school year. I'll only expand on scenes that are important for the plot or character development, and just describe the rest. It's difficult to calculate, but I think that each school year will be covered in 5-8 chapters, except for the last years when most of the action will be happening; those will need more chappies.

I hope this will be for the best and that you'll like it.

Answering some doubts:

The Hat said, "your life has been tampered with, and twice in that very same night, no less!". It said 'twice' because it was referring to when Voldemort went to the Potters to kill Harry and accidentally made him a horcrux. And when, in Privet Drive, the 'Grey Wizard' –Grindelwald- took Harry from Hagrid and Dumbledore, and made him time-travel. Both happened the same night, if you'll remember. Voldemort went to attack the Potters on Oct. 31, at midnight, since he must have been fighting with James for at least a minute or so, then by the time he killed Lily Potter it was past midnight, making it already Nov. 1. And Harry was dropped at the Dursleys by Hagrid in Nov. 1 in the evening, and then the time-travelling happened. So it's still the same day, technically.

Salazar's 'judgment' said Harry had his blood because, according to canon, Voldemort and Harry were distantly related. My version of how this is, for this fic, we'll see it when the Riddle twins begin to unravel the mystery of their origins. But it's just that, though - Harry has a bit of Slytherin blood, but that alone doesn't affect him much. We know he's a parselmouth because he's a horcrux, and we know that only Tom is Slytherin's direct descendant and heir.

I've always liked to imagine Hogwarts as a sentient being –either on purpose, done by the Founders, or due to such an accumulation of magic throughout the ages- so I'm making it happen in this fic.

Hogwarts 'touched' Tom's mind and joyously welcomed him because it could sense that Tom is Slytherin's heir.

The reason why Harry's so sensitive to all the magic around him, going as far as seeing the magic in Hogwarts, is due to what he has become. We'll know more about this as the fic progresses.

Also, I won't be strictly following the family tree lines that are all over the web. They are not cannon, after all – because I only consider canon the books, not whatever else JKR published in other HP related books –I've never read those- or what she might have mentioned in interviews – I haven't read those either. So from such family tree lines, I'm taking names and some dates, but don't expect the characters to have the exact age shown in the tree-lines, because they won't. I'm twisting these 'facts', if they could be considered as such, to make things more interesting, in my view.

Ah, and there won't be any MPREG in this fic, no matter if the subject is mentioned in one of the chapters.

**That said, I hope you enjoy this chappie! It's a very looong one.**

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 14**

* * *

As Harry approached the Slytherin table, he realized that his clothes had been suddenly modified: his plain black tie was now displaying strips of silver and forest green, his black robes had a crest at the right side of his chest, with the emblem of Slytherin House. He wondered vaguely if the same had happened to the clothes in his trunk.

Nevertheless, he was aware of what had happened in his surroundings after the Hat had announced his sorting. Some few Slytherins had started applauding, however, almost instantly, murmurs and sharp whispers had spread throughout the table, and those who had been clapping immediately stopped, staring at Harry with utterly revolted looks or horrified gazes.

He knew exactly what they must have been informed about and their reason for those expressions.

When he reached the end of the table where the first years were seated – that which was closest to the professors– he caught sight of the few spaces left, between Thaddeus Avery and two girls: Priscilla Pucey and Capricia Carrow, if he remembered their names correctly from when they had been called out to be sorted.

Abraxas Malfoy was on the other side, flanked by Neron Lestrange and Orion Black, with Alphard seated next to his cousin.

Not that much further up ahead at the table, he recognized the other Blacks he had seen in Diagon Alley: amidst the second year students, Walburga –Alphard's sister, nasty and plain-looking- and her cousin Lucretia, the pretty one; and among the third years, Cygnus Black, Alphard's brother.

The two girls were whispering sharply among themselves, shooting Harry glowers and glares. Cygnus, for his part, merely seemed to be listening to his housemates' angry murmurs. He appeared to be the quiet, observant sort.

When Harry finally attempted to take a seat, both Priscilla Pucey and Capricia Carrow quickly moved along the bench to instantly occupy that space, as one of them hissed out, "Go away, you mudblood scum!"

That seemed to open the floodgates of the dam that had so far been constraining all their voices.

"A mudblood in Slytherin! Impossible, are you sure he is-"

"… Riddle is not a pureblood family name! So of course he's a filthy mudblood, and Abraxas said…"

"He has to be re-sorted! We must demand it from Professor Slughorn…"

Suddenly, all their mean and vicious voices were drowned when Dumbledore called out, "Riddle, Tom!"

At that, Harry brusquely shoved Capricia Carrow to a side and plopped himself down at the very end of the bench, leaving a space between him and the girl – hopefully, for Tom.

He didn't even pay attention to the girl's infuriated shriek of protest about having been touched by his 'filthy paws', and merely snapped his gaze up to piercingly stare at his brother.

He was still thoroughly confused, alarmed, and even angry due to what had happened with the Sorting Hat. He had no idea what the Founders' voices had meant when they had spoken about a nefarious crime committed against him, the need to battle his foes, of unraveling the puzzle of his existence, or that he was the tool of titans and whatnot.

At first, he had had the bewildered thought that perhaps he had been dropped on the floor as a baby, or that one of the orphanage's caregivers might have done some other thing of the sort, by accident. But of course, that was no 'nefarious crime', and the Hat had said that two bad things had happened to him on the same night.

Then, he had thought that perhaps it referred to the punishments inflicted on him by Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Jenkins. However, they were hardly 'titans', and Mrs. Sharpe had died and Mr. Jenkins had been sacked, so why would he need to battle those foes?

In the end, he had decided to simply lay it rest at the back of his mind. Perhaps, at some point, he might come across something that might shed light on what the Founders' voices had said, and then he would worry about it. Because at present, he was more concerned about Tom's sorting.

If the Hat didn't put his brother in Slytherin, Harry would throttle it and rip it to pieces.

Yes, he had thought that what Salazar Slytherin's voice had said made much sense; besting his enemies by being as cunning as them and all that rot. It was just the thing that Tom might have said.

Regardless, in the end, he hadn't chosen Slytherin because he thought it offered him the most sensible and clever 'solution' to his 'grave situation' –whatever it was– but simply because of his brother. So if Tom ended in some other House, Harry was not going to be happy.

Thus, he was staring intently as Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on top of Tom's head. Harry started to fret and worry when the Hat didn't announce the House right away. But then, when he understood that it must be speaking to Tom, Harry felt a frisson of hope.

Perhaps the Founders wanted to speak to his brother too, and it would make sense, because if something bad had happened to Harry that he couldn't remember, then it must have also happened to Tom, since they were twins and had always been together, after all. And maybe Tom could make sense of what the Founders had said.

However, it didn't seem to be the case, because in the next second the Hat bellowed, "Slytherin!"

Harry let out a sigh of relief nonetheless and he beamed a smile at his brother. Though the odd look on Tom's face didn't escape his notice. It was clear that the Hat must have said something to him.

"Another one!" someone at the Slytherin table exclaimed with anger, and all the mutterings and glowers started again.

Harry utterly ignored them and shot Tom a puzzled glance when his brother merely sat by his side and gazed up at the Slytherin banners that were floating high above their heads. His brother's expression was a musing and calculating one, and there was a strange gleam in his dark blue eyes.

Harry frowned at him. "Tom, what did the Hat say-"

"Rosier, Druella!"

The Slytherin table broke into excited murmurs at that, and even Harry's attention was caught when he saw the girl that gracefully sat on the stool. She looked strangely familiar to him.

In the next moment, Harry's eyes widened when he realized what it was. She had the same lustrous blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and many of the same delicate and breath-taking features as those of the face of the young woman he had seen, like a misty mirage, in the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley, when Alice's lullaby had been inexplicably ringing in his ears.

Extremely puzzled by it, he watched as she was sorted into Slytherin. When the girl reached their table, she didn't sit with them. Instead, with nose sticking up in the air, Druella Rosier took a place beside Walburga and Lucretia Black, the two second-year girls instantly welcoming her warmly in their midst. Evidently, they were close friends.

Though, Druella Rosier seemed more interested, at first, in shooting coy glances at Cygnus Black. It seemed the girl had seated herself on that spot precisely for that purpose. The third-year boy, for his part, gave her a disdainful look, his lips twisting with irritation, before he turned his back on her and proceeded to quietly chat with his friends.

When Walburga and Lucretia Black started whispering to her, gesturing in Harry and Tom's direction, shooting them glowers, all the beauty that Druella Rosier possessed was marred, her face scrunching up as she shot them an ugly sneer.

If Tom realized what was happening at the Slytherin table, or even overheard all the mean whispers and murmurs, he didn't show any proof of it. His brother was still occupied in some sort of deep introspection or grave pondering, coolly indifferent to everything else.

Soon, the last child was sorted, and the wizard who had been seated in a golden chair in the middle of the High Table, walked around it to stand before them. A marble plinth, displaying Hogwarts' emblem -an H with a badger, a raven, a snake and a small lion wrapped around it- appeared in front of him, and the wizard rose up his arms, gathering all their attention.

He was thin and not too tall, with a wrinkled face showing his advanced age, with grey hair matched by a neatly cropped beard, and he was dressed in rich, plum-hued robes. The wizard had a solemn and wizened air about him. He had to be the Headmaster, Armando Dippet, that the Prewett twins had mentioned.

"Welcome," the wizard said gravely, "welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

The rest of the Houses cheered, hooted, and clapped loudly while the Slytherins merely applauded quietly for a brief moment.

"Let's raise our goblets in a toast!"

At that, many pitchers with all sorts of colored drinks suddenly appeared at the tables, and Harry nearly yelped in surprise, to then see that his own golden goblet was abruptly filled with an orange-hued liquid. Nonetheless, he imitated the other students and raised his goblet in a silent cheer, to then take a careful sip from it.

The drink was very tasty and sweet – pumpkin juice, he would later find out- and he smacked his lips in appreciation. That earned him many disgusted scowls and sneers from his housemates, but he utterly ignored them and took another long gulp, the warm drink settling pleasantly in his belly.

The Headmaster then went on to explain the many rules of Hogwarts, particularly pointing out the curfew hours, that only second-years and onwards were allowed to play Quidditch – which garnered many grumbles and complains from the first-year Gryffindors – that signed permission slips were required for the weekend outings to Hogsmeade, that students who fancied to take a swim in the Black Lake had to notify a teacher first, so that the Giant Squid could be alerted and thus be prepared to protect them from the dangerous creatures that inhabited the lake, and finally, that the Forbidden Forest was precisely that, forbidden.

Some of the Slytherins sneered at that, contemptuously whispering and hissing out about 'filthy halfbreeds' and 'centaurs', which made Harry's eyes widen.

And then the Headmaster introduced the wizards and witches seated at the High Table. Three of the professors, in particular, earned the most boisterous round of applauses.

Indeed, Albus Dumbledore, as the Head of Gryffindor House, the Transfiguration teacher and the Deputy Headmaster, was most loudly cheered by all the Houses, except the Slytherins who clapped slowly for a second, and then went silent and stony-faced.

The second most lauded one was the Charms teacher and Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Tilly Toke, who stood up from his seat and gave a swooping, courteous bow at all the students. He was a very handsome man, seemingly in his early thirties, with long, golden hair and bright hazel eyes; his robes form fitting but also an unpretentious midnight blue.

Most girls dazedly gazed at him, blushing or sighing with longing and infatuation, just as many first-years of all Houses broke into excited, loud whispers which reverberated across the vast expanse of the Great Hall.

"…my mum told me about him! He saved all those Muggles on that beach, a couple of years ago…"

"He defeated the rogue dragon! I saw the article in the Daily Prophet…"

"… the Ministry gave him an Order of Merlin, First Class!"

"Is he wearing it, do you see it?"

The wizard evidently overheard all the thrilled, awed murmurs, though Harry saw that the man didn't preen under the attention, as he had half-expected. Professor Toke merely gave them a warm smile and then sat back on his chair, allowing the Headmaster to introduce the next teacher.

The third professor who earned much voiced admiration was the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, Miss Jocunda Sykes. She was a young witch in her twenties, with long, white hair, which she wore in a simple ponytail. Quite tall and slim, she appeared to have vast amounts of strength and energy.

"…is she really the one who broke all records by crossing the Atlantic by broomstick, three years ago?"

"Oh, yes! She was the first witch or wizard in history to accomplish it!"

"…she flew with the Oakshaft 79 racing broom, no less!"

"I've heard that she's a wickedly good Quidditch player as well…"

Nonetheless, the other teachers were greeted warmly, even if not as enthusiastically. The Ravenclaws did cheer Professor Perpetua Fancourt very loudly, who apparently was their Head of House and the Astronomy teacher. She looked to be in her forties, with a small, bony body, and a mane of short, purple curls.

Harry even heard one of the Slytherins mentioning that the witch had invented something called the 'Lunascope', several years ago.

"It's just as Grandfather told me," Harry overheard Abraxas Malfoy say gravely to his friends. "Dippet has taken care of employing outstanding witches and wizards these last few years. It was about time, in my opinion."

"Is it because of the European Dueling Championship?" inquired Capricia Carrow with interest, leaning forward to be able to participate in the discussion between the boys across the table from her.

"I expect it to be so," replied Abraxas shortly, waving a hand. "The next one is planned to take place in a few years, and Hogwarts' Governors are quite tired that the Championship is always won by former students of Durmstrang-"

"And Beauxbatons!" cut in Orion Black, looking must put upon. "The last Championship, of three years ago, was won by a boy in his seventh year!"

Abraxas nodded at them. "Yes, Julian Erlichmann. He was not yet eighteen, back then."

"I didn't believe it was true!" breathed out Priscilla Pucey, her eyes wide. "I thought that the Daily Prophet's articles about how young he was, and still a mere schoolboy, were an exaggeration-"

"And last, but certainly not least," announced the Headmaster, his voice drowning the Slytherins' conversation, "our very own Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House, and Potions teacher, Professor Horace Slughorn!"

Harry gaped at the pudgy, short, and nearly bald man that stood up and winningly smiled at them all. It was the same wizard that Tom and he had stumbled upon in Knockturn Alley – the man's enormous, brown mustache was unmistakable. And he was their Head of House, no less!

As the Slytherin table broke into applauses, very loud claps for the first time -though they didn't cheer or hoot, apparently that was considered bad manners and very uncouth by his housemates- Harry snapped his head around to glance at his brother.

He sniggered under his breath when he saw that Tom was staring at Horace Slughorn with wide eyes and a pale face. No doubt, his brother was now regretting the shouted insults that he had flung at the man.

Though, in the next moment, as Professor Slughorn sat back down on his place at the High Table, Harry saw how Tom regained his composure. And then Harry detected a most calculating glint in his brother's dark blue eyes, just before Tom's expression morphed into one filled with respect and awe as he gazed at Slughorn.

Not wanting to miss the interaction, Harry glanced at the professor, seeing how Slughorn blinked at Tom, and then sat up straight on his seat and slowly picked up his goblet in a move that surely felt regal and elegant to the man.

Harry caught the way in which his brother's lips slightly tilted upwards in a covert, satisfied smirk. Furthermore, apparently to wrap the matter with a nice bow and further make his way into the good graces of their Head of House, Tom lifted up his own goblet in a silent, reverent toast towards the wizard, and then brought it to his lips.

Slughorn immediately repaid the gesture by doing likewise, looking like a puffed out, preening, fat pigeon.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. Tom's tactics never failed; his brother was too much of an expert on how to stroke the conceit and vanity of others to have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Either by doing such or by displaying carefully calculated humble or charming manners, his brother always succeeded with too much ease.

Harry shook his head. It was disgusting, really. And pathetically sad too, that Tom's targets never realized how thoroughly they were being played.

"Enjoy the Welcoming Feast!" boomed the Headmaster at last, before rejoining his staff at the High Table.

Harry's mouth fell open the next second when, suddenly, the golden plates in front of him were piled with food, which appeared to have come out of nowhere.

He had never seen so much food in his life, and most dishes with things he didn't recognize, given the limited diet he had endured in the orphanage. There were all sorts of vegetables, boiled or fried, and many types of cooked or roasted meats in steaks or chops, with thick gravies on the side that he had never seen before but looked thick and delicious, and meat pies or puddings with cheese and carrots and the sort, and many other things that he couldn't describe.

He inhaled the varied, mouth-watering smells coming from the countless dishes, and sighed with sheer pleasure as he lifted a hand, ready to grab as much food as possible and try a bit of everything.

He halted and nearly jumped in the air, startled, when a flock of ghosts abruptly flooded into the Great Hall, emerging from the walls and even the floor.

Many of the first-years of the other Houses gasped in surprise, though soon the ghosts mingled with the students, and Harry managed to remember the names of some of the ghosts that the Prewett twins had mentioned.

There was The Fat Friar, now amicably chatting with the Hufflepuffs, and the Gryffindor ghost was pulling his head to a side, with Felix Prewett jumping to his feet to peer at the nearly severed neck, the boy looking thoroughly thrilled at the sight.

Suddenly, Harry felt as if an icy wind swept around him, and he jerked to a side when he caught sight of the ghost that was floating right beside him, at the end of the table.

It had to be Slytherin House's ghost, he realized, but he couldn't quite remember his name. He was all grey and nearly transparent, like all the others, but he bore a grim expression on his broad, rough-featured face and was dressed in very ancient-looking clothes – from Medieval times, it seemed.

Moreover, there was a gaping, jagged wound in his chest, as if someone had plunged a dagger in his heart, with dark grey stains splattered bellow it – bloodstains, Harry realized with a shudder. However, what was even scarier was that the ghost also had dark grey stains on his face, shoulders, and arms, which couldn't have come from the ghost's own wound.

The ghost's eyes trailed along the Ravenclaw table, his gaze intent and piercing, as if looking for someone. The next second, he let out a grunt, and turned his attention back to the Slytherins.

The silent ghost's eyes, now dull and dispassionate, swept along the Slytherin table with disinterest. He started to turn around with the intention of leaving, it seemed, but then he did a double take on Harry. The ghost halted and stared.

Harry stared back, and blinked, raking his brain to remember what the ghost was called. "Er…" He shook his head, giving up, and finally asked amicably, "What's your name?"

The ghost didn't answer. Instead, he was now frowning at him, his grey gaze flickering from Harry's face to his neck and then hands – apparently to every inch of his body that wasn't covered by his school robes.

Harry looked down too, wondering if he had spilled juice on himself, since the ghost was indeed staring as if he had something on his skin.

Finding nothing, Harry glanced back at the ghost, puzzled. If the ghost had been frowning before, now the expression was fiercer and deeper. And almost as if in slow motion, Harry saw the ghost extending out a grey hand, with a finger posed to swipe through Harry's arm, a flash of perplexity and curiosity in the ghost's eyes.

The next second, Harry stiffened at the strange sensation; the feeling of an icy finger touching his skin. It hadn't passed through his arm at all. But hadn't the Prewett twins said that ghosts had no solidity – that they went through people just like they went through walls and doors?

The ghost let out a muted gasp, instantly withdrawing his hand and recoiling away from Harry, staring at him with a horrified expression on his face.

Then he spun around and flung himself at the wall, instantly disappearing from sight, leaving a bewildered Harry in his wake.

"Look - off he goes to search for the Grey Lady!" one of the older Slytherins guffawed, shaking his head. "Always chasing after her-"

"It's her I rather pity," a third-year girl interjected in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "When the Bloody Baron manages to find her, she always flees away from him. And have you seen her expression? She always looks utterly horrified and fearful. I've always wondered why…"

Harry snapped his head around, his heart pounding in his chest, still feeling thoroughly confused. Though he saw that none seemed to have noticed his interaction with the ghost. Apparently, only a few had taken notice of the ghost leaving the Great Hall.

All the Slytherins were already eating and chattering amongst themselves, and even Tom hadn't been paying attention to him. His brother still hadn't served himself with dinner, but was rather listening in to their housemates' conversations, closely observing them with an expression on his face that Harry knew well – Tom was plotting.

Harry felt a frisson of relief and glanced away – the moment he did, his green gaze got locked with a silver one. He froze like a rabbit caught in a motorcar's headlights. Abraxas Malfoy was staring at him with wide eyes, a shocked expression on his unearthly handsome face.

The boy had _seen_ – the realization struck Harry like a lightening bolt. What had happened with the ghost couldn't be anything normal, not when Malfoy was nearly gaping at him.

And Harry couldn't stop staring back at him either, just like what had happened in the Hogwarts Express. Even when Malfoy's expression slowly changed - the boy tilting his head to a side, his silver eyes becoming heavy lidded, glittering with interest as he now gazed at him as if Harry had suddenly become a fascinating, complex puzzle that Abraxas was determined to solve – Harry still couldn't peel his eyes away.

Though, he did shift fretfully on his seat, feeling a mite flustered and discomfited under Malfoy's intense gaze. It wasn't comfortable to have the boy's full attention, he decided. And there was such a strange pull to boy.

Finally, he managed to pull himself together and he shot Malfoy an irritated scowl, clearly conveying that he didn't appreciate being stared at. To his surprise, Abraxas didn't react as expected. The boy arched an eyebrow and one corner of his lips tilted upwards, as if in amusement.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Malfoy's lips curved upwards even further. Finally, Harry grunted and glanced away.

He didn't do much better when his eyes landed on the High Table. There, was Albus Dumbledore, piercingly staring at him from above the rim of his half-moon spectacles, with his hand in mid-air, carrying his goblet, as if he had been about to take a sip before something halted his motion. And given the man's puzzled and pensive expression, Harry just knew that Abraxas Malfoy hadn't been the only one who had seen his interaction with the ghost.

The next moment, when the wizard seemed to realize that Harry had caught sight of him, Dumbledore calmly settled back his goblet on his table and he smoothened his face, giving Harry a gentle smile. The man did seem sincere in his attempt to grace him with a soothing and calming expression, but Harry had had enough.

After Dumbledore's visit to the orphanage, when the wizard had reacted so strangely to his scar and to the discovery that they could speak to snakes, no amount of smiles was going to make Harry feel comfortable with the man. And he really was in no mood to accept friendly gestures, not when it seemed that there was another weird thing about him.

Harry was mightily glad that, from the start, he had been ignoring the colorful lattice that spread throughout the entirety of the Great Hall. Only Tom knew that he could apparently see the castle's magic, and he especially wanted to keep it that way after the 'touch-thing' with the Bloody Baron.

So, he glared at Albus Dumbledore, and then he snapped his head around to glare at Abraxas Malfoy too, who was still intently observing him, and he finally concentrated all of his attention on the numerous dishes before him.

He chose the roasted chicken legs and extended a hand to grab a piece, just when a fork had been about to stab another leg.

The boy yielding the fork instantly withdrew it, to then slam it on the table. Indeed, Neron Lestrange sprung to his feet, his face contorted with rage as he bellowed at Harry, "You dare touch our food with your bare, filthy, mudblood hands! Touching the same platter we must all share!"

Tom stiffened by his side, and Harry gaped at the boy, his hand hanging a few inches away from the chicken leg.

Cutlery clattered on the table all along it, every Slytherins' attention drawn to them at Lestrange's loud, reverberating shout.

"Really, this is unbearable!" then cried out Capricia Carrow, from her seat besides Tom, as she vehemently addressed all her housemates. "Are we expected to tolerate their presence in our midst, in our very own table, sharing our food!"

"She's right!" interjected Orion Black, his handsome face twisting with revulsion. "Who knows what kind of disgusting muggle diseases they carry – they'll contaminate our food, they'll pass on to us their filthy illnesses!"

Many Slytherins grumbled in agreement, or nodded, or loudly voiced similar opinions, until Walburga Black jumped to her feet, with a thunderous expression on her plain-looking face as she shrieked angrily, "They must be re-sorted! The Hat evidently made a mistake. We'll not have mudblood scum among us!"

Two older Slytherins suddenly appeared before them. A tall boy with curly blonde hair and a slightly crooked nose, with a golden badge pinned on his robes that denoted him as the Head Boy. And a girl, with the type of curvy body, with tiny waist and generous bosom, that would have had Eric Whelley drooling after her. She also had a badge on her robes, but a silver one – she was a Prefect. But it wasn't those things that caught Harry's attention, but her face.

She had the same light grey eyes as Alphard, though much larger and thus prettier and more noticeable. Her hair was a glossy, wavy black, reaching her waist. And her features were simply stunning, even surpassing Lucretia and Orion Black in beauty and handsomeness.

She was another Black, no doubt, and it surprised Harry since he hadn't expected that there was even more of them at the school. He certainly hadn't seen her in Diagon Alley. He was quite sure he would have remembered a girl as striking as her.

"What's all this ruckus about?" demanded the girl sharply, scowling at the younger Slytherins.

"They're mudbloods," snarled Thaddeus Avery, pointing a finger at Tom and Harry. "That's the problem – or didn't you hear? They even tried to get in our compartment in the Hogwarts Express!"

The burly, stout boy shot Abraxas Malfoy a glance, as if asking for his support and participation.

However, anything of the kind was forestalled when the Prefect girl swiftly turned to pin Tom and Harry with her gaze, as she demanded briskly, "Are you muggleborns, really?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain what he and Tom suspected and believed – that they were halfbloods- but his brother replied before he could, saying nonchalantly, "We are."

Digging his teeth on his lower lip, Harry snapped his head around to glower angrily at him. His brother was making everything worse! He still didn't understand why Tom wanted everyone to believe they were muggleborns – Tom had done the same with the Prewett twins.

"SEE!" boomed Thaddeus Avery. "I told you!"

The Prefect girl spun around and narrowed her light grey eyes at the boy, as she whispered sharply, "Yes, but that's no excuse to make a scene in the middle of the Welcoming Feast! Everyone's watching us now!"

She gestured with a hand at the other tables, and she was indeed right. Many students of the other Houses were standing up, trying to take a peek at what was happening at the Slytherin table. Even the professors looked worried or concerned, murmuring among themselves, shooting them glances. Slughorn looked flustered and hesitant, though apparently he had decided to let his Prefect and the Head Boy take charge of the situation and resolve the matter.

"Now stop making a spectacle of yourselves and eat your dinner quietly, with the proper pureblood manners you were raised with," continued the Black girl in a harsh tone of voice. "Now's not the time to discuss such things-"

"I'm not going to sit here with them, Dorea," interjected gruffly an enormous, muscled, third-year boy, seated across from Cygnus Black, his voice laced with a slight foreign accent. "I refuse to share a table with mudbloods-" he gestured at all the younger Slytherins around him "- and I'm not the only one. Take them away and then we'll all proceed with our dinner-"

"My, my, Dolohov," snidely sneered Dorea Black at him, "your skull is even thicker than I thought. Did you hear me asking for your opinion? No, you didn't, did you? Perhaps the two years you've been at Hogwarts haven't been enough to make you fully understand who makes all the decisions around here."

She leaned forward, and lowered her voice to a poignant whisper, apparently not wanting the other students and the teachers to overhear her, "As the oldest Black, a Prefect, your Quidditch Captain, and the undefeated dueler in our House's matches, I'm one of The Two who leads Slytherin House, and we don't take to disobedience kindly. Do we, Algernon?"

The Head Boy nodded coolly, shooting a stern and irritated scowl at all the younger Slytherins. "Quite right, Dorea."

"I don't care if you and Wilkes are The Two," spat Walburga Black incensed, still standing up as she darkly glared at them. "In such a grave matter as this one, you have no right to make us yield!"

"I have every right, Burgy-"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why, dear niece," drawled Dorea Black mockingly, her light grey eyes glinting, "do you prefer 'Wally' as a nickname, then, like a common muggle's?"

"You hag!" screeched Walburga, looking deranged in her fury as she swiftly brought a hand to one of her robes' pockets.

Dorea instantly grabbed the younger girl's arm in a painful grip, as she hissed out, "Think twice before wielding your wand against me, you stupid girl. And watch how you speak to me, I'm still your Aunt-"

"That you're Father's baby sister doesn't mean I have to obey you," snarled Walburga as she ripped her arm from the older girl's grasp. Her voice turned low, cruel, and nasty, as she added venomously, "Your mere conception was an unfortunate accident. Grandmamá didn't want to have you. She should have drowned you at birth-"

"Stop it, sister," interjected Cygnus Black suddenly, his voice quiet, yet his gaze strict as he leveled at her a hard look.

Walburga instantly rounded on him. "Why should I? She struts around Hogwarts as if she's so much better than the rest of us, ordering us around, when she should be licking the sole of our shoes, in gratefulness for taking her in! She's living in our house, spending our money and eating from our table, by our good graces, because she's such a blood-traitorous slag that grandpapá, her own father, kicked her out!"

She snapped her head around to glare at Dorea, her face contorting with fury, as she spat hatefully, "I stopped listening to you, _Aunt_, the day you became a loose hag with no standards, cavorting with that muggle-lover-"

"Insult him in my presence once more and I'll make you regret it," hissed out Dorea Black, taking a menacing step forward. "Your father sees no flaw in the boy I want to be engaged with, so neither should you. And even if you do, you should shut your mouth and respect your betters!" She gave her a thoroughly disgusted look. "You're acting no better than a muggle fishwife – venting Black family matters in public, for all to hear!"

The moment Walburga opened her mouth again, bristling with fury, Cygnus grabbed her by the arm and yanked her down on the bench, as he whispered angrily, "Aunt 'Rea is right. Shut up once and for all! You've said too much already-"

"Indeed she has," remarked Dorea Black in a low tone of voice, her beautiful light grey eyes glinting with vindictive relish. "Your father will hear about this, of course. I'll be owling him post-haste. I dare say Pollux won't be pleased with you at all, Burgy."

The Head Boy, the tall, blonde, curly-haired Algernon Wilkes, loudly cleared his throat, forestalling any retort from Walburga's part, as he said pointedly, "I believe we've deviated from the matter-at-hand." He gestured vaguely in Tom and Harry's direction. "This issue will be resolved in the privacy of our common room, where you can take your protests up to our Head of House."

"Precisely," interjected Dorea Black, leveling at all the younger Slytherins a harsh, reprimanding look. "As you all know, before the rest of the school, we present a joined front, no matter our inner disputes. So until we're back in the dungeons, you'll finish your dinner without uttering another word. Is that clear?"

The younger Slytherins grumbled, nodded, or simply stayed quiet in implicit obedience.

And 'The Two' –Harry still didn't know what that meant, exactly, and much less what the heated argument between the two Black girls had been all about, though he had enjoyed seeing the nasty one, Walburga, being taken down a peg or two- turned heel and returned back to their seats, at the other end of the table.

Finally, he clenched his jaw, jutting his chin out, and quickly grabbed two chicken legs, to then glance around him. No one said a word to him, even though plenty shot him sneers and glowers.

The hostility towards Tom and him was palpable, and it felt extremely uncomfortable and strange to Harry. He was used to quickly making friends wherever he went. Even the early years of being bullied by Dennis Bishop, and then the last few years when the neighborhood's good opinion of him had changed, hadn't prepared him for this, since it had been so mild in comparison to the sheer hatred that his housemates seemed to have for him. He hadn't expected, at all, that he would be welcomed like that in magic school. He had been so thoroughly certain that he would instantly have loads of friends.

His brother didn't seem to be affected by any of it. Though Tom had experience in being a pariah. But even that had been different in the orphanage, because the children there had been fearful of him and had given him a wide berth. Here, instead, Tom was despised and considered to be bellow them. Harry was certain that that couldn't have gone over well with Tom, even if his brother didn't show it.

He shook his head, dispelling such grim thoughts from his mind, and then relaxed a bit; at long last, taking pleasure in his meal.

Unfortunately, his brother spoiled it by serving him a bunch of peas, small pieces of lettuce, and carrots, giving Harry a stern, pointed look. Tom did always make him eat all his greens at the orphanage. Apparently, the boy wasn't planning to relent now that they were in different surroundings.

Harry huffed, miffed. Then he stuck one of the carrots into his mouth and started to munch it as noisily as he could, shooting Tom a side-glance to see just how much it irritated his brother. He would eat his vegetables, but he wasn't going to do it happily. His discontent was going to be expressed.

To his disappointment, Tom merely scoffed snidely at him and then proceeded to utterly ignore his antics, turning to partake from his own dinner.

Harry became full quite quickly, not accustomed to such rich foods and with his stomach only used to small intakes of food at a time. He despaired even further, his eyes bright with longing, when the desserts appeared after everyone was done with the main course, knowing that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to swallow a single bite.

There were towers made of ice-cream balls of all colors and flavors, marvelous chocolate and strawberry cakes, lemon puddings, apple pies, custard tarts, raspberry cake, cherries covered in hot chocolate, treacle tarts, meringue confections, cupcakes of all sorts, frosted bits of fruits with swirls of cream on top, and many other dishes that he had never seen or heard about before. And he vouched that, next time, he would skip the meal all together and just wait for the desserts, to have plenty of place in his belly to try as many of them as possible.

At last, Dorea Black came by their end of the table once more, shortly instructing them to follow her. By then, most of the older students had already left, and many of the teachers. Only the first-years of the four Houses had remained in their full numbers.

Algernon Wilkes waited for them by the grand doors of the Great Hall, giving each of them a scroll of parchment with the timetable of their classes.

The Head Girl, Muriel Prewett, was doing the same with the Gryffindors, while the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had their oldest Prefects performing such duties.

Harry unrolled his parchment and grinned with excitement when he saw that they shared every class with one of the other Houses, that they had no lessons during weekends, and that they had several hours of spare time every day. It really didn't look that bad.

As they followed Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black into the Entrance Hall, they passed by the first-year Gryffindors. Felix Prewett waved a hand at him, mouthing 'We'll see you tomorrow!' while Felicity looked at the Slytherins with consternation, to then shoot him a worried glance, as she whispered, "Good luck."

Harry grinned and waved back at them, feeling a frisson of relief. He hadn't thought that the twins would drop him just because he had ended up in Slytherin, but it was nice to feel reassured, nonetheless.

Algernon Wilkes and Muriel Prewett shared a dark glance -Head Boy and Head Girl throwing each other looks of mutual hatred and contempt- and then off they went, all of the Houses taking different directions.

The last Harry saw of the twins was when the Gryffindors took one of the moving marble staircases, while he followed the Slytherins to the very end of the Entrance Hall.

There, amongst shadows, was an archway, leading to a downward-spiraling, stone staircase. Torches niched in the walls lit up a few paces before them, as they proceeded forward and entered the dungeons.

Harry noticed that the further they went, the colors of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff disappeared from the cords of magic pulsing everywhere along the floors, walls and ceilings, leaving only the silver and green braids.

He surmised that it could only mean that Salazar Slytherin had been the only one to cast the enchantments and spells that formed the lattice, in his section of the castle. Perhaps it happened similarly in the areas in which the dorms of the other Houses where located – wherever that was.

They followed Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black through a succession of labyrinthine, deserted passages, walking deeper and deeper under the school, their surroundings becoming increasingly more chilly and damp.

Harry shivered and wrapped his robes tighter around his body, as he caught sight of some tapestries and landscapes hanging sparsely along the walls, depicting all sorts of sceneries: of a tumultuous sea with a large ship striving for survival amidst a roaring storm; a grim, bare, rocky mountain with lightning striking its peak; a large, full moon hanging above a derelict, abandoned castle; a burnt, scorched field with a leathery, winged serpent breathing out plumes of fire; and such. They all had a sort of stark, harsh beauty to them.

They finally paused by a stretch of bare, damp, stone wall. Several feet away at either side, there were landscapes: one of a solitary cottage at the edge of a steep, plunging cliff, with spiked waves clashing against the rocks; the other of a dark, deserted beach under a black sky with one lonely, bright star.

Harry took careful notice of the paintings, branding them in his mind. Though he didn't think he really needed to remember them to find the place again – the wall before him was pulsing with such a dense and knotted lattice of silver and green cords, that it was utterly unmistakable. But it was wise to be precautious, in case his 'magic-sight' ever failed him.

"Gloria a la pureza," murmured Dorea Black.

At that, a stone door concealed in the wall noiselessly slid open.

"Is that Latin?" asked Thaddeus Avery in his gruff voice.

Algernon Wilkes shot him a contemptuous look as they all marched inside. "No, you fool, it's Spanish. Any pureblood worth his salt knows Latin and thus we didn't want a clever Ravenclaw to stand here and spout all the Latin phrases he knew and hit the mark. Hence, Dorea and I decided that we would not only change the motto every week, but we would also change the language in which it should be spoken."

A good idea, Harry thought. But it was even cleverer that Salazar Slytherin had chosen a bare expanse of wall as the entrance to his House. If he didn't see the magic of the castle, he would have been certain that the entrance had to be behind one of the tapestries or landscapes. He wouldn't have suspected a simple wall.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls, sparsely decorated here and there by tapestries displaying the Slytherin emblem. In between several of them, there were large, round windows, through which the very bottom of the lake could be seen.

The windows had to be enchanted since the views they displayed weren't lightless and unfathomable, as anyone might have expected given the depth of the murky waters. Instead, entangled algae could be seen clearly, gently swaying back and forth, schools of silvery fishes swam by, and Harry even caught sight of one of those wrinkled and grey skinned merfolk creatures.

Furthermore, there were no other decorations, no portraits or landscapes, except for thick, forest green carpets that covered the floors and round, yellowish lamps that hanged on chains from the ceiling.

Thankfully, dispelling the chilly dampness of the room, there were five fireplaces in total, each on opposites sides of the common room, with fires crackling under elaborately carved mantelpieces. Each hearth was surrounded by a set of couches, settees, sofas, low tables, and high-backed chairs, all made of dark wood and upholstered by some kind of black, leathery material.

All in all, the common room was rather cozy in a sort of elegant way. It wasn't stuffy, cluttered, or overly decorated, which Harry appreciated given that he was used to living in spartan quarters. Nevertheless, it was certainly much more lavish than anything he had ever seen.

All the older Slytherins who had left the Great Hall before them, were standing in the middle of the common room, with Professor Horace Slughorn in their midst, looking frazzled and harassed.

Harry didn't pick up everything that the students were angrily ranting about at their Head of House, but given their expressions, he got the gist of it.

Not two seconds after they had entered the common room, one of the older Slytherins caught sight of them and spat, pointing a finger at Harry and Tom, "Ha! There they are! These are the two mudbloods we were telling you about, Professor Slughorn!"

"They must have cheated – must've tricked the Hat, somehow!"

"They ought to be expelled for that, sir!"

"Or at least get them re-sorted and out of our House!"

The incensed clamoring started again, leaving a flustered, mumbling Horace Slughorn, who didn't seem to be able to take control of the situation.

"Let our Head of House speak!" snapped Dorea Black with irritation, as she made her way through the crowd of students, the Head Boy, Algernon Wilkes, following after her.

Slughorn released a haggard exhalation of breath. "Your aid is much appreciated, Miss Black." Then the pot-bellied wizard pulled himself up to his full height, holding up his hands, and said congenially, "Now, now, children, let us not be carried away by our impassionate beliefs or our tempers-"

"There have never been mudbloods in the entire history of Slytherin House. Salazar must be rolling in his grave, Professor!"

"Precisely. It's not to be borne, sir! How can we be expected to tolerate the presence of two mudbloods in our midst, I ask!"

"Muggleborns, Mr. Dolohov, Miss Pucey," chided Slughorn amicably. Then he took several steps to stand between Tom and Harry, clamping his hands on their shoulders, as he turned around to face the other students. "We cannot hold against them their unfortunate origins." He graced the congregated students with a weak smile, to then continue in a jovial tone of voice, "Let's take this as an opportunity to show the other Houses how magnanimous Slytherin House can be towards those from a… ah, slightly different background-"

"But, sir-"

"No," interrupted Slughorn, holding up a hand, yet his tone remained quite affable. "As I have already explained, there are no grounds for expulsion and they cannot be re-sorted – such thing would go against Hogwarts' rules-"

"Then have the rules changed!"

Slughorn let out a belly-laugh, shaking his head. "Oho! If only things in life were that easy!" He shot them a winning smile, as he added congenially, "Alas, Headmaster Dippet cannot change the rules set forth by the very Founders, nor would he, for a matter such as this-"

"The Headmaster can't," interjected Walburga Black sharply, glaring at the wizard. "But the Governors could. My father is on the Board-"

"Give it a rest, sister! Professor Slughorn already said that nothing can be done," piped in Alphard Black with exasperation, as he shot Harry a covert, apologetic glance. "Let's just try to get along with them-"

Harry saw the boy's glance, but didn't respond to it. He was having a hard time, as it was, not to hunch his shoulders defensively against the onslaught of contemptuous repugnance thrown his way.

"Shut up, Alphie – who asked you!" snarled Walburga, to then address the other students. "Let us all write to our parents, demanding that the mudbloods be re-sorted." She spun around and rounded on Abraxas Malfoy. "Especially you, Malfoy. Your grandfather is the Head of the Board of Governors." She narrowed her eyes at the boy, and demanded forcefully, "You'll write to him, won't you?"

Abraxas arched an eyebrow at her, and said impassively, "I will."

Walburga's eyes narrowed even further, apparently not satisfied with the boy's terse reply, as she spat, "And you'll make him convince the other Governors to have the mudbloods re-sorted, or better yet, expelled?"

"I cannot 'make' my grandfather do anything," drawled Abraxas in a bored tone of voice. "He'll act as he sees fit." He then shot her a frosty smirk. "However, if I were you, I wouldn't count on the Governors doing anything about this matter."

Walburga bristled, before her face contorted as she sneered contemptuously, "I don't know why I turned to you. You're glad that there're mudbloods among us, aren't you? To have two who are even lower than yourself." She nastily smirked at him, as she spat snidely, "We all know _what_ you are, after all."

Abraxas stiffened at that, his silver eyes turning chilly with icy fury, as many students gasped in outrage, showing their defense of the boy, while a few sniggered as they shot Malfoy spiteful, resentful or demeaning looks, and others simply gazed from girl to boy, with hungry looks of anticipation at the oncoming confrontation.

"I dare you to come out with it openly," hissed out Abraxas very quietly, as he took a step towards the girl. "Why, we could solve our differences in a dueling match-"

"I would best you in the bat of an eyelash," jeered Walburga, her dark grey eyes gleaming meanly.

Abraxas let out a short, hard laugh. "You're not the only one who's being tutored in the Dark Ar-"

Slughorn loudly cleared his throat, looking agitated. "Children, children – please!"

"This is ridiculous – we were talking about what to do with the mudbloods!" someone yelled with angered impatience. "I don't want to stay up all night because of this. Let's agree once and for all what to do about them!"

That brought on another round of voiced opinions, and abruptly, Dorea Black appeared before Harry and Tom.

She looked irked beyond measure, but didn't even glance at them as she commanded sharply, "Come along, I'll take you to your dormitory. It's best if you're out of sight."

Harry didn't think about it twice and instantly followed her, glad to go as far away as possible from the hateful mob. Tom trailed after them in silence, and Harry shot him a glance over his shoulder, not quite discerning what his brother might be thinking about the whole affair.

At the very back and right side of the common room, they passed through an archway and went down a spiral staircase, landing on the first subfloor. It was circular, with three doors, each with a silver plaque displaying fine, elegant inscriptions. The one on the door that Dorea Black opened read: 'First Year Boys'.

Before entering the room, Harry noticed that the staircase continued downwards, evidently to other deeper levels housing the dormitories of the fourth-year boys and onwards.

Their dorm-room was circular as well, illuminated by torches perched along the walls, with seven canopied, four-poster beds. Harry had never seen beds like those: they had heavy, velvety curtains at all sides, of a dark green lined with silver thread; the bed posts had beautifully carved figures of serpents that were wrapped along it.

At the left side of each bed, there was an oval floor-carpet, a nightstand, a desk, and an ornate wardrobe displaying Slytherin House's crest. And above each desk, there were round windows, much smaller than those in the common room but still evidently enchanted since they gave different views of the bottom of the lake.

In the very center of the room, there was a stone plinth with a basin-like top filled with wood pieces, a fire merrily crackling. It didn't even have a chimney; the smoke rose a few inches from the flames and then vanished into thin air. There was a waist-high rail surrounding it, so that no one would fall into the fire by accident, Harry surmised.

There was only one other door besides the entrance's one, which had to lead to the bathroom. It divided the circular room in two uneven halves: one with four beds and their corresponding furniture, the other side with three.

Seven trunks had been left at one side of the entrance door. Evidently, they were supposed to choose which beds to take.

"Where's my owl?" demanded Tom suddenly. Harry turned around to see his brother gesturing at Lord Horkos' empty cage, which sat on top of his trunk.

Dorea Black shot Tom a glance and replied tartly, "The house-elves took it to the owlerly, obviously. That is where owls are kept."

She then spun around to leave the room without sparing them a second glance.

"Where's the owlerly?" asked Tom sharply before the girl disappeared.

"Near Figwig Ogg's cottage, in the school grounds," was Dorea Black's terse, irritated reply before she left, closing the door shut behind her.

As soon as she was gone, both of them dragged their trunks to the right side of the circular room, the one that had the three beds. Tom instantly chose the bed further away from the entrance door, leaving Harry to take the middle one.

Tom didn't waste a single second and he began unpacking all his things, putting his books, parchments, inkbottles, and quills inside his desk, to then proceed to hang all his clothes in his wardrobe. Meanwhile, Harry merely plopped down on his bed, deciding he would leave his unpacking for the following morning, too tired to even attempt it at present.

As he observed his brother, he muttered, "Do you think we'll get expelled? Or be forced to be sorted again?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," said Tom dismissively, as he continued with his task.

Harry sighed, and then flopped down on his bed, crossing his arms under his head, staring up at the canopy as he grumbled, "They hate us. What are we going to do?"

"Do?" scoffed out Tom, briefly glancing at him. "We didn't come here to make friends but to learn as much as we can about magic." He shot him a sneer. "I couldn't care less if they don't like me."

"But I do care," murmured Harry sullenly. "I didn't imagine it would be like this. I do want to have some friends."

Tom halted and turned around to give him a disgusted look. "Stop moping about it. You're never going to have friends in Slytherin House, you might as well accept it and get over it." He then closed the doors of his wardrobe, with his pajamas and toothbrush in hand, and commanded shortly, "Come, let's get ready for bed. I want to show you something before the others get here."

Intrigued, Harry obeyed. He plucked out his old, worn pajamas from his trunk, along with his toothbrush, and followed his brother into the bathroom. There, he halted, gaping at his surroundings.

"They have indoor plumbing for everything!" breathed out Harry, marveled.

The bathroom was all made of stone, like the rest of Slytherin House, with seven individual toilet stalls at the left. But in the middle of the room, there were large, stone sinks jutting out from the wall, each with two faucets – for cold and hot water, it seemed!

He had heard that wealthy folk had that, but at the orphanage they certainly didn't. When Mrs. Sharpe had died and Kathy Cole became the Matron, she had managed to save money for many months and had finally paid to have plumbing installed in the orphanage, but only for the kitchen and the toilets. They still had to carry water in buckets, from the kitchen up to the bathroom in the boys' floor, so that they could pour some of it in the washbasin, for their daily ablutions of brushing their teeth, cleaning their faces and hands.

Moreover, they bathed in the kitchen, where they brought in a tub made of aluminum, just big enough for a child to sit in with his knees drawn to his chest. They heated water in the kitchen stove and then poured it inside the tub, using a bar of soap and a flannel to scrub the dirt off their bodies and hair. That was once a week, ever since Mrs. Cole became the Matron, of course. Before that, under Mrs. Sharpe's rule, the caregivers had only bathed them twice a month, if they were lucky. Tom had always angrily complained about it. His brother was very fastidious about personal hygiene.

Tom was going to be in paradise here, Harry thought, as he caught sight of the right side of the room, where there were seven tubs made of stone, sprouting from the floor; the largest tubs he had ever seen. He could fit, fully stretch out his legs, and still have plenty of spare room! And each of them had a series of different faucets - he wondered at that. They were seemingly made of bronze, copper, silver, gold, or other likewise colored metals. But it was clear that there was no rationing of water here, and Harry rather liked the idea of being able to bathe everyday if he wanted.

Eagerly, he sprang towards the sinks, where Tom was standing, looking puzzled. Above the sinks there was an enormous oval mirror, and at one side, between the sinks and the tubs, a whole expanse of wall had seven rails, one on top of the other, with many fluffy, dark green towels of different sizes with the Slytherin crest embroidered near the hems.

However, it wasn't that which had Tom perplexed, or Harry, when he realized what the problem was. Under the large mirror, along the back of the sinks, there was an array of decanter-like, crystal bottles. The tall ones had a purple liquid inside; the shorter, a blue one.

"Where's the toothpowder?" said Harry bemused. "And the soap bar?"

He glanced at the tubs, but there wasn't any bars of soap there either, instead, also flasks of varied-colored liquids.

Harry blinked, gazing back at the sinks. They had brought their toothbrushes along with them, since when Kathy became the Matron she had bought one toothbrush for every child. The handles were made of cattle bone and the bristles of wild boar or horse hair. They were quite a luxury for them. With Mrs. Sharpe, they had had to use their fingers.

However, they hadn't thought of bringing toothpowder too. They had imagined that the school would have it. How else were they supposed to clean their teeth, if not? But there, on the sinks, he didn't see any glasses either, just very small crystal cups. Nonetheless, toothpowder had to be mixed with water in a glass so that they could stick their toothbrushes in.

"I don't think wizards use toothbrushes or soap bars," muttered Tom, as he picked up one of the purple decanters. He plucked out the stopper and, instantly, bubbles popped out of the bottle. Tom gave them a sniff. "Smells like some sort of herb. This must be soap."

"Soap in liquid form?" said Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"It's a potion of some kind, I believe. But yes, soap, in essence."

"Then, if the purple liquid is soap, the blue one…" Harry trailed off and grasped one of the shorter bottles – these ones didn't have any stoppers. He opened his mouth and tilted the bottle. When nothing came down, he shook it, but only two drops slowly landed on his tongue. Nevertheless, nothing else happened.

"Try it with water," said Tom as he turned the knob of one of the faucets, quickly filling one of the tiny crystal cups and offering it to Harry.

Harry nodded and poured the small measure of water inside his mouth. Then he gasped, his eyes round, when a sort of whirlwind exploded inside his mouth. In the next second, the sensation vanished along with the water, yet his teeth, his tongue, his very breath, felt utterly refreshed and cleaner than he had ever experienced before.

He opened his mouth and stared at himself in the mirror – why, his teeth even seemed to be sparkly white!

Harry chuckled as he passed the bottle and cup to Tom. "This is tooth liquid soap, then, to call it something. Try it!"

After that, they quickly cleaned themselves up and changed into their pajamas, returning to the bedroom. Harry folded the school clothes he had been wearing and left them in his trunk, while Tom hanged his inside his wardrobe.

The other boys still hadn't arrived. The heated debate in the common room was certainly taking them a long while – what to do with the mudbloods, indeed!

Harry grunted angrily as he plopped himself down on Tom's bed. "What did you want to show me?"

Tom lifted the top of his desk and extracted a thick, large book from it, before he took a seat by Harry's side.

When Harry caught sight of the title, he groaned loudly, "Hogwarts a History?" He shot his brother a pitiful glance and whined, "Tooom, really..."

"Stop complaining, this is important," snapped Tom sharply, as he started to ruffle through the pages. Then, he settled the book between them, as he pointed at a page. "Here – see this."

Harry sighed and then took a peek. He cocked his head to a side when he saw a picture of a scowling, ugly wizard dressed in dark green robes, with a long grey beard, spiky eyebrows, and a bald head.

What caught his attention was the red flower pinned in the middle of the wizard's chest. It was exactly the same as the one Maximillian Malfoy had been wearing in the platform of the Hogwarts Expresss. And once again, the flower looked very familiar to him. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

He dismissed the notion as he read the title at the very top of the page, seeing the name of the wizard.

"So Salazar Slytherin looked like a constipated monkey chewing on a wasp, so what?" intoned Harry flatly. Then he frowned and glanced at the picture again. "Why isn't it moving?"

"Because it's not a picture of his portrait," bit out Tom, looking extremely annoyed. "All the original portraits of the Founders were lost or accidentally destroyed throughout the ages. This is a picture of a likeness painted by some unknown wizard who lived in the Founders' time." He shot Harry an irritated look. "It wasn't the picture what I wanted you to see, but this."

Tom pointed at a passage, as he continued speaking, his tone of voice now excited, "Here says that Salazar Slytherin was the first known Parselmouth in Europe. And it explains what that means – he spoke Parseltongue. He could speak to snakes, Harry. That's what we are, Parselmouths!"

"Oh." Harry blinked. Well, that certainly explained what Slytherin's voice had been yapping about in the Hat. But he still didn't see why his brother was so giddy.

He shrugged. "So we know what our ability is called." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Tom, I thought you had found something interesting-"

"You're a half-brained imbecile!" hissed out Tom, looking beside himself with aggravation. "The Sorting Hat spoke to me, Harry. It said that the only place for me was the House of my forefather! Don't you understand what it means?" A feverish gleam glinted in his eyes, as he continued exultantly, gesturing wildly at the book, "It says here that his line died off centuries ago – evidently they don't know – they can't imagine – I'm Slytherin's descendant – his lost Heir!"

Harry frowned at him and when Tom caught sight of his look, the expression on his handsome face swiftly changed.

Tom let out a little cough, and then said smoothly, waving a hand in an encompassing manner, "And you're his Heir too, of course. Obviously, since you're my twin."

"Yes, I know that," snapped Harry crossly. "The blasted hat spoke to me too, Tom. And it said loads of things. That I had Slytherin's tongue – now I know what it meant – and that I have Slytherin's blood, and they also said-"

"What – what do you mean?" Tom stared at him oddly. He cleared his throat, piercing him with his eyes, a slight expression of disbelief on his face. "It said you had Slytherin's blood?"

Harry shot him an impatient scowl. "Duh - yes! It's practically the same as what the Hat told you, isn't it? That Slytherin is our forefather – our ancestor, that we have his blood, that we're his descendants…" He rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Really, Tom, what's the matter with you?"

Tom stared at him some more, and then cleared his throat again, to intone placidly, "Well, yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to explain to you." He then shot him an irritated look. "You don't seem to understand just how important this is."

He gestured briskly at the book. "If you had read it, you'd know that we're the descendants of a very powerful wizard. Indeed, he was considered the most powerful of his time – the first Dark Lord, because even if he didn't lead dark pureblood wizards in a revolt or a war, he was the first to warn people about the evils of reproducing with mudbloods, how it weakened the magical bloodlines, and the dangers of letting them study at Hogwarts, since they went back to their muggle families and disclosed the secrets of the Magical World-"

"He did those things… and you admire him for it?" interrupted Harry incredulously, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Tom glowered at him, and bit out shortly, "There's no doubt he was a great wizard and I'm sure he was right in many things. Not only that, but he was, allegedly, a genius. A Potions Master who created all sorts of groundbreaking potions, especially for fertility. But my point is, that he surpassed all in power." An exhilarated expression spread on his face. "We've inherited his Parselmouth trait, so it can only mean that we are very powerful too."

He leaned forward, intently pinning Harry with his gaze, as he rushed out in a whisper, "And the book mentioned that magical children have bouts of 'accidental magic' – uncontrolled displays, that means. But do you remember the things we did in the orphanage? That wasn't accidental magic, Harry! We were controlling our magic, even if we didn't know. You made Puffy the Bunny dance, and the toys you wanted moved to your hand, and you heal quickly, and could manipulate the length of your hair. And I can move things around, I hanged the rabbit from the rafters, and I could make anyone hurt just by wanting it! And you disappeared from the backyard and appeared in our room when Dennis Bishop was hurling stones at you – that's called Apparation, Harry, and wizards learn how to do it when they're seventeen!"

"Oh!" breathed out Harry, his eyes wide as he took in such revelations. But then he frowned, pensively. "So that's why you're so excited about us being Slytherin's descendants?" He cocked his head to a side. "Just because it means that we're powerful?"

Tom sprang back to his former position, and leveled at him a disappointed and angered glance, as he sneered, "_Just_? Does it seem a small matter to you that we have the capacity to become the greatest and most powerful of wizards-"

Harry snorted, and his brother shot him such a venomous look that Harry quickly held up a hand, as he piped in, "Yes, it would be nice if we grew up to be powerful wizards-"

"Nice!" exclaimed Tom indignantly, a furious look beginning to grow on his face.

Harry continued without pausing, merely rolling his eyes, "But I'm more interested in what we can do now." He fiercely glowered at his brother, and bit out angrily, "Why are you making everyone believe that we're muggleborns and with two muggle parents who are alive, to boot!"

"Ah," said Tom nonchalantly, giving him a superior look. "I have a good reason for it-"

"I bet you do. I know you've been plotting something. But I don't care what you're up to," snapped Harry hotly, pointing a finger at the door of their room. "Our housemates hate us and I don't want to put up with that! Now that we know we're Slytherin's descendants, let's tell them!" He leaned forward, as he added eagerly, "You've heard the things they've been saying about how horrid it is to have mudbloods in their great, esteemed House. Obviously, they worship Salazar Slytherin. So if we told them-"

"No," snapped Tom decisively, narrowing his eyes at him. "I don't want anyone knowing about it. It's bad enough that Dumbledore-" he acidly sneered the name "-knows we're Parselmouths. So for now, we'll keep it a secret-"

"But I don't understand!" bellowed Harry, nearly yanking his hair in frustration. "I would have thought that you, in particular, would want everyone to know how 'special' we are-"

"Oh, but I do," Tom intoned pleasantly, a wide, devious smirk spreading on his face as he calmly stretched out his legs along the bed. "But I have it all planned out, it involves several stages, and now is not the time to reveal our ancestry and our Parselmouth ability. Not yet, that will be the very last stage."

"Stages?" Harry stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Then he glowered at him and said heatedly, "Well, you better start explaining this plan of yours!"

Tom shot him a superior look, as he said coolly, "Never you mind what my plan is, leave it all to me-"

"Tom," hissed out Harry warningly. "Spills the beans or I'll-"

"Fine, you little pest," spat Tom with vexed irritation, shooting him a glower. "I'm not in the mood to put up with your hissy fits, so I'll tell you a part of my plan." He gave him a hard look. "It's the most important of all, so you'll have to be satisfied with knowing only that."

"Alright," muttered Harry, suspiciously narrowing his eyes at him.

Tom picked up 'Hogwarts, a History – New Unabridged Edition!', and flipped a page, to then point a finger at a title. "What does it say here?"

Harry leaned forward, and read out loud, "The Legend of the Chamber of Secrets." He shot his brother a puzzled, curious glance.

Tom answered it be looking very self-satisfied, as he said amiably, "Apparently, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin got into a fight, because Slytherin insisted that mudbloods shouldn't be accepted in Hogwarts and Gryffindor, in particular, opposed this. After their fight, Slytherin left the school, never to be seen again. However, it's believed that, before leaving, Slytherin had built a chamber somewhere in the castle, that only he could enter. And that there's a monster in it, that only he and his descendants could control, since it's said that the monster's duty, if released, is to kill all the mudbloods in the school."

His dark blue eyes gleamed with excitement, as he added gleefully, "Clearly, the Chamber can only be found by a Parselmouth because, obviously, it can only be accessed by speaking Parseltongue. Proof of this is that many have tried to find the Chamber and failed. And the monster must be a snake of some kind, since only Slytherin and his descendants, Parselmouths, can control it, according to the Legend."

And with that, Tom stared at Harry, looking supremely smug and pleased with himself.

Harry blinked back at him, before he said slowly, "And you're happy about this because…?" The next moment, he shut his eyes close, and groaned dismally. "Tom, don't tell me you actually want to find this Chamber place!"

"Of course I do," intoned Tom arrogantly.

"Whatever the hell for?" exhaled Harry dismayed, as he opened his eyes and peered at his brother anxiously. "It has a bloody monster, you said so yourself!"

Tom arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you would be interested in this." He then added with a jeer, "Given that you always like to go around, having little adventures-"

"Not if there's a ruddy _monster_ involved!" snapped Harry, crossing his arms over his small chest. "I value my life, thank you very much!"

Tom scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "The monster wouldn't be dangerous for us. We're Parselmouths and thus can control it-"

"If the Legend is right," pointed out Harry acerbically, "and there's no way of knowing if it is until it's too late and we're there, face to face with who-knows what kind of creature! And it would go about killing muggleborns, to boot!"

"Well, we can tell it not to kill mudbloods," granted Tom graciously with a magnanimous air, "if it's so important to you."

Harry shot him a hard look. "I'm going to choose to believe that you were not seriously considering letting the thing loose in the castle, to go on on a muggleborn killing spree." He huffed, and squared his shoulders. "So given that, what's the point of finding the Chamber?"

Tom shot him a vexed glower, as he gritted out impatiently, "Don't you see that by finding the Chamber of Secrets we would be proving that not only we're Parselmouths but also Slytherin's Heirs? It's the only way of proving it to others-"

"You want to take our housemates to the Chamber," asked Harry astonished, "when we find it?"

"Only one of them," replied Tom nonchalantly. "I've been observing the Slytherins and paying attention to their conversations. And given what that Prefect girl said, it's obvious there's a hierarchy in the House, led by 'The Two'." He sneered at the ridiculous title. "Added to that, what the Prewett twins told us – basically that the Malfoys are the most influential dark pureblood family- and having seen how most students took Abraxas Malfoy's side when that screeching Black girl accused him of being a 'thing' – whatever she meant by it – it's clear that Malfoy will become one of the leaders."

Tom waved a hand dismissively, as he added, "For as long as I allow him to, obviously." He shot Harry a superior look. "Evidently, when I deem that the time is right, it will be I who will take the reins of the House," he said as if it was already a fait accompli. "It's my birthright, after all, being Slytherin's Heir." Then he glanced at him, and offered in an indulgent, generous tone of voice, "Yours too, if you're interested."

"Not really." Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll leave it all to you." Then he shook his head, and muttered as he shot him a dubious glance, "So you want us to only take Abraxas Malfoy with us, when we find the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Exactly," said Tom pleasantly. "He'll be our witness and no one will doubt his word when he spreads the word around the House that we are indeed Slytherin's Heirs." He pierced Harry with his eyes, as he added matter-of-factly, "Don't you see that if we told them right now that we're Parselmouths, and even talked to a snake in front of them, they would have no reason to believe us? They wouldn't understand the language, to them it would sound like gibberish hisses, and they'd think we were merely imitating the sounds. But finding and opening the Chamber, proves it."

"Ah." Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "You're right. I didn't think about that."

Tom nodded at him. "Furthermore, it's also important that by then we've shown that we're outstanding. We must have earned their grudging respect. I'll have no problem with that, since I'm brilliant." He waved a hand as if it was a foregone conclusion. "You-" he skewered Harry with a hard gaze "- I won't let you be mediocre. You'll have excellent marks even if I have to tutor you myself, like I did with Alice's lessons-"

"Yes, yes," mumbled Harry grimly, rolling his eyes, "because it would reflect badly on you if I didn't do well, and all that rot – I've heard it all before."

Tom shot him a satisfied glance, and then leaned forward to be inches away from Harry, as he smirked at him, intoning softly, "Don't look so dejected, little brother. You're going to get something else out of this. I'll be using every spare time I have researching about the Slytherin line and the Chamber of Secrets in the library. Meanwhile, I want you to explore the whole castle, looking for the entrance-"

"That will take me ages!" burst out Harry, appalled.

"Perhaps a few years," agreed Tom coolly. "Hogwarts has seven floors, not counting the dungeons and its levels, and there must be hundreds of rooms in total. Only a small section of the castle is used nowadays, according to Hogwarts a History." He shot Harry a pointed glance. "But if you take a couple of hours every week, to go about the castle, then in three or four years you ought to find the entrance. And I might come across some clues in books that might help you narrow the search."

Harry mutinously glowered at him, as he groused, "Why do I have to be the one who does all the field work-"

"Would you rather spend those hours cooped up in the library doing research?" jeered Tom, shooting him a pointed, knowing look. "We'll each do what we do best."

Harry jutted out his chin, not all satisfied with the arrangement. He would be doing all the hard work, as far as he was concerned. Yes, he enjoyed exploring new places, and Hogwarts was certainly very interesting, given all that magic thrumming about, but he would be working on it for several years, and Tom evidently wouldn't be researching for that long.

Seeing Harry's expression, Tom leaned forward and whispered ever so cajolingly and softly, "If you help me find the Chamber of Secrets, I'll help you find our father."

Harry gave him an affronted look. "You must think I'm a complete idiot-"

"Of course I do," hummed Tom, a little taunting smirk on his lips.

Harry snorted, and then continued hotly, "That's no deal! You have a reason now to be interested in finding our dad. You're not going to help me look for him to do me a favor, you'll do it for yourself." He crossed his arms over his small chest, as he huffed out, "I'll only agree to all this if it's clear that you'll owe me a _huge _favor. Take it or leave it."

Tom darkly glowered at him, and finally gritted out grudgingly, "Very well. But I reserve the right to refuse if I don't like what you ask of me in return."

"I can live with that," said Harry, cheekily grinning at him as he flopped down on Tom's pillow, very satisfied with himself.

Tom scowled, clearly not appreciating that Harry had gotten the upper hand, but Harry ignored him as he mused out loud, "You know, about this whole thing of being Slytherin's descendants…" Seeing Tom's irked, dark look, he added quickly, "No, of course I believe it. The Hat said it to you and to me too. And there's also the Parseltongue thing. It's just that…" He shook his head, trying to clear up his ideas, and finally glanced at Tom, as he said quietly, "Well, remember what the goblin guarding Gringotts said? I'm thinking that perhaps our mom was the witch, and Slytherin's descendant, and not dad-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" sneered Tom at him, shooting him an utterly disdainful look.

"Wait – hear me out!" said Harry adamantly, sitting upwards, crossing his legs. He took a deep breath, and expounded, "The goblin said that no Riddle ever had a vault in Gringotts. And we know that dad is British, given his name-"

"There are countless reasons that could explain why he doesn't have a vault-"

"Yes, but wouldn't the simplest explanation be the right one?" insisted Harry stubbornly. "That dad is a muggle, and that our mother was the witch, and since we don't know her first or last name, we can't ask the goblins. But since she was a witch, then her family does have a vault, and they're alive, and that's why the goblins have never sent us a key?"

Tom shot him a disgusted look, as if he were beholding a brain-damaged simpleton. "Our mother couldn't have been the magical one."

"I don't see why not," persisted Harry vehemently.

Tom angrily rounded on him as he spat, "A witch wouldn't have been in our neighborhood, giving birth in an orphanage, of all places, like a whore! Haven't you seen how the Prewett twins are, and our own housemates? They know nothing of the Muggle World, they have never set foot, nor would want to, in a Muggle town or city. So if our mother was a witch, what was she doing in our neighborhood? Tell me that!"

"There could be many reasons," insisted Harry pigheadedly. "Perhaps she was curious. Maybe she decided to visit Muggle London-"

"And she ended up in our pathetic, run down, dirty neighborhood," sneered Tom mockingly, "because it's such a tourist attraction, is it?"

"Well, no," gritted out Harry. "But we don't know what her situation was." He shook his head, and muttered irritably, "I don't see why you refuse to even consider the possibility-"

"Because she DIED!" bellowed Tom at him, so suddenly and violently that Harry was left blinking at him, gobsmacked.

At last, Harry gazed at him warily, and then said softly, "Everyone dies, Tom."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him in sheer anger and contempt, as he hissed out, "Not magical people - wizards and witches have twice the lifespan that muggles have! And haven't you been flipping through our textbooks, haven't you seen all the things that magic can do? I have! And with potions alone you can heal yourself, and make your body stronger, and who knows what else! A witch wouldn't die like our mother did! She wasn't even ill – she just simply died, like the pathetic, wretched, filthy muggle that she was!"

He leaned forward, his face inches away from Harry's, as he whispered furiously, an utterly revolted, hateful expression on his face, "And the worst of it is, that I'm Slytherin's Heir but I'm also poisoned with her blood - her same weakness runs through my veins, her tainted, weak, common blood. Well, I'm not going to end up like her, I'll tell you that much! If there's some way of ridding myself of her taint, I'll do it. If not, I'll invent one myself! I'm never going to die like she did!"

Harry stared at him, gaping. Then, suddenly struck by the realization, he breathed out, "You're scared - scared of death."

Tom instantly stiffened, his expression turning thunderous. But Harry could only feel a flash of pity, sadness, and compassion. In the bat of an eyelash, he flung himself at his brother, wrapping his thin arms around him, as he murmured soothingly, "It's all right, Tom. You'll never die like mum did." He warred with his emotions for a second, feeling guilty and a bit sick, but then he added nonetheless, for his brother's sake, "It's true, she was weak and pathetic, but you're nothing like that."

Tom struggled against him for a moment, but Harry just tightened his hold, like a stubborn octopus, and didn't let go. In the end, Tom sagged, but it was so abruptly that it caught Harry unprepared. With surprised grunts, they both fell backwards on Tom's bed due to their compounded weights.

Harry chuckled as he disentangled himself from his brother, and then lied on his tummy by his side, propping himself up with his elbows as he peered at him, murmuring quietly, "I don't think you should be afraid of dying-"

"Only a simpleton wouldn't be scared of death," bit out Tom, turning his head towards him, narrowing his eyes to slits. "There's nothing after death, Harry." He then added with a contemptuous sneer, "Or are you telling me that you believed the rubbish that Father Patrick preached from the pulpit – about God and Heaven and Hell?"

"Not really," Harry muttered. Then he paused and added pensively, "But I do think that there must be something afterwards-"

"There's nothing, you dolt!" snarled Tom with angered exasperation. "You simply cease to exist – so who would want that?" He shook his head, and then said through clenched teeth, "And I bet that wizards have all sorts of ways of making themselves live longer. Why would they have double the lifespan of muggles, if not? That's something else I'm determined to research. I'll find a way to live as long as possible." His dark eyes suddenly gleamed, as if he had been struck by a marvelous possibility. "Why, maybe with magic and by being very powerful, one could even become immortal-"

Harry snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "If there were immortal wizards strutting about, I'm sure the Prewett twins would have mentioned it."

"What of magical creatures, then?" interjected Tom sharply, glowering at him. "The Prewetts said that dragons were ancient - that they lived for hundreds of years, some even reaching a millennia. If they can last so long, then a powerful wizard could surely find the way too."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see the point myself." He shot his brother a warm smile. "I'll be happy if we both grow old together and die peacefully, surrounded by our families. That's the best way to go."

"Only you would think that," sneered Tom snidely. "Dying like an ordinary, sappy muggle." He shook his head with disdain. "Well, that's not for me." He shot Harry a hard look, as he added harshly, "And I won't let you end up like that either. No, after Hogwarts, we'll travel all around the Magical World," he added with a thoroughly determined tone of voice, "and we'll learn all sorts of magic, and we'll find ways of making us stronger, invincible, and immortal."

"Alright, Tom, if you say so," murmured Harry drowsily as he crossed his arms and rested his head on them, knowing of course, that it wouldn't come to happen, quite convinced that it was impossible.

"What are you doing?" demanded Tom briskly.

Harry opened one eye and peered at him, as he groused, "I was falling asleep, you idiot. Thanks very much."

"You're not sleeping in my bed!" hissed out Tom angrily.

At that, both of Harry's eyes flung open, and he stared at his brother, taken aback. "What do you mean? We've always slept on the same bed."

"Well, we're not doing that here," snapped Tom shortly, glaring at him. "Do you want the other boys to see us sharing a bed, come morning? I'm not giving them reason to mock us!"

"I don't care two straws about what they think!" said Harry hotly, as he pulled himself up, glowering down at his brother.

"I do, about this," bit out Tom incensed. "And we're not little boys anymore, Harry. We'll be turning twelve this December. It had to stop at some point!"

"But what if I get the nightmare?" spluttered Harry, his green eyes wide. "It always makes my scar hurt and only you can soothe it-"

"You'll have to learn to deal with it on your own," said Tom harshly, shoving him away.

Harry clutched the bed sheets to keep his balance, as he gasped out, "Tom, you can't be serious!"

"I am – get out!" hissed out Tom, this time pushing him so forcefully that Harry nearly hit the floor on his bum.

He managed to steady himself on his legs, though, and he stared incredulously as his brother yanked the curtains of his bed shut, leaving Harry out, standing there.

"FINE. SEE IF I CARE, YOU ASS!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs the next second, feeling deeply hurt, despondent, and dejected.

He sullenly dragged himself to his bed like a kicked puppy, and burrowed under the covers, sniffling.

Not a minute after, he heard the other first-year boys entering the room and moving about. At some point, he even heard them whispering among themselves, as if plotting something. But he didn't have the spirits to even care.

He tossed and turned and rolled around in his bed, finding it impossible to get comfortable and fall asleep, so used he was to always having his brother's warm body by his side.

The hours seemed to stretch by eternally, and at some point, after he had firmly shut his eyes close in another attempt to force himself to drowse, he saw the face of the beautiful, mysterious woman; the image unraveling like a mist in the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

He didn't wonder if it was a hallucination or some strange conjure of his imagination, this time. He simply sleepily basked in the beauty of the golden-haired woman, and sighed as her soft, cultured voice echoed in his ears, singing Alice's lullaby.

There seemed to be a sorrowful or worried tinge in her voice, but it was still so soft, soothing and cradling, that Harry murmured placidly, feeling a deep pang of yearning at the same time that his whole body relaxed. He even had the sensation that he was wrapped in her arms, being gently and lovingly rocked against her chest.

Harry fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, with the image of her beautiful, ethereal face like a blanket warmly wrapping his mind, and her soft, singing voice like a caress soothing his soul.


	16. Part I: Chapter 15

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thank you very much to all of those who reviewed – hugs and kisses to you! ;)

Elelith pointed out something I think it's interesting because I had to muse about the subject when writing the last chapter–thanks for that, Elelith!- and other reviewers also commented on it. Here goes her remark: "But are you sure you didn't overplay the Mudblood sentiment a little. I mean, the whole anti-muggleborn thing is not at its peak, and even in canonHarry Potter, the Slytherins veiled their disgust..."

Answering back… Well, I rather thought that the anti-muggleborn sentiment back then must have been even stronger than in canon years, because in the 1940s the dark purebloods must have been very emboldened, since they had a Dark Lord in Europe, Grindelwald, who was succeeding, already having two countries in his grasp so far (Germany and Austria) – Voldemort never managed a small fraction of that. And unlike canon -when the Slytherins had to watch what they said because many of their relatives or parents had been put on trials or gone to Azkaban for supporting Voldemort in his First Rise- these Slytherins of the 1940s haven't known such defeat yet, and thus are arrogant, over confident, and more outspoken. But still, the Slytherins wouldn't openly go calling mudbloods to other muggleborns at school. They openly did so to Harry and Tom because they are from their same house, so it would remain in-house, so to speak. And of course that with Slughorn, as their Head of House, they would see no reason to not openly say what they believed. And also, at the Slytherin table, the younger Slytherins yelled and forgot themselves, firstly because they're still children and thus don't have the restrain and coolness of the older Slytherins, and secondly because they must have been extremely shocked – there had never been muggleborns in Slytherin House before- and also because none of them had ever been confronted with a muggleborn before in their lives. So given all this, I thought their reactions should be a little bit explosive.

Answering a doubt, the 'mysterious woman' Harry sees is Narcissa Malfoy. If you'll remember, in Chapter 1 of Part II, 'Santi' told her to sing to her baby the lullaby, to create a connection and anchor Harry's soul in his new baby body. That Harry Riddle from time to time sees her face and hears her voice singing Alice's lullaby is just an side effect of that, because he is tied to the timelines and the past and future, since he's the 'anchor' and the time-traveler.

This is also why Druella Rosier, who will be Narcissa's mother, looked so familiar to Harry, because he had already experienced seeing Narcissa's face when he was in Diagon Alley.

On another note, I'm aware that students at Hogwarts don't have Care of Magical Creatures in their first year, but they do in these times of the fic. In my fic, it was so, and it changed due to reasons we might see later.

I hope these explanations helped!

**Enjoy and Review, please!**

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**Part I: Chapter 15**

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The following morning, Harry was awoken by a loud, horrified gasp and by a blistering, piercing pain flaring in the scar on his forehead.

Feeling much rested after his night of sleep, Harry sat up straight and then pulled the curtains open of his bed. He instantly jumped to his feet when he caught sight of Tom, standing in his threadbare pajamas in front of his wardrobe and desk.

The doors of his brother's wardrobe were parted and Harry saw that all the clothes inside were destroyed, as if some wild animal had ripped them to pieces. The top of Tom's desk was wide open as well, showing all of his brother's destroyed quills, books, and parchments, as if claws had slashed them. The inkbottles were broken too, blue and black ink dripping from everywhere.

Given the staggering pain on his forehead, Harry knew that Tom had to be in a murderous fury, but his brother was merely standing there, his stance rigid but his expression blank.

Then, Harry realized that there was a terribly pungent bad smell in the room, and he finally moved around his bed and caught sight of the other boys in the room.

Alphard Black was standing near the entrance door; it seemed the boy had taken the only other bed on Harry's and Tom's side of the room. The boy's mouth was hanging open - clearly he had been the one who had gasped.

At the other side of the fire in the center of the room, stood the other four boys, dressed in tunic-like night clothes which appeared to be made of some soft, silky and thick material.

Abraxas Malfoy was silent, with a cool expression on his face, but Orion Black was tittering with nasty laughter, the hulking, meaty boy, Thaddeus Avery was shooting Harry and Tom a malevolent sneer, and Neron Lestrange was gazing at them with a cruel glint in his eyes and an expression of anticipation on his rough face.

"Look what he's wearing!" jeered Neron Lestrange, his brown eyes travelling along Harry's frame, his expression contemptuous. "Like his twin!" He shot Harry a disgusted look. "What – are you mudbloods dirty poor, to boot?"

Harry didn't answer since he was watching how Alphard Black slipped out of the room, unnoticed by the rest of the boys. He bristled with anger at that – it seemed the boy was fleeing! It had to mean that Alphard had participated in the nasty prank of destroying all of Tom's things.

Thaddeus Avery and Orion Black guffawed at Lestrange's jibe. And then Avery gestured at Tom's desk and wardrobe, as he sneered mockingly, "Do you like our little present?" The hulking boy then pointedly darted his eyes to Harry's trunk.

It was then that Harry realized that he hadn't been spared. He quickly approached his trunk, and he gasped in horror at the sight, realizing what was the source of the stench in the room.

His trunk was filled to the brim with muddy water, brown things floating on the surface. A message, in glittering green letters, floated in the air above: 'Dung for Mudblood Scum.'

And all his things were there! Unlike Tom, he hadn't unpacked the previous night.

Harry suddenly felt such a surge of fury that he swirled around and made a lunge for the boys, his small hands ready, clenched into fists.

"Don't!" hissed out Tom, instantly grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him back. "That's just what they want – do nothing!"

Harry shot him an incredulous glance and whispered back, angrily and nearly spluttering, "But they've wrecked all our stuff! How are we supposed to buy everything again? We don't have any galleons left except the three I have!"

"He was going to physically assault us!" cried out Orion Black in disbelief.

Neron Lestrange let out a scathing guffaw. "Because that's what filthy muggles do – they use their fists! They don't know how else to fight!"

Harry swung around at that, ready to jump at them again to show them just what Mr. Hutchins had taught him. He had managed to beat Dennis Bishop, thus against these boys he could land some painful blows and crack some noses before he was overwhelmed by their numbers.

However, Tom's tight grip on him prevented him from even attempting it. And just when he was about to wrench himself free from his brother's grasp in order to attack the boys, Dorea Black came sprinting into their room.

Alphard Black was right behind her, slipping into the room, panting as if he had ran for miles, but also quietly, clearly not wanting any of the others to notice him. He shot Harry a covert wink as he slinked towards his bed, looking very proud of himself.

Nevertheless, Harry utterly ignored him, which made Alphard look crestfallen for a moment.

Dorea took the scene before her with one sweep of her light grey eyes, and then instantly rounded on Abraxas Malfoy, as she said angrily, "Didn't you listen to what I said to all of you last night!"

Abraxas arched an eyebrow at her, as he said impassively, "I had nothing to do with this."

Dorea suspiciously narrowed her eyes at the boy, clearly believing that Abraxas must have been the mastermind behind the cruel prank. Harry would have thought so too, since from what he had seen, Malfoy was clearly the leader of his group of friends.

"_We_ did it, Aunt!" pronounced the handsome Orion Black, looking mutinous as he gestured at himself, Thaddeus Avery, and Neron Lestrange.

In a flash, Dorea turned around to pierce the boy with a furious scowl, then glowering at the other boys, as she spat, "I've had it with you little snots! Go and change in the bathroom and leave, before I hex you!" She gestured briskly at Harry's trunk and Tom's wardrobe and desk. "I'll deal with this."

"We're are not going anywhere," snarled Neron Lestrange, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the fifth-year girl, "if you're going to help the mudbloods and undo what we've done!"

Dorea bristled like an angry, ruffled cat. Indeed, her long, glossy black hair even seemed to start sticking in all directions, as she shook her head in fury. Then she paused, a wicked gleam in her light grey eyes.

"You're not going anywhere, you say?" she intoned placidly, then she graced the boys with a dangerous smirk. "We'll see about that."

In the bat of an eyelash, she whipped out her wand and swooped it in mid-air, in a slashing motion, as she snapped, "Divesto!"

The four boys' tunic-like sleepwear suddenly split in the middle and dropped to their feet, leaving them standing there, completely naked.

"Aunt 'Rea!" cried out Orion Black shocked and aghast, his handsome face flushing in mortification as he quickly covered his groin with his hands.

The hulking Thaddeus Avery stood there, his mouth opening and closing, dumbly, before he clutched a pillow to cover his private parts, looking too stunned to do anything else.

Abraxas Malfoy hadn't been spared either, and he had been the first to react, quickly getting a bed sheet and wrapping himself with it, his cheeks going pink.

Neron Lestrange had covered his bits with his hands, his face a splotchy, violent red, as he spluttered incoherently.

Alphard Black, the only one of the other boys who hadn't been affected, meanwhile, was covering his mouth with a hand, choking as he tried to repress his guffaws.

Then, Lestrange seemed to find his voice, and he thundered furiously, "How dare you do that! Uncovering our private parts!"

"You have nothing I haven't seen before," scoffed out Dorea Black. "And believe me, I have no interest in seeing your pathetic, little bitty pricks," she added, demonstrating by mockingly wiggling her pinky finger at them.

Neron Lestrange gaped, and then roared, "You have no shame, you scarlet witch!"

Dorea Black irreverently snorted, and then waved a hand at them, dismissively. "Scamper off now, you little snots, before I do something else to you."

"Let's go," said then Abraxas Malfoy, in a cool, commanding tone of voice. "I don't want to miss breakfast."

And with that, he grabbed his school bag and his clothes, entering the bathroom without sparing Dorea a second glance. His friends swiftly followed, though the moment they closed the door of the bathroom shut behind them, Harry could hear Neron Lestrange's and Thaddeus Avery's furious voices.

Alphard Black had also grabbed his things, but he had remained behind. He approached Harry now, looking hesitant for a brief moment. Then he squared his shoulders as he stood before him.

He gazed at him with entreating expression on his face, as he said vehemently, "I had no part in what they did. As soon as I saw, I went to fetch Dorea." The boy bit his lower lip, as he added quietly, "And I did try to warn you not to enter our compartment in the Hogwarts Express. You have to understand that I cannot openly-"

"Alphie," interrupted Dorea, her voice sharp as she narrowed her eyes at her nephew. "Go with the others. You can speak to him later."

Alphard looked uncertain for a second, but then he nodded. He shot Harry a wink and then dashed to the bathroom. Harry frowned, wondering just what the boy wanted from him.

As soon as they were alone, Dorea shot Harry a scowl, but she said nothing about the matter as she approached Tom's wardrobe. She merely grumbled under her breath as she wielded her wand, "Right, let's fix this, then."

It took her but a few moments and an uttered spell, to mend all of Tom's clothes, and as she moved towards the desk, Tom said solemnly, "We appreciate your help-"

"I'm not doing this for you," snapped Dorea irritably, without even glancing at them as she started waving her wand, fixing Tom's books, quills, parchments and inkbottles. "I'm not happy about having muggleborns in my House. Your presence here is causing much disruption. And if I hadn't come, Slughorn would have heard of it." She scoffed snidely. "Spineless, useless Head of House that he is, Slughorn, nonetheless, would have had no other option but to dock points from Slytherin for what your roommates did." She did glance at them, then, glowering darkly. "And that, I cannot have. I want to win the House Cup this year."

Then she went silent again, and moved to Harry's trunk. First, she siphoned the water, then vanished the dung, cleared the message, and finally proceeded to clean and dry all of Harry's things. It took her quiet a while, and Harry shifted on his feet, not sure what to make of her.

He glanced at Tom, seeing that his brother was scrutinizing her, with a calculating look in his eyes.

At some point, while Dorea was busy with Harry's stuff, the other boys came out of the bathroom, dressed in their school robes and with their school bags hanging from their shoulders.

Abraxas coolly waltzed out of the room without looking at them, with Orion Black trailing after him. Only Avery and Lestrange shot Dorea dirty, angry looks. And Alphard, the last, gave Harry a cheerful wave of the hand, before trotting out.

Harry scoffed and turned away, watching the girl and trying to learn, from observation, the many spells she was using, in case something like that happened again. Tom was doing the same.

Finally, Dorea finished with her task. Though she halted, a second later, moving a hand to touch her hair, as if finally realizing that there was something not quite right about it.

With a look of irritation, she then brandished her wand and spun it around her hair, which looked a mite messy.

Harry blinked, when, in the next moment, her hair was neatly groomed again; not a hair sticking out of place, all long, glossy, black waves now.

Dorea Black spun around to gaze at them, her eyes narrowing as she said briskly, "I _am_ going to keep my Slytherins in check in the House. Mind you, outside of the dormitories and the common room, you're on your own. The Slytherins will hex and jinx you, but you better not retaliate and lose us points-"

"If we're going to be attacked," burst out Harry with indignant anger, crossing his arms over his small chest, "then of course we'll defend ourselves and attack back–"

The fifth-year girl instantly rounded on him, and she hissed out warningly, "No, you won't, or I'll make your lives miserable." Dorea shot them a hard look. "You'll have to put up with it. You won't go complaining to any prefects, professors, or the Headmaster. I'm sure you can find other ways in which to prove to your housemates that bullying you is not the way to go."

"I'm sure we can," agreed Tom placidly, his lips tilted in a slight smirk.

At that, Dorea shot him a long, suspicious and scrutinizing glance. Then she nodded, apparently looking satisfied with whatever she had found.

Harry gave his brother a bewildered look, at Tom's easy compliance, but remained quiet.

"Very well," said Dorea, then letting out a deep exhalation of breath. "Now I'm going to teach you a couple of spells, to lock your trunks, your armoires, and the top of your desks." She leveled at them a dark look, as she muttered crossly, "And a charm to shut your curtains close, so that no one but you can open them. I overheard Walburga and a couple of second-years planning to slip into your room tonight, to hex you whilst you slept."

Harry stared at her, utterly surprised at her offer, and the girl instantly bit out, "Well, what are you waiting for! Get out your wands – I'm not about to be late for my first class, as well!"

The three of them only missed their breakfast, but she did teach them, briskly and impatiently, though quite effectively.

However, in the following weeks, it became quite a burden and an impossible task for Harry to try to keep their promise to Dorea Black.

They became the most hellish weeks of his life thus far. As the girl had warned them, they were attacked right, left and center. Not a day went by that Harry didn't get tripped or painfully elbowed, not to mention that he was frequently ambushed.

Normally, it happened around the corner of some corridor, as he returned from lunch or dinner from the Great Hall. A group of older Slytherins would always find him, often led by the nasty Walburga Black.

They had caught him unprepared many times, so quickly casting on him a series of hexes and jinxes, with his aggressors then quickly fleeing, that Harry could only drag himself up to the Hospital Wing. That was the one place in the castle that he came to know very well.

Miss Nightingale Wellbeloved, Hogwarts' mediwitch, always clucked her tongue when she saw him, eying him with compassion. During his first time in the Infirmary, the young witch had taken a shine to him, revealing that she was a halfblood.

The mediwitch's mother, a muggle, had apparently named her after the famous English muggle nurse, Florence Nightingale, who had done such a pioneering work in nursing during the Crimean War, tending to wounded soldiers.

The mediwitch was so proud of that, that she preferred to be addressed by her first name, as simply Miss Nightingale.

Once, when Harry had been laying on a bed, with feathers continually bursting from his mouth and with tentacles for hair, Miss Nightingale had tutted, "It's only ten days since the start of term and you've been here six times already."

She had shot him a considering look, and offered gently, "I don't usually report incidents to the Headmaster unless the wounds are grave, but I will, in your case, if you want me to do so."

Harry had sullenly shaken his head. He knew that that would only make matters worse, not to mention that Dorea Black would be furious if the Headmaster found out about what was happening which would obviously lead to points being taken from Slytherin House. And Tom wouldn't like it either.

So from then onwards, the mediwitch simply reversed the hexes and jinxes cast on him and healed him, if needed, and then send him away, shaking her head with a look of pity in her eyes.

Regardless, before that, the second time he had landed in the Infirmary, the Prewett twins had found out about it and had paid him a visit, bringing him bunches of Chocolate Frogs and a book – 'A 101 Most Nasty Hexes and their Counter-Spells'.

Felicity had been livid with fury when she had seen Harry's state; his face covered with painful boils, and his hands with enormous, hideous warts.

As she gave him the book, she had proclaimed vehemently, "We'll teach you as many jinxes and hexes as we know, and their counters."

"We're also telling our cousin Muriel, and the rest of the Gryffindors, to keep a watch out for you," piped in Felix, looking determined to help his friend.

The Prewett twins had indeed taught him many spells. During every bit of their spare, free time that they didn't use to do their homework, they slipped out of the castle to the school grounds, where they practiced their hexes, jinxes and counters.

However, it didn't make much difference. As soon as Harry demonstrated that he had learned how to cast back hexes, the Slytherins had taken to attack him from behind and from afar, to then quickly vanish before anyone could see them.

Moreover, having the Gryffindors protect him had only made matters much, much worse.

The first day when the Gryffindors had done so, Harry had been surrounded and greatly outnumbered, plastered against a wall as he shouted hex after hex. The ringleaders had been Walburga Black, Thaddeus Avery, and Neron Lestrange.

A second-year Gryffindor girl had suddenly come upon them, halting in her tracks. With her hair pulled back in a strict bun, and her lips pursing together in a flat line when she caught sight of the scene, she had swiftly turned around and ran towards a flock of older housemates who were coming around the corner. The girl was Minerva McGonagall, Harry would later find out.

The girl returned seconds later, with Muriel Prewett at her heels. The Head Girl's eyes had gleamed with triumph and much pleasure, as she snapped, "Fifty points deducted from each one of you for attacking a fellow housemate!"

Then Muriel's lips had twisted in an even greater, gleeful smile, as she turned her gaze to Harry. "And twenty points from Slytherin House for hexing a girl!"

Harry had gaped at her, thoroughly angered at the injustice. He had managed to cast on Walburga Black the Bat Bogey Hex – Felicity's favorite. Indeed, Walburga had been shrieking then, frantically batting her hands at her nose, which had enlarged and grotesquely turned into a snout with black, leathery wings sprouting from it, attacking her face.

"Oh, I'll protect you whenever I can. I know you're friends of my cousins," Muriel Prewett had whispered to him, as she took him to the Infirmary, "but I'll grasp the opportunity of taking as many points from Slytherin as possible."

Clearly, the twins' cousin was no altruistic soul. From then onwards, Muriel Prewett was on the prowl, like a hawk swooping upon the Slytherins every time she caught them bullying Harry, taking points from them all, and never sparing Harry either.

The Head Boy, Algernon Wilkes, and Dorea Black had been furious at all the points Muriel was docking daily from Slytherin House. Indeed, it had initiated a war between the Head Girl and the Head Boy, both deducting points from the other's House for every little thing, with Harry in the middle, being used like their pawn.

Wilkes and Dorea even confronted Walburga openly in their common room, resulting in a fearsome and hateful shouting match between aunt and niece.

Walburga didn't relent, but when Dorea Black threateningly promised to Neron Lestrange and Thaddeus Avery that she would use the Divesto Spell on them, in the middle of the Great Hall, to have them standing there naked to be jeered at by the rest of the school, the two boys had stopped attacking Harry. But that only made them turn more vicious when insulting him.

In the midst of it all, Abraxas Malfoy constantly observed him, like he had done after Harry's interaction with the Bloody Baron during the Welcoming Feast. Malfoy didn't insult him, didn't call him a 'mudblood'. In fact, the boy didn't speak to him at all.

Abraxas had often been present when the Slytherins attacked Harry, but he never participated, nor did he prevent it. Abraxas simply watched him, only reacting, by looking amused, his lips tilting upwards or his eyebrow arching, when Harry darkly scowled at him with annoyance.

Alphard Black, on the other hand, made many attempts to redeem himself. Indeed, it had happened thrice, when Harry had been ambushed in the dungeons, that Dorea Black or Algernon Wilkes suddenly appeared, putting a stop to it, with Alphard behind them.

Evidently, the boy was fetching one of them when he heard of or caught sight of Harry being attacked. But he was always careful to slip away before any of the other Slytherins noticed what he had done.

Moreover, several times, Alphard had looked for Harry, when he happened to be alone and unobserved.

"I'm doing what I can," said Alphard, his tone of voice insistent and sometimes even soft and pleading. "I want to be your friend. We had a good time in Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley, didn't we? But you must understand, I cannot be your friend openly. My father would surely do something drastic if he found out I was friends with a muggleborn. But we can be friends in secret!"

The boy always said something along those lines, suggesting they met in empty classrooms, to play Exploding Snaps, to share the sweets and candies Alphard received from his mother, or to work on their essays together.

However, Harry always rejected him. It wasn't enough, in his opinion. He wanted a friend who would stand up for him, and not one who was ashamed of being seen in public with him. He always said so to the boy, hotly and angrily. And then Harry always turned heel and left Alphard behind, a forlorn, downcast look on the boy's face.

The boy kept trying though, and many times Harry was tempted to cave in, because he had never felt so alone and dejected in his life.

The Prewett twins were good friends, his only ones, but they had Gryffindor friends of their own and preferred to spend most of their time in their common room.

Harry had been invited several times, and there, he had even been introduced to a first-year boy that the twins had befriended during their first days in Hogwarts.

Algie Longbottom was a self-confident and sometimes arrogant, tall boy, but he had welcomed Harry in their midst with a warm smile, and was quite amicable. They also shared a common interest, since both Harry and Algie had proven to be quite good, even the best, in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"I know all sorts of counter-curses and shield spells," one day Algie had disclosed quite proudly, as he was playing chess with Felix Prewett in the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Felicity watching them as they all chatted together, "beyond second year level, even, because my sister, Augusta, is a very good dueler and she has been teaching me. You might have seen her around. She's a prefect, sixth-year."

The boy had paused to sweep his blue gaze around the common room, and then had pointed a finger at a rather severe looking girl. "Oh, there she is!" Then he had leaned towards Harry, as he whispered with much smug pride, "I'm trying to learn as much as I can because I want to be an Auror, you know?"

That led to a very enlightening discussion, for Harry, of what Aurors were and did, and about the several departments in the Ministry of Magic which also monitored the happenings in the wizarding community, like the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Improper Use of Magic Office, the Obliviator Unit, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and even about the Department of Mysteries – which had all of them speculating and, well, mystified, regarding what Unspeakables actually did in that secretive, lower level of the Ministry.

Harry came to just tolerate Algie Longbottom, because sometimes the boy was too conceited, and he certainly didn't like him as much as he did the twins. However, his stays in the Gryffindor common room were not always fully pleasant. Sometimes, he felt some tension in the room, and saw that older Gryffindors from time to time shot him dark, suspicious looks.

Once, he even overheard one of them muttering, "He might be a muggleborn with his housemates against him, but he's still a Slytherin, isn't he? The Hat sorted him there, so it's proof that he's just a slimy snake like all the rest. Clearly not to be fully trusted…"

The twins hadn't noticed, but it was evident to Harry that not all of the Gryffindors welcomed him there, as the Prewetts had assured him.

Not to mention that Harry didn't like their common room much. It was stuffy, overly decorated with garish red and gold everywhere, too hot, and the Gryffindors were a too loud, rambunctious and boisterous lot.

Moreover, one day, an older housemate openly confronted him in the middle of the Slytherin common room.

Of course, after the way the Head Girl went about docking points from them, they had realized that Harry had the Gryffindors' so-called 'protection' – though Harry certainly didn't consider it as such, given that Muriel gleefully took advantage of it- and they had certainly seen that he spent much of his time with the Prewett twins. But apparently, it all became too much when they heard that he had been going to the Gryffindor common room.

"We, Slytherins, don't mix with Gryffindors!" had spat at him the older boy, looking enraged and thoroughly disgusted and contemptuous. "So we don't want to see you cavorting with any of them, you hear! You're tainting our House's name by doing so, mudblood!"

By then, Harry had known, of course, that Slytherins hated Gryffindors, and that it was a mutually shared sentiment. And they didn't consider Hufflepuffs to be worthy. Apparently, they only tolerated and somewhat respected Ravenclaws. But that wasn't the point.

"Oh, so now I'm considered a member of this House, am I?" had burst out Harry, bristling, having had enough. "But none of you will befriend me because I'm a 'mudblood', so I'll have friends from whichever House I damn well please. And if you don't like it," he had then jumped to his feet, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "THEN YOU CAN STUFF IT WHERE THE SUN DOESN'T SHINE!"

And with that, he had ran out of the common room, with tears of sheer fury, yet also of misery, in his eyes.

Harry knew he would have been able to bear his isolation, his loneliness, and the plain hatred his housemates felt for him, if he just had Tom by his side. But he didn't.

One day, the Prewett twins had toothily grinned at him, proposing that he simply sat at the Gryffindor table during lunch and dinner. Harry had almost done so. It had never happened before, had informed him Felix with a mischievous gleam in his blue and brown eyes, but there wasn't any rule against it.

Oh, after the Welcoming Feast, when the younger Slytherins had made 'an spectacle of themselves', as Dorea Black had put it, they had all been careful of never behaving like that again. Indeed, the Slytherins only insulted him and called him a 'mudblood', when no students of other Houses were around, and most importantly, when no teacher was in hearing range.

However, every time Harry took food from the dishes they all shared, many Slytherins shot him glowers, and quietly, yet angrily, grumbled. It made the meals very tense and uncomfortable for Harry.

Thus, one evening, he had made a move to stand at the beginning of dinner, since the Prewetts twins had been grinning and gesturing at him to come over.

But Tom had instantly grabbed his arm, yanking him back on the bench, as he hissed out angrily, "Don't even think it."

Harry had gritted his teeth, as his brother had continued acerbically, "You'll make matters worse with our housemates if you do it."

"I'm fed up!" Harry had whispered angrily, glaring daggers at him. "You tell me not to attack them back when they hex me, you tell me not to go to any professors, not to complain, to keep silent and put up with it. But I cannot go on like this, Tom!"

"I'm already carrying out the first stage of my plan," snapped Tom sharply. "So just be patient!"

Harry had clenched his hands into fists, trembling with anger. Nevertheless, he had swallowed any further protests when Tom had shot him a very dark, ominous look. So he had ended up eating as fast as he could and leaving the Great Hall early, to morosely sulk by himself.

Though, he certainly didn't know what 'stage' Tom was referring to, since the boy had been doing nothing but spending all his time in the library, studying or researching. Outside of class, Harry never saw hide or hair of him except at night when they went to bed.

Indeed, Tom did nothing but that and earning loads of points for Slytherin House every day in class, which was much needed given the Head Girl's deducting-points-spree.

He saw even less of Tom after one night, when his brother had shown him a glittering, golden 'ticket', which was, apparently, a pass to the Restricted Section of the library.

Very smugly, Tom had disclosed to him how he had managed to cajole Professor Slughorn into giving him a pass. They had had to write a seven-inch essay about Dittany and it's magical properties. And Tom had found a very brief mention, in a book, about how the ingredient was also used in Dark Potions.

His brother had used that as an excuse after a Potions lesson, when Tom had stayed behind –Harry remembered that well since his brother had waved him away, and Harry had left, puzzled.

It seemed that Tom had approached Slughorn, ever so politely, humbly, and with such a look solely of innocent interest and curiosity, that the teacher had given him a pass without a second thought. Because of course that someone as brilliant as Tom would feel curiosity about how Dittany was used in more complex potions, even if they were considered Dark. Slughorn had congenially chuckled as he said that, according to his brother - no doubt feeling that Tom was a kindred spirit.

His brother had indeed quickly become Slughorn's favorite student. Not a Potions lesson went by in which their Head of House didn't gush and praise Tom, calling him a natural talent in potions-making, the wizard's eyes gleaming greedily as if he was beholding a great asset.

"With this," Tom had said to Harry, looking extremely pleased with himself as he waved the golden pass, "I'm sure I'll finally find information about the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin and his descendants."

Indeed, during the first week of school, Tom had been very irritated because the library didn't have any books concerning those subjects.

After that, he saw even less of Tom. His brother certainly hadn't been around all the times Harry had been attacked. And when he saw the results of it, or when Harry told him, his brother just sharply ordered him to bear it and, "don't whine like the crybaby you are!"

It made Harry bristle, his mood souring. Though he didn't think Tom could imagine what it was like. The Slytherins certainly didn't attack Tom like they did Harry. Oh, they had tried, Tom had told him that.

The Slytherins soon figured out that Tom spent all his free time cooped up in the library and they had decided to wait for him at the entrance and ambush him there. But Tom had seen them by the threshold, and the moment the librarian announced it was closing time, making all students leave, Tom had immediately engaged the man in a long-winded discussion about Gobstones, which seemed to be Mr. Ciceron Plume's favorite game. They chatted for so long that the Slytherins had given up, returning to their dorms, sulking and grumbling bitterly.

On another occasion, Tom had waited for a group of first-year Ravenclaws to leave the library and he had immediately slipped into their midst, leaving the library together and thus inherently protected by them, chatting up one of the girls and using his charming ways to full power.

Tom had done this with much ease, since the boy had already 'befriended' some first-year Ravenclaws before then. It had happened after their third Transfiguration lesson, which the Slytherins shared with the Ravenclaws.

A bunch of them had waited for Tom at the door, after class, and had then pounced on him, looking angry and irritated at all the points Dumbledore had given Tom during the lesson, and demanding to know why he hadn't been sorted into their House. The pompous Tiberius McLaggen - the boy who had been in their boat and who was also the Minister of Magic's grandson- had led the group.

Feigning surprise and somehow managing to even blush with humbleness, Tom had softly expressed that, alas, before arriving at Hogwarts, he had known nothing about the Houses. Indeed, Tom had assured them, if he had known, he would have certainly asked the Sorting Hat to be sorted in their House, to be amongst such clearly excellent and brilliant students as they were.

And then he had further charmed them all, and bestowed upon them gorgeous, warm smiles. By the end of it, only McLaggen looked irked and miffed, but only because his housemates now had another student who they fawned over, as they did with him.

Even Olive Hornby, the prettiest first-year Ravenclaw, who had before then always orbited around McLaggen, shooting him enamored, adoring, coy glances, had started to do the same to Tom.

Harry, for his part, just wished Tom would treat her badly at some point, because from what he had seen of her, she was a cruel girl. Olive had taken an instant dislike to her housemate, Myrtle Mimbletinon, and taunted her mercilessly, especially very loudly whenever McLaggen was around. The boy seemed to enjoy this, because McLaggen was often seen sneering at Myrtle, looking down his nose at her with disgust and a superior look on his face – just as he had done when they had taken the boat trip across the Black Lake.

Though, Olive Hornby didn't mock Myrtle because she was a muggleborn -as Harry had found out that she was- but due to Myrtle's weird, deranged personality and due to her less than attractive looks. Olive had even invented a little singsong. Harry hadn't heard it fully, but it involved Myrtle's pimples, 'ugly mutt', and thick eyeglasses, along with her bouts of wails, moans, and sobs.

In a few days, the whole school was calling the girl 'Moaning Myrtle'. And several times, in the Great Hall, Myrtle had loudly yelled at her housemates, spitting mad with fury, her unbalanced mood then swinging abruptly, making her burst into tears, ending up running out of the Hall, wailing and sobbing. From what he heard, the girl had started to spend much of her time in a girls' bathroom.

Harry had felt stabs of pity for her, and even guilt because Myrtle had at first shot him expectant, sharp and demanding glances, as if to remind him that he had promised to be her friend. Then, she began to look at him accusingly, with much anger.

However, he had never approached her, and had turned tail and scampered off the few times Myrtle had been lurking, ready to jump on him and confront him.

Yes, he felt compassion, but he wasn't about to make his situation worse by befriending such a girl, especially when he already knew that Myrtle got on his nerves and that he wouldn't be able to put up with her for long. And crying girls just made him feel so utterly helpless, awkward, and uncomfortable.

Regardless, that aside, the point was that every time the Slytherins tried to ambush Tom, the boy always found a sneaky way of dodging them.

It only made Harry resent the unfairness of it all, because he could hardly use the same tactics since he liked to be out and about instead of cooped up somewhere. He was an easy target given this. Furthermore, it didn't seem to him that the Slytherins were trying as hard to make Tom's life miserable. Harry suspected it was due to the many points Tom earned for them everyday.

In the end, Harry only found respite from all of this during his classes. Three of them soon became his favorites: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures.

He liked those not only because they were the subjects which fascinated him the most and thus he studied willingly, but also because he seemed to have a natural inclination for them, discovering that he could cast the spells they were taught which much ease, most times being successful in his very first attempt.

Silvanus Kettleburn was their Care of Magical Creatures professor. He was a spindly, thin man, with his left hand missing, without an ear, and Harry suspected with a wooden leg as well, given how the wizard limped and awkwardly moved around. Apparently, his missing body parts had been caused due to the many years the man had dealt with dangerous creatures.

Nevertheless, he was a patient, gentle man who had already taught them about several amazing magical creatures and showed them a few, as well. And Harry had been thrilled to discover that many of the creatures 'of myth and legend', of Alice's fairy tales, were actually real. Granted, sometimes they were called differently in the Wizarding World, and in their tales, Muggles seemed to have made many mistakes regarding their attributes and appearance. But still, they were not fantasy!

Harry's favorite lesson so far had been when Professor Kettleburn had taken them to a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, where a couple of unicorns had been pasturing, all white and astoundingly beautiful and ethereal, as if they were merely a dream that could vanish at any moment.

"There are many false beliefs regarding unicorns," the teacher had told them very quietly, as if not wanting to startle the gentle creatures, "such as that they can only bear the touch of virgin maidens. That is not so. They only tolerate the touch of those who are pure of heart."

The Slytherins shared that class with the Hufflepuffs, and as if proving their professor's explanation, one unicorn had then approached a Hufflepuff girl and boy, who had cooed and oohed and aahed, as they gazed, wide-eyed, at the beautiful, delicate creature.

Harry had been startled when, suddenly, a soft, warm muzzle had nuzzled his neck. He heard Lestrange and Avery guffawing and jeering at him, saying something mocking, but Harry hadn't paid them any attention. He had been too dazed and entranced by the sight of the white unicorn, which was so innocently and with such implicit trust bumping its nose against his cheek.

And then he had caught sight of the creature's long, thin horn, and Harry had stared at it, taken aback, because it wasn't white to his eyes –as their professor had said- but rather, it glowed magnificently with a golden light. It was magic.

That had been the first time in which Harry realized that, apparently, Hogwarts' magic wasn't the only magic he could see. And clearly, he didn't see the castle's magic because Hogwarts allowed it, as a means of welcoming him as one of Slytherin's Heirs, as Tom had told him. His brother thought that _that_ could be the only explanation for Harry's strange ability that Tom didn't share.

With an amazed, silly smile on his face, Harry had then hesitantly caressed the incredibly soft hairs between the unicorn's nostrils. But his interaction had been brief, because a moment later the unicorns neighed and they had all trotted away into the depths of the forest. They were certainly skittish creatures that didn't like to be in others' company, whether they were 'pure of heart' –whatever that meant– or not.

Harry then saw that Tom, on the other hand, had been bored, utterly indifferent and unimpressed with the creatures.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught by Medea Merrythought. She was very old, with a heavily wrinkled, marred face, with grey hair she always wore in a long, thin braid, and blue, crinkled eyes. Yet, she seemed to have great bouts of energy, and though she was brisk and stern, she proved to be an excellent teacher.

Harry had overheard that she had been a renowned Curse Breaker and Treasure Hunter when she had been young and had worked for Gringotts. That could explain why half of her face was marred and distorted, looking melted as if it had been burned by something a long time ago. If she had anymore scars on her body, it couldn't be seen, since she always dressed in long-sleeved robes that were buttoned up from toes to chin, and made her look like a black crow.

They shared that class with the Gryffindors, and Harry and Algie Longbottom soon distinguished themselves when they were all taught basic defensive spells such as minor shields.

Professor Merrythought never praised them like Slughorn did with Tom, but she never failed to give them points and look silently proud of them.

Tom and Abraxas Malfoy many times matched Harry and Longbottom in being the firsts to successfully cast the spells. However, whilst the teacher gave points to Tom as well -and more often than not due to Tom's participation in class by correctly answering all the questions regarding theory that she posed- curiously enough, she didn't do the same with Abraxas.

Indeed, for some mysterious reason, the old witch ignored the boy all together, as if he didn't exist. In the beginning, Abraxas raised his hand the many times he knew the answers to her questions, but Merrythought never called on him, instead turning to Tom.

After that, Abraxas sat stiffly in class and never participated again, but Harry had seen the frosty, cold look in the boy's silver eyes whilst piercing the old woman with a narrowed-eyed gaze.

The much lauded, handsome and blonde Tilly Toke, bearer of an Order of Merlin, First Class, taught them Charms, which they shared with the Hufflepuffs. These, in particular, gazed at their famous Head of House with utter awe-struck adoration and worship. Moreover, all the girls in the class, even the Slytherin Priscilla Pucey, always sighed softly, besotted and blushing, at his sight.

Harry hadn't known quite what to expect of him, but he certainly hadn't been prepared for what the man proved to be. Tilly Toke was utterly and fabulously unorthodox, and he instantly became his favorite teacher.

The very first day, the Professor stood in front of the class, smiled at them, and skipped any introductions, and asked, "What would have any of you done if you had been suddenly confronted by a rogue dragon, like I was?"

The students blinked and stared, and then Neron Lestrange raised a hand.

Mr. Toke rolled his eyes. "There's no need to raise your hands and wait to be called on in my classroom." He grinned at them, and added cheerfully, "Just say what's on your minds, let your thoughts spring forth, unhindered by old fashioned behavioral rules such as hand raising! Let's hear it then, Mr. Lestrange!"

Lestrange looked discomfited and utterly appalled for a moment, clearly not liking the professor's way of conducting his class, but then finally replied sharply, "I would have cast a Conjunctivitis Curse on the dragon."

"Ah, ridding it of one of its stronger senses – sight." Mr. Toke shook his head. "But it's a dangerous, brutal curse, and not one viewed upon favorably. Not to mention, that by casting it, it would have angered the dragon, making it more wild and violent. And let's remember that I was sunbathing in that beach in Ilfracombe, surrounded my defenseless muggles that had to be protected. What other suggestions do you the rest of you have?"

"A Slashing Curse," said Abraxas Malfoy coolly. "To split the membrane of one of the dragon's wings, and make it fall down."

"But then the dragon's body would have flattened," interjected Tilly Toke, distressed, "and squashed to death many muggles, Mr. Malfoy!"

Abraxas didn't look particularly bothered by that, but he didn't retort.

"You could employ a lethal curse, sir," supplied Tom then, his tone very polite and quiet.

The handsome, blonde teacher frowned at him. "Such as?"

"I don't know, sir," intoned Tom smoothly. "I have not looked into Curses, and I certainly don't want to know about such ghastly, terrible ones that could kill." He shuddered, looking horrified at the mere thought, before adding in a sensible tone of voice, "But there was to be some curse that can mortally wound a dragon, professor."

"Indeed there are," muttered Tilly Toke. "But they're hard to cast and it would take a very powerful wizard to kill a dragon with one of those curses." He gazed at his students, as he added gently, "And let's not forget that a dragon is a living, sentient, magical creature. Indeed, the most ancient and magnificent of all, and as such, it shouldn't be killed, even if it was to protect others."

The Hufflepuffs instantly nodded, in complete agreement and understanding, and then one of them, a small boy, raised his voice timidly, "A Confounding Charm, maybe?"

Tilly Toke warmly smiled at him. "Such a spell wouldn't work on a dragon, but you're on the right track, Mr. Bones. The answer is, indeed, Charms!" He shook his head, as he added in dismay, "A wizard in my shoes, would have relied on Curses, because we're used to do so in threatening, dangerous situations. But it always results in people getting hurt, and it tends to worsen the situation, making it a matter of violence."

His hazel eyes shone, as he continued eagerly, "With Charms, however, being creative, you can resolve any problem and any situation peacefully, without causing harm to others, not even your enemy. That is the marvel of Charms! With them, you can become excellent duelers without the need to resort to Defense Against the Dark Arts spells and curses, and you'll take everyone by surprise because wizards only tend to use Charms for their daily, trivial toils." He shook his head disparagingly, rolling his eyes. "More often than not because we're too lazy to even lift a finger, stand up, and do things with our hands. Instead, we use our wands for every little thing."

Then the professor paused and graced them with a beaming smile, as he inquired, "Can any of you tell me how I only used Charms to deal with the dragon and save those muggles?"

"My mum told me," breathed out a Hufflepuff girl, gazing at him reverently, "that you used illusion and glamour charms, sir!"

"Quite right," said Professor Toke cheerfully. "Ten points to Hufflepuff!"

The Hufflepuffs beamed, and those close to the girl clapped her on the back, cheering her. Harry's eyebrows shot upwards – quite a supportive bunch, they were. And apparently, they weren't that used to earning House points, if they reacted so excitably.

"That's unfair," hissed out Capricia Carrow quietly, yet her anger was clear in her voice. "We have him loads of suggestions for Curses, and he didn't give us one single point!"

"He's their Head of House," muttered Neron Lestrange darkly. "He's obviously completely biased, that explains it."

Harry rolled his eyes, biting his bottom lip to suppress what he wanted to snap at them. Evidently, the teacher's explanation, about why Curses shouldn't be used against the dragon, had flown over their heads.

"Now I'll explain, step by step, all the Charms I used," said Mr. Toke brightly, as he brought up a hand and started ticking off his fingers. "Firstly, the moment the dragon swooped down on the muggles in the beach, I illusioned myself, with a series of glamours, to look like a dragonet. No easy thing, I grant you, and even less to do it so quickly, but by the end of your Hogwarts years I fully expect you to be able to cast such complex illusions and glamours on yourselves, on others, and on all sorts of objects."

He beamed a warm smile at them, as he continued, "With that I caught the dragon's attention. But I needed to fly, didn't I, to make it believe I was indeed a youngling of its species. Furthermore, I had to lead it away from the muggles, staying several feet of the dragon itself so that it wouldn't be able to smell me from afar and thus realize that I was just a wizard. Yet, I had no broomstick with me! So what did I do?"

Mr. Tilly Toke paused to see if any of them had any clue. When none replied, he went on cheerfully, "Well, very simple – I cast a Levitating Charm on myself!"

Druella Rosier snorted in scathing disbelief, and the professor shot her an even wider smile, as he intoned pleasantly, "Oh, not many can use that Charm on themselves, or others – that's another thing I'll be teaching you, and you'll be mastering by the end of this term, I promise! But the trick is all in the wrist, you see?"

He demonstrated by flexing his wrist as he aimed his wand at himself. It did look like an uncomfortable, awkward position, given the angle the wrist had to bend in order for his wand to be pointing at himself.

"So, I floated up into the air," continued Mr. Toke eagerly, as if rehashing a great, fabulous adventure, "and then I cast a Hover Charm on myself, and directed my movements with the tip of my wand, making myself fly through the air, far away from the beach and muggles. It was indeed tiring to keep the Charm on myself for so long, I could feel the strain in my magical core. However, casting and maintaining such charm, even the most complex and powerful ones, depends mainly in a wizard's will and determination, as much as his magical power!"

"Finally, I landed in the middle of a forest, with the flying dragon at my heels. But the rouge creature wasn't violent or angered. It believed it was following a baby dragon, after all. So it wanted to take me by the scruff of my neck and carry me away with it. Dragons are very protective of their younglings, even those which aren't theirs."

"So the moment my feet touched ground, I instantly used a Summoning Charm on the first stone I saw, and then, I turned it into a portkey, with another charm!"

The moment Orion Black opened his mouth, Mr. Tilly Toke rose up a hand, as he chuckled. "Yes, I know that most wizards don't bother to learn the Portus Charm, as it is quite tricky and difficult. And they're commonly used for vacationing travels, so most just go to the Ministry's Department of Magical Transportation and buy themselves a portkey there, to wherever they want to go – that's one of the Ministry's greater sources of income!"

He chuckled wryly, and then continued, "Since the Ministry workers there have hundreds of pensieves with recollections of all sorts of destinations, which they keep updated, and thus, they need only to plunge their heads into the pensieve with the memory of the place the paying wizard wants to travel to, and the Ministry worker, with that image in mind, can then successfully create a portkey."

"Nevertheless, I've always believed that the Portus Charm is extremely useful to get out of sticky situations, and I fully intend to teach you the spell on your fourth year, so that you have three full years afterwards in which to master the charm." He shot them a mischievous grin. "After all, it's not illegal for a wizard of age to create his own portkeys, as much as the Ministry has attempted to ban it in the past – they do like the mounts of galleons that creating and selling portkeys earn them!"

Tilly Toke let out a dry laugh at that, and then continued buoyantly, "I had the good fortune of having a friend who worked in a Dragon Reserve in Ukraine, who I visited often. So that's where I spelled the stone portkey to go. Though, if I hadn't had that friend, I would've simply needed to think about an isolated place that I had been to before, to portkey the dragon there, so I wasn't that much worried."

He shot them a wide smile, as he added, "Still glamoured and with portkey in hand, I used the Levitation and Hover Charms again on myself, and floated quickly towards the dragon." The handsome teacher chuckled in amusement, as he revealed, "My aim wasn't that good, because I hadn't intended to stick the portkey up the poor dragon's nostril, but that's were it ended, with half of my arm stuck inside its nose, my hand still clutching the stone portkey. It activated a second later and off we went in a whirlwind of colors!"

Mr. Toke's hazel eyes sparkled with joy, as he went on, "We landed in my friend's reserve, and my, were the Dragon Keepers there shocked at the sight! The rogue dragon hadn't escaped from there, but from a reserve in Romania, I later learned! But they were quick to act and with spells only they know, they put the dragon to sleep, and after a night of partying and drinking with my friend, I made a portkey to England and returned safe and sound!"

The moment he ended his tale, the Hufflepuffs broke into loud cheers and applauses, while Harry blinked, a bit dazed. He hadn't quite understood the 'portkey' and 'pensieve' parts - what were they, exactly?- but given all that the man had said, he could form a vague idea of what they must do. And really, he was rather excited about being taught all the charms the teacher had mentioned!

Mr. Toke waved off his House's applause, smiling humbly, as he said gently, "Truly, there's no need, but I thank you. Nevertheless, the lesson of my story is that with a bit of creativity, a series of charms, and with no curses at all, I saved those muggles, I peacefully dealt with the dragon without harming it, and I had a very entertaining tale with which to amuse my friends!"

He chuckled as he swept them with his hazel gaze, before he added vehemently, "So you see, employing the imagination, Charms are very versatile, and they are not only spells to be used in your daily life just for trivial, simple things. Indeed, if you want to slip away from an enemy, you can turn yourself invisible with the Disillusionment Charm, if you're suddenly confronted with a Dementor, you drive it away with the Patronus Charm, if you want to swim underwater for a long period of time, you can use the Bubble-Head Charm, if you need to douse a dangerous fire, you cast an Aguamenti Charm, or you can make the fire harmless by using a Flame-Freezing Charm, if you want to conceal an important secret within a person, the Fidelius Charm is the best spell for it, if you want to posses superior senses, you cast a Supersensory Charm on yourself, if you want to protect the perimeter of a place, or a treasured object, and be alerted of unwanted intruders, you cast a Caterwauling Charm, with a Protego Charm you can form a magical shield against hexes and curses, and on, and on it goes!"

Seeing many of their nonplussed and baffled expressions -Harry being one of them, not having understood most of the terms the teacher had employed- Tilly Toke chuckled as he said kindly, "Fear not, you'll understand and learn all those charms and many more, during the next seven years."

He clapped his hands together, and then announced, "Now, we'll start with the first one – the ever useful Levitating Charm! With my story, you've seen one extraordinary situation in which in can be used, if you find yourself in the need of flying when you have no broomstick. I want you to imagine now, another situation in which you could use this charm to even save someone's life!"

The blonde Professor flicked his wand and a chair came skittering across the room, halting by the wizard's left side. Then the man's hazel gaze trailed over them, before he called out, "Miss Carrow, if you'll please come to the front for a little demonstration?"

The girl obliged, though she certainly didn't look happy about it. But she took the hand that Mr. Toke so gallantly offered, and with that aid, she climbed unto the chair, standing on the seat.

With another flick of Tilly Toke's wand and a muttered word, the chair suddenly grew many inches taller and Capricia Carrow paled. She shifted fretfully on her feet, clearly anxious about what the Professor was planning on doing, just like the rest of them were wondering.

"Now," the blonde wizard said, turning around to address them, "imagine that you're climbing down a staircase along with a friend, and suddenly, he trips and starts tumbling down! And you see that he's about to crash on the landing and break his neck – thus!"

Mr. Tilly Toke swirled around and shoved Capricia Carrow. With a shriek of horror and shock, she fell over the very high chair, whilst the Hufflepuffs gasped and Druella Rosier and Priscilla Pucey jumped to their feet, crying out and shouting.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" chirped Mr. Tilly Toke merrily with a swish and flick of his wand, just in the precise moment in which Capricia Carrow was about to smash, face forward, into the hard stone floors. "And thus you save your friend!"

With another flick of his wand, Capricia landed on her feet, her face colorless, having been scared out of her wits. In the next moment, her face contorted with sheer fury, as she bellowed at the man at the top of her lungs, "MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS, YOU DERANGED DINGBAT!"

Mr. Tilly Toke's body bent backwards from the waist, his long blonde hair swept back as well, as if a strong gust of wind had hit him from the front. He blinked at the girl utterly taken aback, then the wizard seemed to find the threat incredibly funny, and he chortled loudly, as he waved her off. "Ten points to Slytherin! You can return back to your seat, Miss Carrow – well done!"

Capricia did, nearly running, flopping herself between Druella Rosier and Priscilla Pucey, the girls instantly whispering amongst themselves, shooting the professor very dirty, angry looks.

"So that's the charm we'll be practicing today, and by the end of term I fully expect you to be able to levitate each other," said Mr. Toke cheerfully. "Usually, all Charms Professors teach this spell by making you practice on quills. But I find that so dreadfully boring! We might as well have some fun, don't you think?"

With the flick of his wand and some muttered spells, a series of items came rushing out a cabinet to then land on their tables, as the Professor explained, "Those paddle-like things with strings are called racquets, and the feathered projectile is the shuttlecock, or simply just 'the shuttle'. They are used in a very amusing muggle sport called Badminton. As you see, each one of you has a racquet and a shuttle. You'll start practicing the charm by making your shuttles float."

He shot them a beaming, wide smile, as he added joyfully, "And the first of you who by the end of the lesson can play a badminton match with me, by only using the Levitating Charm for the shuttle and the racquet, gets fifty points!"

Harry's eyes widened, with fascination for the man, his shocking but terribly thrilling teaching methods, and also just because he had enjoyed Capricia Carrow's terrified shrieks so much. He had known then, instantly, that Charms would not only be one of his most favorite classes, but also the most fun and amusing.

Perhaps because he enjoyed the lesson so much, or because he really wanted to try his hand at a game of Badminton, magically style, that he eagerly brandished his wand, flicked and swished it just like Tilly Toke had done, and pronounced the strange words just as he had heard them. He didn't even bothered opening his Charms textbook like the others were doing. He was brimming with too much excitement to do so.

So self-confident, determined and cheerfully he was, that it didn't surprise when his shuttle instantly flew up into air, gently floating.

"Very well done, Mr. Riddle!" cried out Tilly Toke happily as soon as he saw what Harry had done. "Ten points to Slytherin!" The blonde, handsome, and clearly a bit eccentric wizard, gazed at him eagerly. "Oh, do try the racquet now!"

It was indeed Harry who earned the fifty points, as he ended up being the very first one who also managed to successfully float and control his racquet and shuttle. Tom achieved it fifteen minutes after him, the only other student who successfully accomplished it, but by then Harry was excitedly playing a match of Badminton with Tilly Toke, both laughing and giggling like little children as they had the fun of their lives.

"You're a natural in Charms!" Professor Toke exclaimed as the lesson drew to an end and the students started packing their things into their schools bags. The wizard's hazel eyes were bright with joy and pride as he gazed at Harry. "It must be in your blood, Mr. Riddle!"

Harry ignored some of the Slytherins' scathing scoffs because they didn't know anything, clearly thinking that nothing was in his blood since they believed he was a muggleborn, and wondered at the teacher's words.

Was his father good at Charms, or had his mother been, perhaps? Secretly, he still held the notion that their mum could have been the magical one. Regardless, whichever the case was, he was suffused with a very warm, tingling feeling, and he left the classroom with his cheeks flushed with pleasure.

All of Professor Toke's lessons proved to be as shocking, thrilling, creative, utterly unorthodox, and fun, as the first, and Harry soon became the wizard's favorite pupil, just as Tilly Toke became Harry's favorite teacher, by far.

In those three of Harry's favorite classes, Tom didn't manage to beat him, he came in a close second place after Harry, though he earned plenty of points by always answering questions posed by the teachers, and he did it in such a way, that all professors were fond of and thought highly of him.

Tom didn't agitatedly raise his hand in the air and frantically waved it around, nor nearly jumped up to be seen and demanding to be acknowledged, like many Ravenclaws did. And he didn't answer questions verbatim, word for word, as if he had memorized full passages from textbooks and was merely spilling it all out. No, he thought about his answers, and explained his reply in his own words, with his own insights, and it became clear to all that he was the most brilliant student.

In their other classes, Tom was at the very top. Abraxas Malfoy and Felicity Prewett were very good at potions, but couldn't match Tom's perfection. And Harry soon saw that he was pants at it.

"You lack the subtleness, patience, and precision required in potions-making," Tom had hissed out at him one day, with much irritation and annoyance.

Harry couldn't argue against it, because just then he had dropped seven bat eyes instead of five, and hadn't stirred his potion once counter-clockwise, and it had bubbled dangerously, turning to an ugly, muddy color, and in the next second it burst out in flames. Only a scorched, brown, odiferous thing was left, which reminded Harry of the dung that had floated inside his trunk, that first morning, when they had been so nastily pranked.

Gratefully, after Slughorn had taken a shine to Tom, and unashamedly showed his favoritism, the professor usually paired them together, because Tom had made it no secret that that was what he wanted.

If not, the days in which Horace Slughorn fancied to mix Slytherins and Gryffindors together in pairs -for some unfathomable reason, given that it never ended well, though the teacher persisted, undaunted- Harry always ended up with Felicity Prewett, who was very good in Potions, and he much enjoyed his time with her.

It became clear to Harry that the walrus-like wizard knew of his friendship with the Prewett twins, surely having seen them around together. And it seemed that Slughorn so wanted to be in Tom's good graces, that he extended his good will to Harry as well, those circumstances.

One day, the short, pot-bellied wizard had looked at Harry as if seeing him in a brand, new light, which Harry ascribed to his suspicions – that Horace Slughorn had learned from Tilly Toke and Medea Merrythought that Harry was at the top in their classes. Maybe even Sylvanus Kettleburn had disclosed the same, though Harry didn't think Slughorn would care much about how well he was doing in Care of Magical Creatures. But, certainly, Slughorn started to treat him much better, all of a sudden.

Astronomy with the curly and purple haired Perpetua Fancourt, he enjoyed, because they climbed up to the very top of the Astronomy Tower at night, wrapped in thick, warm blankets, to placidly star-gaze through their telescopes, learning names of stars and constellations, the orbits and movements of planets, how to make astral calculations, and how to use those, learning that many magical rituals and brewing of potions were affected by the position of planets and could only be carried out in certain days with certain planetary alignments.

Nevertheless, Harry wasn't outstandingly good at it, but it didn't bother him.

Herbology, on the other hand, was simply horrible. Their teacher was Herbert Beery, a very eccentric, short, plump wizard, who kept a magical gramophone in the Greenhouses. If the man had put music to be played, Harry might have understood it, since perhaps such tunes helped the plants grow. However, the weird wizard always put recordings of wizarding plays, to full volume.

So whilst Harry struggled with screeching, butt-ugly plants that refused to be repotted, and with the Venomous Fanged Fly Trap that nearly took a chunk off his ear, or the Tentacula Viciosa which always tried to strangle him, he even had to suffer the languid woes of the light witch Desdemona who had fallen in love with the Moorish, dark sorcerer Othello, who was violent and crazed with jealously, and Desdemona would wail and melodramatically shriek and make choking noises as she was smothered to death by her husband, and Othello would cry out in tragic anguish, and moaned, and let out ear-splitting screams as he discovered his beloved's innocence and that Iago was the villain behind it all. By the time the class ended, and the dark sorcerer Othello gave his last woeful, wretched, histrionic lamentations as he plunged a sword in his chest, overly loud squishy noises sounding, apparently imitating the splatter of blood, Harry was the first to run away as far as possible from the Greenhouse and the gramophone within.

If Harry's eardrums weren't suffering Othello and Desdemona, then it was the sung play of Medea and Jason, and the like; all of them apparently true stories.

He wouldn't have minded if the hero Jason had a bigger part, as the actor sang joyfully about his adventures with the Argonauts in the quest to find the Golden Fleece. But that part, of the only actor who could actually act and sing well, was very brief, and Harry never found out the supposedly marvelous things Jason saw and did. Instead, he had to bear with the hero's wife, the dark witch Medea, daughter of Circe, revengeful and crazed, ranting furiously like a madwoman at the top of her lungs, in what was supposedly some tragic, angsty song but sounded more like a banshee's screeches, crying out as she killed their children when Jason abandoned her for the daughter of the King of Corinth. And then she went on to kill other people, to boot, cackling madly and spouting ridiculous sonnets, marrying others and having more children, and Harry only wished that someone had actually killed her at some point and spared him the torment. But apparently no one did, and the play concluded without actually saying what happened to the madwoman.

All other of Herbert Beery's records were very much the same, and the worse of it all was that the wizard sang alone with the records, in a high-pitched, utterly out of tune voice.

If their Herbology teacher liked that sort of thing, he might as well hire Moaning Myrtle and have her there, standing in the Greenhouse, sobbing, wailing and screeching, and it would have much the same effect.

To Harry's horror, he had overheard one of the students saying that the wizard had been trying to cajole Headmaster Dippet into allowing him to stage a play at Hogwarts. To Harry's ever lasting relief, he heard next that Herbert Beery had been unsuccessful so far - Harry might've smacked a smooch on Dippet's wrinkly, spotty forehead for that.

History of Magic was just as bad, but for another reason altogether. Harry had been very excited before their first lesson, with very high expectations after having skimmed through his textbook written by a historian, Bathilda Bagshot, who was apparently much lauded and renowned. Indeed, everything he had read so far, had utterly enthralled and fascinated him, and he couldn't wait to have a teacher explaining all of it all.

His hopes were cruelly dashed, however, when Cuthbert Binns entered the classroom. He was a small wizard, ancient and shriveled, as wrinkled as a prune. He didn't introduce himself nor glanced at them. No, he merely stood at the front, staring at some point in the wall, and then began.

The wizard droned on, in a deadpanned monotone. Such it was, that their heads began to bob and then hung down limply, their eyelids drooping, and soon soft snores could be heard around the classroom.

The teacher never noticed, or didn't care at all. And Harry was, much like the others, the unwilling victim of the man's tedious, dull tone.

Tom pinched him, hard, scowling at him, as he hissed out, "Don't fall asleep, you dunce! At least use the time to study from your textbook!"

Harry jerked up his head, groggily, and he did try to do like Tom and teach himself from the book during class-time, but it was asking too much of him. Not even the Ravenclaws managed to stay awake, and that was saying something. The only one who seemed to have the power to repel the evil influence of Binn's lulling monotone was Tom, the rest of them inevitably snoozed and drowsed as if under some enchantment.

During each and every lesson, the exact same thing happened, and not a word droned on by Binns actually registered in any of their minds.

In the end, they all ended up studying the subject in their own free time. There was no other solution.

And finally, Transfiguration wasn't either one of Harry's best subjects, but he fully blamed Dumbledore for that. Oh, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster was an excellent teacher, there was no denying. Dumbledore was patient with them all, and gentle, and thoroughly explained everything very clearly and always demonstrated as many times as needed. The wizard was even fair with all the Houses- unlike some of the teachers- never showing any favoritism. But that wasn't the problem.

"What are you doing?" bit out Tom sharply at him, one lesson when they had to transfigure a pincushion into a porcupine.

Harry blinked at his morphed pincushion. It looked like some ghastly aberration of nature, with three toothpicks sticking out –he didn't know how _that_ had happened- tiny furred paws, a tadpole's tail, and with no eyes or face.

He groaned, and then whispered tartly, "I can't concentrate with Dumbledore always glancing at us, as if expecting that we'll suddenly grow horns or something!"

They both shot the professor a glance at that, to see that, indeed, Dumbledore was gazing at them from above the top of his half-moon spectacles. The man placidly smiled at them.

"You see!" whispered Harry crossly, shooting Tom a scowl. "He's always looking, always observing and watching, and when he catches me looking back, he bloody smiles like nothing's the matter. It gets on my nerves. You know that I don't feel comfortable around him!"

"I don't either," hissed out Tom, aggrieved and impatient, "and I'm sure I revile him more than you do, but I just ignore him and get on with my spellcasting. So should you. It's no excuse that the old geezer peers too much at you and makes you jittery!"

Harry glowered at him at the lack of sympathy, and but lesson, after lesson, it was of no use. He couldn't focus due to the many times he felt Dumbledore's heavy gaze on him, and Tom made matters worse by always hissing and angrily whispering at him, to such a point, that in the end it was only Tom who always successfully cast his spells in his very first attempt, earning many points – because his brother, of course, had perfect concentration, deliberation, envision, precision, which resulted in perfect transfiguration and whatnot.

Nevertheless, his brother always helped him though, since Tom had warningly promised that he would tutor him in all the classes that Harry didn't do well in.

In the end, Harry only needed did this for the subjects of Potions and Transfiguration, because they were the only ones he had trouble with, since he had no talent in the first and didn't learn anything in class in the second. And Tom didn't seem to care about Astronomy or Herbology, so he didn't offer Harry help with those, even though Tom was the most outstanding student in them, of course - quite effortlessly, even when the boy had much disinterest and indifference for the subjects.

However, having Tom 'tutoring' him only entailed that his brother would whisper to him and thus teach him during class-time, and then leave him books to read and even homework, because outside of class, Tom didn't have time to spend on him, always being in the library as he was.

So it hadn't changed things between them, nor had it dispelled Harry's dejected loneliness. Furthermore, matters with his housemates remained just as bad for a long time.

It was only by the end of the month that several things changed for him. Indeed, it happened the day they finally had their first Flying Lesson.

All the things that happened as a consequence of it would make him feel all sort of different things: joy and pleasure was caused by the decision of a girl; shock, amazement, worry, and puzzlement due to an incident which happened because of a new friendship with a boy; and finally, dread and fear for his and his brother's future, brought upon by what Tom revealed after Harry disclosed a new secret of his own.

That day would be one of the most impactful in Harry's life.


	17. Part I: Chapter 16

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers! Your comments always keep me going : )

I only need to clarify one thing:

Harry can only see the magic of Hogwarts, and he saw the magic in the unicorn's horn, as another example, because at this point, he can only see very powerful magic like that. Clearly, the wards around Diagon Alley aren't as powerful as Hogwarts' and that was why Harry only felt the magic –particularly in Ollivander's shop- but didn't see it. This will change as he grows up and becomes more magically powerful. The reason for this strange ability of his, that Tom doesn't have, will be revealed at some point as the fic progresses.

**Note: I had to split the chapter in two because it got really long. So this is just the first part. I'll be posting the second part in a couple of more days, when I'm done with it. It is in this later one where the more important things -that were hinted at in the previous chapter- will happen. So I'm just going to ask you to be a bit patient, I won't take long in posting it.**

I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 16**

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That fateful day in which he discovered so many things, and which brought many consequences, began rather early for Harry.

Indeed, the previous day, he had willingly gone to the library, taking out several Charms books for his own interest, but also to find a spell that could be used to wake him up at the desired hour.

He had cast the charm at night, and at six in the morning, as he had wished, he had been awoken by the soft chirps and trills of a conjured small robin perched on his bed's headboard; the pretty bird's chest and face covered in orange plumage, its round tummy white and its back brown.

Quietly, he had bathed quickly and donned his Slytherin uniform and black school robes, to then sleepily make his way up to the common room. Tom had been nagging him incessantly for the last couple of days, demanding to know when Harry would start looking for the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.

Thus, Harry began his search that morning, two hours before the rest of the House woke up for breakfast.

Groggily, and now and then rubbing his eyes to stay awake, Harry started hissing at every crook and cranny of the common room, paying special attention to the many figures of snakes that were all over the place: decorating the dark wood of armchairs and settees; carved in marble in the fireplaces' mantelpieces; made of silver, wrapping around the torch brackets; embroidered in the tapestries displaying the Slytherin emblem; and the like.

Indeed, he hissed, "_Entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, reveal yourself_," or "_Part open before my eyes_," and lastly, just an impatient, snapped, "_Open!_" when he had become rather tired at his lack of success.

But nothing moved, the figures of snakes didn't twitch and even less hiss back, and Harry was rather startled when suddenly someone jeered loudly, "Listen to the mudblood! He's trying to imitate how snakes hiss!"

Harry spun around from the last fireplace he had been nattering at in Parseltongue, blanching when he realized that time had flown by and that he had quite an audience.

Girls and boys were coming out from the archways that led to their respective dormitories, many clearly having overheard his attempts, since they now started to surround him, mocking him, nastily guffawing, sniggering and jeering.

"How pathetic can he be! Snakes don't even hiss like that!"

"Someone must have told the mudblood about the Legend of the Chamber of Secrets and he wants to gain some prestige by finding it!"

"Another gullible first-year that has been put up to it!" one of the older Slytherins groaned.

"Every year it's the same – how stupid are you?" snapped a seventh-year girl, glowering at him with disdain as she puffed up with irritation. "Do you little children think you're going to discover it when, throughout the ages, all others have failed? Even purebloods of the most distinguished old families have been unsuccessful…"

"The monster in the Chamber eats your kind, you half-brained mudblood!"

"… it certainly wouldn't open for someone like _you_ – it can only be opened by the heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, and his line died off centuries ago, you fool!"

Harry swallowed thickly at the onslaught of mocking vitriol shot his way, and then noticed two silent boys amongst the crowd. Alphard Black looked dismayed and was gazing at him with wide eyes, a glint of pity in them, whilst Abraxas Malfoy was frowning, piercing him with narrowed, silvery eyes.

Abruptly, Harry's scar flared most painfully, and he saw Tom making his way through their housemates, a murderous look on his handsome face.

His brother grabbed him by the arm, the clutch tight and painful, and then yanked him out of the common room, leaving all the others far behind, as he hissed out furiously, "What were you thinking, you idiot!"

"I didn't realize that it was breakfast time already," grumbled Harry as he was pulled along the narrow, labyrinthine corridors. He shot Tom a glower, attempting to free his arm from his brother's grip, to no avail, and then bit out peevishly, "I woke up at six in the morning to do just what you wanted, to start looking for the entrance-"

"You shouldn't be looking for it in the common room, you imbecile!" spat Tom, giving him a most disgusted and contemptuous look. "Salazar Slytherin was a cunning wizard, so he wouldn't have built the entrance in any part of the dungeons – it would have been a too obvious place!"

"You might've told me that before!" groused Harry, highly miffed, as they took the flight of stairs up to the ground floor of the school.

Tom shot him a very scathing look. "I thought your pea-sized brain would have realized that much!" He shook his head disparagingly, and then snapped harshly, "Don't put on a show like that again. Thankfully, no one suspects that you were really speaking Parseltongue – be very glad of that, because if they had realized the truth, I wouldn't have been at all forgiving." He shot him a most baleful, dark look at this, and then commanded sternly, "Start looking for it on the seventh floor and then make your way down. And don't bother with the dungeons again. Understood?"

"Yes," snapped Harry stiffly, as he was finally released when they entered the Great Hall.

Soon, the other Slytherins arrived and took their places along the table and Harry had to silently put up with his housemates' taunts and jibes, but not for long, since as usually happened during breakfast, a flock of owls flew into the Hall.

Harry's mood brightened when a tawny barn owl, with a collar around its neck bearing the Ministry of Magic's emblem, dropped two letters: one on his plate, the other on Tom's.

The owl nicked a piece of bacon from Harry and then took off, while Harry was rather happily tearing the envelope open, to see Alice's letter and those enclosed with it, from Mr. Hutchins, Amy Benson, Eric Whalley, and Billy Stubbs.

A week before, when he had realized that he hadn't been receiving any letters from the orphanage, and when he had finally remembered what Tom had told him – that Dumbledore had said to Kathy and Alice that their boarding school, 'St. Thomas', was in Edinburgh, Scotland, but clearly hadn't given them any address- Harry had finally asked his Head of House how he could send and receive letters from people in Muggle London.

Professor Slughorn had explained the system to him: he had to put his letter in an envelope with the muggle address written on it, and that had to be stuck inside another envelope, this one addressed to the Department of Magical Transportation of the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, in that Department there was a unit of Ministry workers who would then send his letter, in its first envelope, through a Muggle Post Office.

It worked similarly when Alice sent letters to him, since the Ministry workers covertly placed in the Muggle Post Network had magical ways of detecting all letters addressed to wizards – especially those bound to the false muggle address for Hogwarts that Slughorn had given Harry, and that he had passed on to Alice- and they would intercept them and then send them by owl to their recipients.

It was so, that this was the second time Harry received letters from his loved ones, and he most avidly read what they all had to say.

Amy Benson asked if he missed her, and then ranted about how she had rowed with her friend Mathilda because she was certain the girl had stolen two hair ribbons from her.

Harry shook his head as he read that, mystified since Amy apparently thought he would understand, sympathize and also denounce Mathilda as a horrible ribbon-stealing fiend. Really, all girls, except Felicity Prewett, were unfathomable, incomprehensible, strange creatures, in his opinion.

Eric Whalley complained about the local public school they attended, telling him how ghastly it was and how horrid the teachers were, to then ask him if in Harry's posh boarding school they were also caned on their hands or buttocks when they misbehaved, as often happened to Eric in the neighborhood's school.

Harry had to wonder about that, because so far he hadn't seen that happening at Hogwarts, and he was mightily glad about it. His memories of Mr. Jenkins' brutal canings had become something of the distant past for him, better to be forgotten.

Billy Stubbs bubbled excitedly throughout the entirety of his letter, telling him that he had had a wonderful birthday and that Alice had given him a stray kitten she had found in the streets. Harry had smiled as he read that, because Billy had mourned Puffy the Bunny for very long but had also yearned for another cuddly pet.

Harry saved Alice's and Mr. Hutchins' letters for later, since they were longer and he enjoyed reading them when he was alone, as if they were a special treats, since he felt comforted by the evident fondness and love they held for him.

Nevertheless, when Tom opened his letter, it didn't escape Harry's notice that both Alice and Robert Hutchins had sent the boy numerous newspapers clippings. Harry knew well that the only reason Tom wrote to them was to keep them happy, so that they would continue sending him news about the Muggle World.

Tom still despised Alice, considering her to be a sappy, sentimental, foolish woman, and he had only grudgingly tolerated and respected Mr. Hutchins in the past, because the man was intelligent and had educated himself, and particularly because he had always given Tom plenty of books. But now, his brother had nothing but disdain for them, since they were just 'mere, lowly muggles'.

Suddenly, as had happened every morning for the past week, another owl swooped down before Tom, this one with a small golden plaque that hung on the plumage of its chest, with the inscription 'The Daily Prophet Owl Delivery!', and carrying the rolled wizarding newspaper in its claws.

In exchange for allowing Harry to use Lord Horkos to send his letters to the Ministry, Tom had demanded to be given the three galleons Harry had been saving and hoarding like a tenacious goblin.

Harry had yielded in the end, grumbling and scowling, especially because he realized he had gotten the worst end of the bargain, since Lord Horkos was as vicious and nasty as ever, and always savagely bit Harry's fingers when he went to the owlery with tasty bits of food, presenting them as offerings to get the vulture-like bird to condescend to carry his mail.

With Harry's galleons, Tom had paid for a one-year subscription to The Daily Prophet, and had been very smug and content every since.

Just as many other students of all Houses received their copies of the newspaper as well, mutterings broke throughout the Great Hall.

Curious, Harry peeked over Tom's shoulder to see what had everyone so agitated.

There, in the front page of The Daily Prophet, was a moving picture of a wizard with a long, thin mustache with its tips curled upwards into spirals, magnanimously gesturing with a hand at the crowd of reporters that surrounded him. The caption underneath said: 'The Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen'.

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. So that was the grandfather of the first-year Ravenclaw, Tiberius McLaggen. The wizard certainly looked as pompous and self-aggrandized as the boy.

However, it had to be the long article itself that had everyone so jittery. In big, bold, black letters, the title announced: 'Dumbledore's Greater Integration Law Vetoed in the Wizengamot by the Minister!'.

"The Minister is losing support," said Priscilla Pucey worriedly as she gazed at her own copy of the newspaper, "if he had no other choice but to use his vetoing powers to hold back the law."

"How dare Dumbledore try to pass that atrocious, muggle-loving law!" hissed out Capricia Carrow furiously. "It's what, the sixth time in these last couple of years that he's tried to push it forth?"

"Yes, but this is the first time that Dumbledore's faction in the Wizengamot has gained a majority of votes," interjected Abraxas Malfoy coolly, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.

"I don't see what the big deal is," piped in Alphard Black, his voice a bit hesitant as he fiddled with his bit of French toast. "It's not as if he wants to get rid of the Statute of Secrecy-"

"But his law will breach it, cousin!" snapped Orion, scowling at the boy. "If it gets passed, a Muggle Liaison Office will be created in the Ministry of Magic, and they'll contact the Muggle Minister and tell him about our world-"

"Exactly!" snarled Neron Lestrange, his brown eyes flaring in indignant and appalled fury. "According to the law, they'll connect the Muggle's fireplace to the Floo Network and they'll hang a magical portrait in the filthy Muggle's office!"

At that, Harry's eyes grew as round as moons, and he gaped. Dumbledore wanted to do _what_?

Then he brought a hand to his mouth, repressing his sniggers. He could clearly imagine the very proper Neville Chamberlain in his office in Downing Street, one day suddenly finding a portrait speaking to him and a wizard in flashy yellow robes bursting out from his hearth. Poor Chamberlain would have an apoplexy and keel over!

"We all know why Dumbledore wants that," said Druella Rosier poignantly, from her place nearby, having once more seated herself with Lucretia and Walburga Black on one side –the second-year girls rather occupied in discussing the article among themselves in angered whispers- and with Cygnus Black on the other. "It's because he wants to help the Muggles with what's happening in Europe." She shot them a superior look. "You know, given everything that the Dark Lord has been doing-"

"Hush!" whispered sharply Cygnus Black, glaring at the little girl. "You know better than to say that _title _in public. The other students don't know about that, Druella! Most wizards still don't want to believe Dumbledore's claims-"

"Oh, but Cygnus…" breathed out the beautiful, blonde girl in a mellifluous tone of voice, coyly fluttering her eyelashes at him, which only resulted in the boy's lips twisting with immense dislike.

Their conversation, however, was drowned as the first-year Slytherins continued voicing their horrified and angered opinions.

"And the Law would be changing Hogwarts' curriculum too, adding insult to injury!" bit out Capricia Carrow, looking enraged. "He wants to create a Muggle Studies course, no less!"

"Beauxbatons has one," pointed out Alphard Black softly.

"But they also have a Wizarding Studies class," snapped Priscilla Pucey, glowering at the boy. "And that's _compulsory_ for all mudbloods and halfbloods. At least they teach them about our culture and prevent them from staining it with their filthy prejudices and false beliefs! And you don't see Dumbledore's Law forcing a Wizarding Studies course at Hogwarts, do you?"

"Not only that," grumbled Thaddeus Avery darkly, his voice more gruff than usual, "he wants to get rid of Care of Magical Creatures-"

"Oh, yes! He wants to leave it as a third year elective!" burst out Capricia Carrow. "Because apparently the current curriculum is too much for first-year mudbloods - we wouldn't want to overwhelm them, would we?" she spat fiercely, her tone nastily mocking. "It's too much of a shock for them to learn from the start that there are also magical creatures – their sensibilities have to be protected, of course! And we, purebloods, should just end up suffering from a deficient education all the while! The gall of the man – I don't know how he dares propose such a thing!"

"Quite right," agreed Orion Black, nodding at the girl. "The Hogwarts Express was enough, in my view…"

That opened a whole other thread in the conversation, which left Harry rather surprised.

Apparently, the Hogwarts Express was a new development. Eight years ago, purebloods students travelled to the school by whatever means their families had: in magnificent carriages pulled by pegasi, in the case of students like most of the Slytherins, who came from old families that had such things; others travelled in magical carpets, before they were banned; or their families brought them, by Floo or Apparation, to Hogsmeade; and meanwhile, muggleborns, and those halfbloods who lived in the Muggle World, were taken by Ministry officials to the gates of the school, by portkey.

From what the Slytherins said, Dumbledore had one day convinced Headmaster Dippet that a muggle-based means of transportation should be used - a train, so that all children arrived in the same manner, causing no distinction between them from the start, and also providing several hours of travel for all the students to mingle and get to know each other.

The wizard had proposed a train also because it was a new muggle invention, and Dumbledore apparently wanted wizards and witches to see that muggle things could be useful and shouldn't be disdained, providing an opportunity for greater wizarding understanding and tolerance for muggle creations.

Harry noticed that, in the midst of it all, his brother had also been intently listening to the Slytherins' conversation, as he did, but Tom also began reading again the article in The Daily Prophet, to then read the muggle newspaper clippings that Alice and Hutchins had sent him, with a musing and calculating glint in his eyes, as if he was figuring out plenty of other things.

Soon, they all had to leave for their first class of the day, though Harry made a mental note to ask Tom, before they went to sleep, just what he had discovered.

Double Potions with the Gryffindors proved to be a rather enlightening experience for Harry, for two reasons.

Firstly, because he managed, for the first time, to successfully brew the potion they had to work on. He had his brother's help, certainly, but slowly Harry began to understand some of the theoretical aspects and principles -about how all the different types of ingredients reacted when mixed together- that Tom had been drilling into his skull.

He would never be brilliant at Potions like Tom was, or very good like Abraxas Malfoy and Felicity Prewett, but his brewing skills apparently could be honed to be moderately acceptable – and that seemed to be enough for Tom, and it certainly was for Harry.

And secondly, they had both made a rather startling discovery after the lesson was over.

Tom had gestured at him to remain behind, while he dallied with his scales and other supplies, as the rest of the students left the classroom. Intrigued, Harry had followed his brother's lead.

The moment they were alone, Tom approached Horace Slughorn, who was by then organizing parchments of essays on his desk.

"Professor, we've been wondering," said Tom in a very polite and respectful tone of voice, as he inclined his head just so, in an angle from which he could peer at the wizard through his wavy black bangs, making him look handsomely endearing, "about the day we met you in Knockturn Alley…"

Slughorn at first looked surprised to find them still in his classroom, then he became flustered, as he cleared his throat and muttered uneasily, "Ah… yes… I hope you did as I asked and didn't mention that to anyone…" He gave them a forced, congenial smile, as he prodded a bit forcefully, "You haven't, my dear boys, have you?"

"Certainly not, sir," replied Tom solemnly, looking appalled at the very idea of not obeying his Head of House. Then his face adopted a humble expression, just displaying innocent curiosity, as he intoned softly, "But my twin and I saw a locket in the shop's window, and it puzzled and intrigued us a mite, because-"

Harry shot his brother a glance, his eyes widening slightly in understanding, as he realized why Tom might be interested in it. It dawned on him as he remembered what the locket had looked like. Could it possibly be…

"A locket? The locket in Borgin and Burkes'?" interrupted Slughorn nearly stuttering, blinking and then staring at them, looking taken aback. The wizard abruptly stood up and moved around his desk, his belly jingling all the way, before he planted himself before them, piercing them with his eyes. "You mean to tell me, that you saw that?"

It was Harry and Tom's turn now, to stare back at him, puzzled and confused.

"Um, yes," finally replied Harry, frowning at the wizard. "Why wouldn't we?" His eyes widened in the next second, as he remembered how it had happened, and he then waved off a hand dismissively. "Ah, we said 'Dark Arts', and then we saw all the stuff the stores had-"

"Oho!" exclaimed Slughorn, gazing at them as if he had never seen them before, a gleam of delighted surprise in his eyes. "Then you cannot possibly be muggleborns, my dear lads!"

Harry blinked, perplexed at how the wizard could have jumped to that conclusion, while Tom cocked his head to a side, as he said softly, "Perhaps you could explain what you mean, Professor, if you'd be so kind…"

Slughorn's eyes sparkled as he leaned forward and breathed out, "Tell me why you said those words."

Frowning, Harry said slowly, "Well, I saw a message appearing in Knockturn Alley's street sign. It said something like 'Darklings, speak Dark Arts'. And when we saw that all the shops were nearly empty-"

"You said the keywords," interrupted Slughorn, clasping his hands together in a gesture of delighted satisfaction, as if he had made some great discovery that pleased him to no end, "and all the wares were revealed before your eyes, correct?"

Harry nodded, but when Slughorn saw that they still looked confused, he chortled happily as he expounded, "That message can only be seen by dark wizards, and if the keywords are spoken in Knockturn Alley, they will only work if they are spoken by dark wizards, you see!" He let out a chuckle. "The message and keyword changes every week…"

He trailed off, his bright countenance sobering into a more serious one, as he cleared his throat and tried to put tactfully, "Knockturn Alley's stores have… unsavory items, let us say… and Aurors, from time to time, raid the Alley in search for such wares. That is why the shops have wards to Disillusion some of their merchandise, which would cause trouble for them with the Aurors, if found."

"Then, when we said 'Dark Arts'," said Tom quietly, piercing him with his eyes, "that was what brought down the wards for us?"

"Precisely!" Slughorn clasped his hands together once again, looking to be in a very jolly good mood, as he added, "Since it worked for you, it's evident that you have Dark Magic in your magical cores, my dear boys! One of your parents must have been a dark wizard or witch – you're not muggleborns!"

Then he shook his head, frowning thoughtfully, as he muttered to himself under his breath, "I wonder if Albus suspects… I could wager a bottle of Ogden's Finest that he might, as sensitive and perceptive as he is about Dark Magic…"

"I see," said Tom smoothly, though not very surprised by Slughorn's revelation. Harry wasn't either. After all, it wasn't startling to discover that they had Dark Magic coursing through their veins, since they were Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants.

"I think it would be best if we didn't tell anyone about this, sir," added Tom softly, humbly hanging his head down.

Slughorn looked surprised at this, before he shot them a knowing glance, as he murmured gently, "But, my dear boys, if your housemates knew about this, they would treat you much better."

"They might, sir, but then everyone would know how we met, and what you were doing in Borgin and Burkes," interjected Tom, looking nothing but concerned for his Head of House's good reputation. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Slughorn squirmed and uncomfortably cleared his throat, and then bobbed his head up and down, as he boomed, "You're quite right, my dear boy!" He then shot them a congenial, conspiratorial wink. "Best if we keep all of it a secret, eh?"

"Yes, sir," intoned Tom warmly, bestowing upon him a gorgeous, charming smile, before he added in a casual tone of voice, "But about the locket we saw-"

"Oh, that old thing!" exclaimed Slughorn, shaking his head disparagingly. "Caractacus Burke has had it for over twelve years, I think – claims that it's a Slytherin heirloom, he does! Yet he refuses to say how he came to have it! He won't outright sell it either – you have to bid for it. There are only three wizards and witches who still remain in the running, since in the last bid, the price for it reached the astronomical amount of sixty thousand galleons! Hepzibah Smith herself is still bidding for it, you know?"

The Professor puffed up self-importantly at this, as he added, "She's an old acquaintance of mine, of course – a dear friend. You might have heard about her – a very wealthy old lady, with the most magnificent collection of magical antiques. She's Helga Hufflepuff's descendant, as well!"

"But is the locket a Slytherin heirloom?" pressed on Tom, a bright, hungry and greedy gleam in his eyes, which seemed to pass unnoticed by Slughorn, but not by Harry, knowing his brother as well as he did.

Slughorn paused, thoughtfully playing with one tip of his bushy moustache, before he replied jauntily, "The locket cannot be opened, and Burke claims that this fact alone proves that it is indeed a Slytherin heirloom. According to him, only a Parselmouth would be able to open it. But since Parselmouths no longer exist nowadays, there's no way of knowing, is there?"

Tom's dark blue eyes flashed, before he ducked his head as he mumbled softly, "Thank you, sir, for clearing such matters to us. We'll leave you now, since we don't want to be late for our next class."

Slughorn looked very content, as if he had done his good deed for the day, and then merely waved as Tom and Harry picked up their schoolbags and dashed out of the classroom.

The instant they were in the corridors, Harry breathed out excitedly, "Do you really think the locket is a Slytherin heirloom?"

"Yes," said Tom firmly, as they both ran towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Remember that it had an 'S' made of tiny green gems, and snake-like in form – exactly like the one of Slytherin House's crest. There's no doubt about it." He shot Harry a side-glance, as he added quietly, "And it would explain why the Riddles don't have a vault in Gringotts."

Harry's eyes widened. "You think it's because our father's family is poor-"

"And they resorted to selling their heirlooms - exactly!" affirmed Tom, sounding extremely self-satisfied with his discovery. "Slughorn said the shopkeeper got the locket twelve years ago – exactly before we were born!" His eyes suddenly gleamed, as he added fiercely, "But I won't let the locket end up in some old witch's grubby hands. It's ours by birthright! We'll steal it, little brother!"

Harry hesitated at that, blanching, as he mumbled, "Um, I dunno about that… I don't want to get caught and chucked into Azkaban." He shuddered. "The Prewetts twins told me about the wizarding prison and those 'Dementor' creatures that guard it-"

"Of course we won't get caught," snapped Tom irritably, scowling at him. "We'll nick the locket when we're older and know all sorts of spells." He skewered him with narrowed, demanding eyes, as he bit out, "You'll help me steal it, won't you?"

"Well… if we'll only do it when we're older and after we come up with a good plan… then…" Harry shot him a toothy grin. "Then, of course I will, brother!"

Tom graced him with a wide, pleased smirk, just before they opened the door of their next class.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, shared also with the Gryffindors, would be their last class of the day. Since after lunch, they would finally have their first Flying Lesson. The first-years of all Houses were rather eager and excited about it, and some nervous.

In Defense, for the past month, they had learned several minor shielding charms and other basic defensive spells, but the previous week, Professor Galatea Merrythought had informed them they would start learning about dark creatures and the ways of battling them. Dueling spells and counter-curses would be resumed in their third year, since by then they would be old enough to learn such things.

Thus, for the last couple of lessons, they had learned about Trolls, the mischievous and nastily wicked Cornish Pixies, and about Grindylows – Harry finally discovering what those creatures were who made faces at him through his bathroom's window, sticking out their forked, blue tongues at him when he bathed.

The second Tom and he had taken a seat in the classroom, Harry blinked when he caught sight of Galatea Merrythought. Then he frowned, aggravated with himself. The old witch was dressed in dark robes buttoned from chin to toes, as always, but this time, she had a blood red flower pinned in the middle of her chest.

That flower, again! Harry started to feel quite frustrated about it. He had already seen it in the picture of Salazar Slytherin's likeness in Tom's 'Hogwarts, a History'. But the first time had been at the Hogwarts Express' platform, on Maximillian Malfoy's chest.

Thus, he knew that the flower looked strangely familiar to him because he must have seen it in the Muggle World, since before encountering Abraxas' grandfather, he had known no other place.

However, the sensation tingled and niggled in the back of his mind, and he still couldn't put a finger on it. It was very irritating.

"No need to take out your books," abruptly said Galatea Merrythought sternly, the moment they were all seated. "You won't find today's lesson in it."

A Gryffindor girl raised a hand, before she said confusedly, "But last time, Professor, you said we would be learning about Kappas today."

"I've changed my mind," snapped Merrythought crisply, her eyes darkly gleaming in the next second, as she added in a low tone of voice, "I'll be teaching you about Veelas in this lesson."

"Veelas?" burst out Algie Longbottom, looking thoroughly astonished. "But Veelas aren't dark creatures, Professor."

"That's a matter of opinion, Mr. Longbottom!" bit out Merrythought fiercely as she swiftly rounded on him, her long braid of grey hair swishing through the air. Her burned and marred face contorted, as she spat acidly, "Indeed, they might not be classified as such, but Veelas are one of the most dangerous creatures in existence. Their allure is no better than the Imperius Curse – enthralling decent wizards and making them do all sorts of things against their will! Wizards even commit terrible crimes, to impress the Veela who has ensnared them – horrid things that they would never do if they were sound of mind!"

Half the class was gaping at her, never having seen the old witch conduct herself in such a way and clearly taken aback by her view on Veelas, while the other half were stiff.

Indeed, to Harry's further bewilderment, he saw that Abraxas Malfoy's spine and shoulders were rigid, his silvery eyes silently flashing with fury; the boy's friends, seated around him, were tense. He even noticed that Felicity Prewett looked enraged as she glowered at their teacher, when she wasn't shooting Abraxas soft, compassionate looks.

Then Galatea Merrythought's thin lips twisted, her gaze swiveling to Abraxas Malfoy, as she added in a very low, vibrating tone of voice, "Oh, believe me, children, Veelas are the darkest of creatures! And today I'll teach you exactly how they should be treated." She cleared her throat. "How we could defend ourselves against their powers, that is."

It became the most uncomfortable lesson Harry had thus far experienced, and by the end of it, their professor had gained no friends among her students.

They all left rather quickly, their ears ringing with the old witch's loud, ominous warnings about all sorts of malevolent things Veelas had done to wizards throughout the ages.

Harry quickly intercepted the Prewett twins as soon as they were in the corridor. "What was _that_ all about?"

Felix and Felicity shared a glance, nodded to each other, and then turned to him.

Felicity huffed out angrily, "We'll tell you, but first let's go to the Great Hall."

Harry mutely nodded, too curious and intrigued to do much else, and followed them as they quickly made their way.

Finally, they halted before the threshold of the Great Hall, as many students flowed in to have their lunch.

"Wait for us here," piped in Felix, his mismatched brown and blue eyes sparkling as he glanced at the school grounds through the parted doors of Hogwarts' entrance. "It's not raining today, at last - so we might as well make a picnic of it!"

And with that, the twins quickly slipped into the Great Hall, leaving a surprised Harry behind.

A few minutes later, Felix returned with a large pitcher of pumpkin juice under one of his arms and three goblets in his hands, whilst Felicity carried a large platter with all sorts of food heaped on it. Both beamed at him when they caught Harry's joyful expression.

Just when they were about to slip outside, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder. He spun around, fretfully biting his lower lip when he saw that it was Tom who had halted him. But in the next instant, he shot him a mutinous glare and squared his shoulders.

After they had met the Prewett twins in the Hogwarts Express, Tom had never condescended to be with them again. The twins had been offended and angry at first, but then they seemed to decide to simply ignore Tom altogether.

Tom, on the other hand, had quite plainly expressed to Harry just what he thought about his friendship with the Prewetts, especially after it had caused so much trouble with their housemates, when Head Girl and Head Boy had began the war of docking points from each other's Houses, left, right, and center, with Harry in the very middle of it.

A few days ago, one night, Harry and his brother had even ended up in a shouting match, because Harry still stubbornly refused to relinquish the only two friends he had in the whole school, while Tom furiously claimed that he was making everything worse by still cavorting with them.

Well, his brother had always despised all of his friends, but unlike in St. Jerome's Orphanage, where Tom had always wanted to have Harry's full attention and company at all hours, things were different at Hogwarts.

Tom had thus far ignored him, spending all his time in the library, obsessed in his research and all the things he was studying. And Harry understood it, a bit, because of course Tom would be thoroughly enticed by the sheer, staggering source of magical knowledge that Hogwarts' library offered.

Nonetheless, that didn't mean that he was happy about it, or that he would let his brother drive him away from his friends. In this instance, Tom had no right to do so, since he didn't offer his company in return.

So Harry glowered at him, at present, while Tom's eyes narrowed as he pierced the ginger-haired twins with his gaze. Felix glared back, while Felicity flushed under Tom's skewering, unpleasant gaze, but then she lifted her chin up, challengingly.

Tom let out a disdainful scoff, and apparently decided he wouldn't make a scene in public.

Instead, he briskly yanked his Slytherin scarf from his neck, and then wrapped it around Harry, up to his cheeks, only leaving Harry's surprised, wide green eyes peeking from above it.

"It's cold outside," was the only thing Tom said curtly, before he shot the twins one last glare and then coolly sauntered into the Great Hall.

Harry blinked, then grinned behind the scarf, suddenly feeling all warm and tingly due to his brother's unexpected gesture. Abruptly in a very good mood, he then marched off to the school grounds with a skip in his steps, the Prewett twins trailing after him.

* * *

They settled themselves before a couple of trees at one side of the Black Lake, its shore a few feet away. They even had the Giant Squid as an audience, its huge single eye peering at them from the lake's surface, as he moved around his countless tentacles in a languid manner.

It took Felix five attempts before he managed to transfigure a stone into a tablecloth –and it was quite threadbare and patchy, at that, but it served its purpose. Harry spread it above the grass and then helped the twins to settle pitcher, goblets, and platter of food, before they sat down, crossing their legs as they dropped their schoolbags to one side.

Harry popped a small, roasted potato into his awaiting mouth, and munched it down happily, before he began slowly, "So… what Professor Merrythought said today about Veelas and the way she glanced at Abraxas Malfoy… you seemed to know what that was all about…"

Felicity halted in mid-sip from her goblet of pumpkin juice, and then heavily sighed. "Did you notice the flower she was wearing?"

Harry's eyes brightened instantly, as he rushed out, "Yes! And I've seen it before, on Maximillian Malfoy and in a picture of Salazar Slytherin!" He then cocked his head to a side, extremely puzzled. "But I didn't imagine you'd say anything about the flower. What does it have to do with what happened today in class?"

"Everything," said Felix firmly, looking a bit angered. "That flower is the Egeriana Rose."

"Its full, proper name," interjected Felicity, "is Verus-Cruor Egerianus. And its magical properties were discovered by Salazar Slytherin himself."

Felix nodded, as he continued, "It was with it that Slytherin created the very first Fertility Potions. And it's believed that he wore the flower as a sort of medal." He rolled his eyes. "A medal representing his own brilliancy and ground-breaking discoveries in Potions."

"But his descendants adopted it as symbol of their beliefs," piped in Felicity, as she nibbled on a piece of toasted bread. "Especially one of them, who founded the TrueBlood Alliance, and made the Egeriana Rose its emblem. The group still exists nowadays."

Harry frowned at her. "A group? So Maximillian Malfoy and Professor Merrythought are members of this group, since they wear the rose?" He shot them a confused look. "But Professor Merrythought has never looked down on Tom or I for being muggleborns-"

"Oh, but the TrueBlood Alliance is not about blood purity. Well, at least not regarding muggle blood," clarified Felicity dryly.

Felix nodded in agreement at her words. "Yes, because beside the whole issue of Dark or Light Magic and the political-orientation that this brings, purebloods are also divided in the matter of how they regard having creature blood in wizarding bloodlines."

"Exactly," piped in Felicity. "Indeed, the Merrythoughts are a light pureblood wizarding family that have never held prejudices against muggles or muggleborns – these are humans, after all. But they object to wizards and witches procreating with magical creatures, and thus having wizarding lines with creature blood in them."

"Well, they didn't before," pointed out Felix, a musing frown on his face as he shot his twin a glance. "Do you remember what it was that happened? Father told us but I can't remember the details-"

"Oh, yes! It was a huge scandal, remember?" said Felicity eagerly. "Marlowe Merrrythought-"

"Ah, yes – what was he? Professor Merrythought's cousin?"

"No, her young brother!" rushed out Felicity. "The youngest one in the family and their heir! That's why the Merrythoughts took it so badly."

Harry's gaze was snapping from one to the other, until he asked insistently, "But what happened?"

"Marlowe Merrythought fell in love with a full-blooded female Veela, that's what happened," replied Felicity, shaking her head despairingly. "She was living in England because she had married a British wizard…" She trailed off, frowning. "I don't remember his name, though."

Felix rolled his eyes at his twin. "Never mind that. He was just someone from a minor wizarding family, I think. The point is that Marlowe Merrythought was besotted with the Veela. Rumors say that he even stalked her for months! And, of course, she wanted nothing to do with him, since she had already chosen a mate and married him."

"But one day," carried on Felicity, taking over her twin's explanation, "the couple was strolling down Diagon Alley and Marlowe Merrythought suddenly appeared, shooting spells and curses at the Veela's husband, like a madman!"

Felix leaned towards Harry, his mismatched eyes growing wide as he whispered, "It's said he even used the Unforgivables!"

Harry blinked, wondering what that was supposed to mean.

"Not all three," interjected Felicity. "He tried to cast the Killing Curse."

"Oh," said Harry, now understanding, since given the name, it was clear what the curse did. Then he frowned, as he muttered, "So he killed the Veela's husband?"

Felicity snorted, as she picked up a carrot from the platter. "No, of course. The Veela went berserk – they're very protective of their mates, you see- and she blasted him to smithereens, right then and there."

"There was nothing left of Marlowe Merrythought but a pile of ashes," breathed out Felix, his eyes wide.

"His family was furious," piped in Felicity, taking a bite from her carrot. "They tried to have the Veela convicted for murder and thrown to Azkaban."

"They failed, though," pointed out Felix, as he poured himself pumpkin juice.

"Yes, because she was within her rights to protect her mate under life-threatening situations," explained Felicity at Harry's bemused expression. "There are plenty of wizarding laws that protect Veelas, you see. They are one of the very few kinds of magical beings that have managed that. They have their own Council, and it's them that have always successfully lobbied with wizarding governments to have that sort of laws that protect their kind."

"But Veelas don't usually go to other countries," remarked Felix as he took a sip from his goblet. "They stick to France, mostly. There, they have towns and communities of their own, and the French are very used to them. That's why full-blooded Veelas don't often live in other countries, because if not things like what happened with Marlowe Merrythought occur."

"True, especially in England because we're not used to having Veelas among us."

Harry cocked his head to a side. "So Professor Merrythought hates Veelas so much because of what happened to her brother?"

"Exactly," said Felicity. "After that, the whole family became members of the TrueBlood Alliance."

"There are those who call themselves 'True Purists'," went on to explain Felix, after taking another swig from his goblet, "and most form the TrueBlood Alliance. And then there are those who are Traditional Purists, like us, who see nothing wrong in having creature blood in our lines - after all, it's still purely magical blood."

"You two have creature blood?" asked Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards in astonishment.

Felix Prewett grinned toothily. "We have an ancestor who was a siren!"

"And this is a common thing, is it?" inquired Harry, more intrigued and astounded as the conversation progressed.

"Well, not common, but there are several wizarding families with creature blood," piped in Felicity nonchalantly, waving her half-eaten carrot in the air. "Like the Weasleys." She frowned, as she added slowly, "They've always been very weird, but they have a Leprechaun somewhere along their bloodline, so that might explain it."

Felix guffawed loudly, his body shaking and the force of his laugh making him lean backwards. "Oh, yes! Last year there was a Weasley at Hogwarts - in our House! And he pranked everyone in sight, our cousin Muriel told us. Even his own housemates! Muriel didn't know what to do with him. Thankfully, he was in his seventh year, and Muriel said that she had never felt so relieved as in the day when she saw him gone."

"Well, yes," interjected Felicity, waving a hand dismissively. "But that case is a very odd one. In the old times, pureblood wizards and witches bonded and had children with magical beings or creatures because they wanted to gain some of their traits for the bloodline – useful things that would make their descendants more powerful in some aspect."

"Like mating with a vampire, for example," pointed out Felix, popping a tiny potato into his mouth, and munching it down before he continued, "because even though vampires don't tolerate sunlight very well and are nocturnal creatures and have the whole bloodlust issue, they have a very long life span and excellent sight and heal abnormally fast, and they passed on some of those positive traits to their offspring with wizards or witches."

"It's believed that the Princes intentionally had a vampire ancestor because of this," said Felicity giggling. Then she shook her head, as she took the last bite from her carrot. "But most wizarding families keep such things a secret, not because it shames them, but because it's a sort of secret weapon. So they don't want their rivals to know about it."

Harry, a bit dazed by the whole revelation, nodded in understanding. Then he frowned musingly, as he said slowly, "So given what happened in class today, Abraxas is a Veela? So that's what Walburga Black meant when she insulted him, implying he was a _thing_-"

"She did that, did she?" snapped Felicity, looking ferocious, her ringlets of fiery, red hair springing about. She pursed her lips and then added hotly, "I don't know how she dares! Many purebloods now know that she has Troll blood in her, and she goes casting aspersions on Abraxas?"

Harry gaped at her, his mouth hanging open, his hand carrying his goblet of pumpkin juice halting midway in the air. Then he managed to gasp out, utterly gobsmacked, "Troll blood!"

"Her mother is Irma Black, a Crabbe by birth," piped in Felix, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mirth. "The Crabbes had never revealed that they had Troll blood in them. And, well, they have never been the sharpest daggers in the drawer, to begin with. But one of them clearly thought that mating with a Troll was a brilliant idea."

Felicity snorted loudly at that, as her twin continued explaining, "Trolls are as dumb as doorknobs and incredibly ugly – no good traits there- but they're also very strong, physically, and their thick skins makes them naturally immune to several spells and curses. So that might be what the Crabbe ancestor could have been thinking about."

"Yes, but the point is that no one knew," interjected Felicity, a wide, toothy smile of relish then spreading on her beautiful face. "Pollux Black would have never married Irma Crabbe if he had known about that – that's for sure! The Blacks have always been extreme purists in all senses –despising both muggle and creature blood. Irma is beautiful, and she got that from her mother, who was a Greengrass, so Pollux never suspected anything."

"But it all came out into the open," breathed out Felix eagerly, leaning closer towards Harry in his excitement, "one day when Irma Crabbe was eight months pregnant with Walburga. Apparently, as a baby, Walburga kicked her mother so hard that Irma started fearing that her daughter might have inherited Troll characteristics. And it's clear that she decided to cut her loses and inform her husband about it, before a Troll-like baby came popping out and Pollux found out about it in the nastiest way."

"So Irma just came out with it, one day when our father was sitting in Pollux's study, waiting to discuss some business with him," continued Felicity, chuckling under her breath as she grabbed a slice of cheese. "That's how we know about it. Well, Father came out of the room when he overheard the couple shouting at each other. According to him, Pollux was beyond enraged, but also so shocked that one could have knocked him over with a feather!"

"Things were never right between husband and wife after that," piped in Felix, looking as if he savored the misfortune of those who later called his father a 'bloodtraitor' and became his enemies. "But Pollux didn't abandon her, because he couldn't, given the strict magical bond with which they had married."

"And Cygnus was already a little boy by then, and he's handsome," murmured Felicity absentmindedly as she made a cheese and ham sandwich for herself. "And Walburga is nothing to look at but isn't hideous as a Troll. And then Alphard was born, normal and as good-looking as his older brother and his father, and that seemed to soothe Pollux Black's ruffled feathers."

Felix shot Harry a wicked glance, as he grabbed a piece of bread and waved it around, intoning cheerfully, "But you must've already experienced how Walburga Black screeches, making your eardrums nearly burst, eh?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Felicity, tittering with laughter whilst she took a small bite from her sandwich. "Given that, we've always wondered if she might have some Banshee blood too! Perhaps the Crabbes didn't limit themselves just to Trolls!"

Harry choked, ending up snorting into his goblet, the pumpkin juice nearly coming out the wrong way. He wiped his nose clean the next second, and snickered under his breath. "I could believe that."

They all chuckled companionably, Felix and Harry grabbing roasted chicken legs, munching on them happily, while Felicity concentrated on her sandwich.

In between bites, Harry finally returned to one of his earlier questions, cocking his head to a side, as he murmured, "So Abraxas _is_ a Veela?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Felix toothily grinned, waggling his eyebrows at him. "We've seen how you sometimes stare at him, looking all dazed and starry-eyed, as if he was some sort of dream."

Harry felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning, and he muttered grumpily, "That's not my fault! You heard what Professor Merrythought said about the Veela allure thingy and stuff!"

Felix mercilessly sniggered at him, looking vastly amused, whilst Felicity merely rolled her mismatched, beautiful eyes, as she said with some exasperation, "Harry is right." She shot him a gentle smile. "You can't help it. No one can, really. Abraxas is a half-Veela, because of his mother. With part-Veelas it's always impossible to know how many traits they'll get. Sometimes they get all, their faces turning bird-like, their fingers becoming claws, and with wings sprouting from their backs, when angered, and capable of shooting out balls of fire too. But sometimes they don't get any traits at all."

"Abraxas at least has the whole allure thing down pat," chortled Felix, shooting Harry a pointed look, lopsidedly grinning.

"No, he doesn't. Not really," retorted Felicity, frowning with consternation. "It will only become stronger as he grows up, and he'll have a hard time of learning how to control it, especially because he won't have an adult Veela to teach him."

"Why not?" asked Harry surprised, as he took another bite from his chicken leg. "You said he's a half-Veela because of his mother-"

"His mother is dead," interrupted Felicity softly, taking the last bite from her sandwich and then daintily dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin.

"Then his mother's family," pressed on Harry, frowning. "Or his grandfather could help him –" He clamped his mouth shut, his frown deepening. "Hang on. If Abraxas is a half-Veela, then why does Maximillian Malfoy go around with the Egeriana Rose pinned on his robes?"

"Because the old wizard is an extreme purist in all senses, like the Blacks," bit out Felicity crossly, after taking a brief sip from her goblet. "And he's as nasty as they get. He's even the leader of the TrueBlood Alliance nowadays. So, on one hand, he made Abraxas his heir, but on the other, he dealt him a backhanded insult, by openly being a True Purist, despising Abraxas for being a 'halfbreed'."

"Their relationship has never been an easy one," remarked Felix gravely, as he finished with his chicken leg and left the bone at one side of the large platter. "Back when our families were close, I clearly remember one day when we were in Malfoy Manor, playing in the gardens with Abraxas." He let out a snicker. "Chasing and tormenting those albino peacocks they have, in fact."

"Oh, yes, I remember too!" Felicity then bit her bottom lip, as she took a slice of apple. "A flock of beautiful white owls suddenly swooped down, carrying a very large package. It was from Abraxas' Veela grandparents."

"But Old Maximillian came running out of the manor," continued Felix somberly, "looking beside himself with fury. He destroyed the gift right there and then, without letting Abraxas even take a peek at the letter tucked under the ribbon. And then the nasty old curmudgeon dismissed us all."

"We all ran into the manor for the nearest fireplace to floo out of there, scared out of our wits," muttered Felicity grimly, as she nibbled on her slice of apple, "but we still heard Abraxas furiously yelling at his grandfather. He was six. I think that was the only time I've ever witnessed Abraxas losing his composure." She sadly shook her head. "Maximillian never let him have any contact with his maternal grandparents, and I think Abraxas has always resented and hated him for it, in return."

Harry blinked at her. "But he's alright with being a half-Veela, then?"

Felix snorted in amusement as he started peeling an orange. "Abraxas isn't the kind of person who would ever hate himself for being who he is. He has embraced it, clearly. And he's quietly proud of it, I think. That's why he has such a difficult relationship with his grandfather."

"It all started with Cassius Malfoy, really," said Felicity with a heavy sigh. "Abraxas' somewhat tragic past is all his father's fault."

"True," piped in Felix, popping a piece of orange into his mouth.

"Cassius Malfoy was very wild, from what Father told us," carried on Felicity, cleaning her fingers with a napkin after she was done eating her dessert which had only consisted of two bits of apple, while Harry was still busy with his chicken leg. "Caring about nothing but getting drunk with his friends, gambling, chasing after pretty witches, and travelling all around the world, from party to party, carelessly wasting all his galleons."

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, and seeing this, Felicity nodded, as she continued quietly, "He was young, of course, but it was no excuse. Maximillian Malfoy tried every ruthless measure and punishment to sort him out, but nothing worked. And the Malfoys have always been very strict with their rule of only having one heir per generation, so Old Maximillian was stuck with Cassius."

"But it got worse," supplied Felix, taking another piece of his orange fruit. "One day, young Cassius ended up in a ball in Paris, and there, he caught sight of a full-blooded Veela."

"She was astoundingly beautiful, of course," interjected Felicity, then waving off a hand as she settled herself comfortably against a tree trunk, "but also infamous. Her own Veela parents had disowned her, because she was very frivolous, cared for no one but herself and cared for nothing but having a lavish life. She latched herself to every rich wizard she could find, her goal being to catch a very wealthy husband from a distinguished, pureblood family."

Felix snorted, shaking his head as he tossed the remnants of his orange unto the platter. "Young Cassius Malfoy didn't stand a stance. He was completely mesmerized by her, according to all rumors, and he married her right there in France, two days later."

"The Veela was very cunning, too," continued Felicity, her expression souring, as she primly rearranged the hem of her skirt to cover her displayed knees, "because she got married to Cassius by using one of the strictest magical rituals, which formed an unbreakable marital bond, of course."

"You can imagine Old Maximillian's reaction when he found out about it," interjected Felix, shuddering, as he swiped his fingers clean with a corner of the tablecloth. "But the Veela wasn't cunning enough, as it came to happen."

Felicity nodded. "She got pregnant, clearly unintentionally. The couple then struck a bargain with Old Maximillian. Since they didn't want to be bothered with raising their son, they left baby Abraxas in Maximillian's care, while he agreed to give them access to the main Malfoy vault and thus most of his hoarded fortune."

"They didn't imagine how ruthless Maximillian could be," piped in Felix, as he took a sip from his goblet. "He had a new heir he could mould from the start, this time without making the mistakes he had in raising Cassius. This time, being thoroughly and mercilessly strict with Abraxas from the beginning. So Cassius was no longer of any worth to him."

"So while the couple continued to travel around the world, having a good time," continued Felicity, shaking her head disparagingly, "the Veela buying herself loads of jewelry and pretty, expensive clothes, and Cassius doting on her and giving her every little thing she wanted, Maximillian brooded and plotted."

"And one day, when Abraxas was two years old," carried on Felix, his expression turning queasy, his face a bit greenish, "Cassius and the Veela were in Greece, and wanted to travel by portkey to Venice. They did, but the portkey was faulty. Their body parts were scattered all over the place in chunks, some in Venice, some in Athens."

Felicity shuddered. "At first, it was called the most gruesome portkey accident in history. But then, authorities found the Greek Ministry worker who had created the portkey and sold it to them. He was put on trial, and yet he couldn't remember that he had made it. But there were Ministry records that proved it. The poor man was found guilty and carted off to prison for life."

"But it was Maximillian who was behind it, you see," interjected Felix, looking very grim. "Father was friends with him back then, so he knew the truth. Maximillian had bribed the Greek Ministry worker so that he would make a faulty portkey, but as soon as Cassius and his Veela wife were killed, he thoroughly obliviated the Greek wizard. So even though some suspected, there was never any proof that could be brought up against Maximillian. He had been very careful in covering all his tracks."

Harry stared at them with a pale face, as he mumbled, "Does Abraxas know about it?"

"We think he must suspect," replied Felicity, heavily sighing, a sorrowful expression spreading on her beautiful face the next second. "Maximillian never made it a secret that he had despised Abraxas' mother. And he would often say all sorts of horrid things about her, openly, to Abraxas, when we were little children. Clearly, because he didn't want him to have any positive feelings about his mother. Yet, we never saw Abraxas confronting his grandfather about any of it, except that day, when his Veela grandparents tried to contact him. But that was about the grandparents Abraxas wanted to get to know, not about his father or mother."

Harry frowned, and then scowled. He refused to feel any pity or compassion for the boy. He shot the twins a glance, and grumbled darkly, "He's still a git."

Felix quirked an eyebrow at him, then shot him a toothy grin. "Very true, my friend."

Harry left his half-eaten chicken leg on the platter, feeling quite full, and then helped the twins to gather everything up, to then leave it in the Great Hall.

However, through it all, he still couldn't stop wondering about the red flower. If it was just the 'Egeriana Rose', as the twins had explained, then why had it looked so oddly familiar when he had first seen it pinned on Maximillian Malfoy's robes, at the Hogwarts Express's platform?

* * *

"Harry, are you there?"

Hearing his brother's voice and the sound of shoes scuffing against the stone floors, Harry stiffened. He was seated on his bed, the curtains pulled shut around him, a pained expression on his face.

"All first-years are already gathering at the school's entrance for our Flying Lesson – what are you doing? You're going to be late-"

The next second, Tom yanked the bed curtains open and Harry shot him a baleful glare when his brother froze, his dark blue gaze zeroing in on Harry's forearm.

Harry had been peeling the bandages from his arm, with a bottle containing a thick, purple salve propped between his knees, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

The scar on Harry's forehead blazed painfully for a second, as Tom hissed out under his breath as he took in the burns and boils spread along Harry's forearm, "What happened to you?"

Harry shot him a scathing look, as he bit out peevishly, "What d'you think? What always happens, Tom! I was hexed, _again_. I was coming from the Great Hall, to leave my schoolbag here before going back to the entrance of the school-"

"Who did it?" said Tom very quietly, swiftly grabbing Harry's wrist.

"Ouch – be careful!" snapped Harry, trying to yank his injured limb from his brother's tight clutch.

"Who?" demanded Tom forcefully, without letting go.

Harry stilled and eyed him carefully, frowning when he saw that his brother's dark blue eyes were flashing with anger.

He nearly scoffed. This might be the first time that his brother saw, first hand, the injuries caused when he was attacked and hexed, but he had certainly informed Tom about it all the other times it had happened.

Indeed, just three days ago, at night, when he had told Tom how he had been attacked that day to press his brother to reveal to him what he was doing about the matter –since Tom only told him to be patient and that he would soon understand his 'plan' and 'the first stage' that he was supposedly already carrying on- Tom had shot him a contemptuous look, telling him that he whined too much since clearly the Slytherins couldn't really harm him.

To prove his point, Tom had showed him a passage in 'Hogwarts, a History', where it explained some of the wards in the school, like those which prevented Apparition and the use of portkeys. It also said that there was a ward that notified the Headmaster when the Dark Arts were used, and thus, Tom had told him crisply, the Slytherins couldn't use Dark Curses on him, so Harry had no cause for concern and he should just stop complaining about being attacked with silly hexes which really couldn't be that bad.

It had only made Harry furious, and he had swirled around and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut on Tom's face when his brother had attempted to follow him.

The only good that had come from it was that the mention about 'wards' had piqued Harry's curiosity. It had prompted him to go to the library, for the first time not to look for books about Charms. Instead, he had learned a bit about wards and had begun to understand that the magic he saw all around the school could only be, actually, 'wards'.

He had even discovered that wards were created with the use of Ancient Runes, and the following day he had spent a while closely inspecting the lattice of magic along the walls, seeing that, indeed, those little lines that he had just thought were scratches or something of the sort, were actually strange symbols – Runes, apparently.

Furthermore, he had overheard that there was an elective course of Ancient Runes that students could take beginning on their third year, so Harry had been quite content with that prospect, which would allow him to further understand all the magic he saw in the castle.

"Who attacked you, Harry?" pressed Tom, his voice now very low as his gaze remained fixed on the charred, crisped skin on Harry's forearm, huge, painful boils scattered here and there.

"Walburga Black," replied Harry flatly, irritated with his brother beyond measure, "and two others that I didn't have time to see who they were." He shot him a glower, as he added shortly, "They hexed me from behind, as always, and then quickly fled."

Walburga had only turned more vicious since the day in which Harry had managed to cast on her the Bat Bogey Hex, which made her have no other choice but to go to the Infirmary, since the 'bat' had ferociously scratched the girl's face, leaving welts on it, and since the girl hadn't known how to cancel the hex or heal herself.

Ever since, Walburga had turned even nastier, as if she now held a personal vendetta against him. It hadn't helped that Dorea Black and Algernon Wilkes had furiously confronted Walburga in the middle of the common room, due to all the points Muriel Prewett had docked from them.

Walburga apparently felt that Dorea and Wilkes had humiliated her in front of her friends, and she clearly blamed Harry for that as well.

"I see," murmured Tom as he started to take over what Harry had been doing, now carefully peeling off the bandages himself. The boy's dark blue eyes darted to the bottle between Harry's legs and then to the two fresh rolls of bandages on top of the bed covers. "You went to the Infirmary, I gather." He skewered Harry with a piercing gaze. "The mediwitch said you were good to go?"

Harry shifted on his seat, but then raised his chin and said smoothly, "Yes. I only have to apply the salve now, and bandage my forearm again. And then later in the evening, that's all."

Tom eyed him suspiciously but said nothing, which Harry was very glad for, since Miss Nightingale had actually told him that he shouldn't be using his arm at all and that he should certainly not go to his Flying Lesson.

Nevertheless, he had managed to convince her that he would do as she said but couldn't stay in the Hospital Wing as she had wanted, since he had books to read for class.

Thus, very reluctantly, Miss Nightingale had bandaged his arm, given him the salve and two rolls of bandages and then had let him go, after she had made him promise that he would go to his dormitory and lie on his bed for the rest of the day.

When Tom started to dab the thick, purple salve on Harry's forearm, Harry hissed in pain a bit, but then merely stared at his brother in silence.

Harry frowned the next second, closely observing Tom as the boy tended to him gently and carefully.

First, Tom had given him his scarf, which Harry still wore, wrapped warmly around his neck, and now this. Tom was positively doting on him, tenderly, and outright behaving like a concerned, loving brother.

It couldn't bode anything good. Harry eyed his brother very suspiciously.

His brother was only nice to him -as 'nice' as someone like Tom could be- when he was up to something. Indeed, most often than not, it was when Tom had been doing something behind Harry's back – something Harry wouldn't like at all.

Harry kept watching him warily, while Tom finished applying the salve and then solicitously wrapped Harry's forearm with fresh bandages.

When he was done, Tom shot him a glance, and said in a quiet, musing tone of voice, "Perhaps, given this-" he gestured at Harry's swathed arm "-it's time for me to implement the second stage of my plan." A dark, ominous smirk tilted his lips, as he added softly, "And in Walburga Black's case, I might even launch the third stage as well. Yes, I think the time is right for such measures."

Tom's smirk became even wider, as if thoughts of gore and bloodshed were happily floating in his mind, before he glanced at Harry again and said curtly, "Now let's get going."

They had to make a run for it, and they caught up with the other first-years being led by the famous Jocunda Sykes, marching down the sloping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch.


	18. Part I: Chapter 17

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers, luv ya! ;)

Nothing to clarify this time, yay! But I have some news that some might not like. I had to split this chapter too, again! Wasn't expecting that. But I promise that interesting things are happening in this one, and I'll post the other in a couple of more days.

From the things that were hinted at, one happened in the last chapter –the whole Abraxas half-Veela thing and knowing a bit what the red flower was– two things are happening in this chapter, and the final most important ones will happen in the next one! So everything's going to be covered ^^

That said, I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 17**

* * *

Harry had seen the enormous Quiddicth pitch before, a week ago when Dorea Black, the Captain of the Slytherin Team and one of its Chasers, had held the tryouts. He had seen the proceedings from a distance, of course, knowing that he wouldn't be welcomed on the stands among his housemates.

He had seen how Dorea had ranted, railed, and shouted with anger and vexation during the entirety of the tryouts, looking thoroughly frustrated with those few she had ended up choosing to fill the empty positions in her team, even though their abilities clearly weren't up to her standards.

Tom had been in the library at the time. He hadn't bothered to even observe, since the boy had quite scathingly informed Harry that he considered the wizarding sport to be an utterly idiotic waste of time, with wizards flopping and flying around, stupidly chasing after balls – for what purpose? Nothing but entertainment for the half-brained masses, Tom had said with much condescension and disdain.

The young Flying Instructor, Jocunda Sykes, with her long ponytail of white hair, led them all towards the very center of the Quidditch field, where there were several long lines of ancient looking brooms lying on the grass, with broken or loose twigs in their tails, sticking out in odd angles.

"Choose a broom and stand before it," Sykes commanded without beating around the bush.

All the first-years scattered around, though it was very noticeable that they all stuck to their own housemates. Harry found himself aligned in the midst of the Slytherins, with Tom at one side and Alphard Black at the other, while the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom were right in front of him.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Miss Sykes at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped at once, so abruptly and instantly that it almost slammed him on the face. Thankfully, his reflexes were very quick, and with some surprise, he swiftly caught his broom's handle. A wide, joyous grin spread on his face the next second.

But he was only one of the few who had been successful in his first try. Felicity managed it in her second attempt, while Felix was glowering at his broom, which just rolled and flopped around the lawn.

Algie Longbottom wasn't having much success, and he was now bellowing 'UP!' at the top of his lungs. Neron Lestrange was yelling too, but it sounded more like a snarl, as his broom wavered back and forth in the air, out of reach, as if afraid of the boy and not quite certain it wanted to be caught by him. Thaddeus Avery was grunting at his, which refused to move.

Myrtle Mimbletinon was by far the worst; her shrill voice quavering as she tremulously called her broom, looking afraid of it, as if expecting it would jump and bite her.

Only Alphard Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and Tom had succeeded in their first try, like Harry. Alphard Black looked happy about it but not surprised, while Malfoy and Tom seemed merely satisfied but clearly also indifferent after their success.

Half an hour later, after Sykes had helped everyone with how to call their brooms –spending most of her time with Myrtle, who didn't look at all happy with her broom in her hand- she then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips and postures.

"Not like that, Mr. McLaggen!" snapped the slim, young witch at the Ravenclaw, when Tiberius kept ignoring her instructions.

The Slytherins, in particular, sniggered and guffawed at this, Harry among them since he didn't like the boy, as the Minister's grandson turned red and puffed out in indignation at being told he had been doing it wrong for years. Olive Hornby shot them all very dirty looks, offended in her crush's behalf.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," said Miss Sykes, a golden whistle in hand, tied around her neck with a thin cord. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and just stay there, hovering."

They all did so, with different degrees of nervousness or confidence, the moment the whistle sounded.

Harry felt himself soaring, for a moment feeling such a startling sensation of sheer joy and unrestrained freedom that he was extremely tempted to just let go and allow himself and the broom to fly wildly without any restrictions. Shockingly enough, he felt as if one with the ancient broom, though it quivered and vibrated as if taxed, and he just wanted to see what they could do.

However, he caught sight of Tom's dark look of warning, and with a gusty sigh, Harry restrained himself, merely hovering three feet above the ground, as Sykes had instructed.

His brother was doing well too, but just like Abraxas Malfoy, only remained floating in midair without looking particularly thrilled, or eager to do more.

Tom had the same hard and joyless expression he had wore when Mr. Hutchins had taught them how to swim during the trips to visit Old John Bryce at Southend-on-Sea.

An expression that indicated that learning such provided no fun to Tom but, rather, that he made himself learn it and be good at it because it was an ability that could prove to be useful. And of course, if others knew how to do it, Tom wouldn't lag behind.

Alphard Black, on the other hand, and Felicity Prewett, had faces that shone with excitement and happiness, as they flew around in small circles. Neron Lestrange, too, after taking command of his old broom, seemed to be quite a good, experienced flyer as well.

Jocunda Sykes was peering up at all of them, her eyes shrewd, as if taking particular notice of those who were talented.

"I don't want to learn how to fly!" abruptly wailed Myrtle very loudly, letting out a terrified moan while she merely hovered a few inches off the ground.

"Very well, then dismount off your broom," barked Jocunda Sykes impatiently, "and just stand to a side and keep quiet, girl!"

Myrtle instantly did so, dropping her broom as if it was hot coals and hastily running as far away as possible from the rest of the hovering students, as if fearing that one of them would plummet down and crash on her.

"What is she doing here?" suddenly said Priscilla Pucey, sounding surprised yet also excited and pleased, hovering a few inches away from Harry as she addressed her question to the rest of the Slytherins.

Harry turned his head around, following the direction of the girl's gaze, and caught sight of Dorea Black striding towards Jocunda Sykes, with Dolohov trailing after her – that enormous, muscled third-year boy that Dorea had angrily berated at the Welcoming Feast.

"Oh, 'Rea always likes to watch the first-years' Flying Lessons," piped in Alphard Black, grinning widely and waving his free, left hand at his aunt.

"True," interjected the handsome Orion Black, rising slightly and quite unsteadily in order to participate in the conversation. "She does it every year. Wants to see who among the first-year Slytherins show some natural talent in flying. For the Quidditch Team, you know."

"But first-years aren't allowed to play Quidditch," snapped Capricia Carrow crossly, who unlike her friend Priscilla Pucey, hadn't grown to respect and worship Dorea Black. Capricia, most of times, looked bitterly envious of her.

"She's looking for future players, of course," pointed out Alphard, rolling his eyes at the girl. "Didn't you see how awful the new players were at the tryouts?"

"What is the Slytherin Captain doing here!" one of the Gryffindors suddenly groused angrily, apparently finally catching sight of her, which caused all the other students to take notice and start muttering and whispering sharply amongst themselves.

"Miss Black, what a pleasant surprise!" exclaimed Jocunda Sykes the moment the fifth-year girl reached her.

That warm welcome only made the Gryffindors whisper all the more furiously, about Sykes –who was also the Quidditch Referee- being biased in favor of Dorea Black and thus the Slytherin Team, about blatantly having favorites, the unfairness of it all and whatnot.

If the Flying Instructor heard them, she gave no sign of it. Sykes looked quite unconcerned as she smiled at Dorea Black. They did seem to be friends of sorts, as much as a teacher and a student could be such. And perhaps it wasn't all that strange, since Jocunda Sykes was relatively young - in her early twenties, from what he had heard.

The Slytherins were those closest to where Sykes, Dorea Black, and Dolohov were now standing, and thus they could overhear their conversation.

Jocunda was eyeing Dorea knowingly, as she murmured, "Want to see which of your housemates show some promise, do you?"

"It would help me," grumbled Dorea Black, a frustrated look on her face. "You should have seen my team's tryouts…" She let out a heavy sigh, before she smiled beautifully at the older witch, as she said cajolingly, "I'll treat you to a bottle of Ogden's on the first trip to Hogsmeade."

Sykes snorted and then arched a white eyebrow at her. "You already owe me twenty galleons for losing to Gryffindor last year."

"And yet a Quidditch arbiter shouldn't bet on the games she referees, should she?" intoned Dorea pleasantly, slightly smirking, though it looked playfully taunting instead of scolding or threatening.

Jocunda Sykes scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. Then her brown eyes narrowed as she glanced at her students, still hovering on their brooms several feet off the ground.

"Alright, I'll lend you a hand," she then said to Dorea. "You'll owe me _two_ bottles of Ogden's _Finest_, mind you."

Dorea agreed to the deal with a satisfied look on her face, just before Jocunda Sykes turned around and loudly announced, "We'll be having a short race among those of you who have shown to be experienced flyers. I'll call on the names of those chosen to participate. The rest of you will come down – you just have to lean forward slightly on your brooms, for that. Fifty points will be awarded to the winner!"

Excited and eager murmurs broke among the students, as Jocunda's gaze slowly swept through all of them, as she began calling, "Miss Prewett, Mr. Black – not you, boy." Orion did look mightily relieved at that, as she added, "Alphard Black, I meant. Mr. Riddle - Mr. Harry Riddle, that is." The witch let out a gusty sigh, clearly a bit exasperated at having several students with same surnames. "Mr. Lestrange, Miss Carrow, Miss Abbot, Mr. Wright, and Mr. Longbottom."

She then gestured at the air above her. "Come and form a line here. The rest of you, come down and dismount from your brooms."

They all did so, though Harry took a moment, since Tom came to hover at his side and whispered sharply, "Is your arm hurting?"

"No," lied Harry smoothly, since it was throbbing painfully, already exerted too much, yet, obviously, he wasn't going to tell his brother that.

Tom didn't look as if he entirely believed him, but in the next second he smirked at him. "Then go for it. Win."

Harry shot him a surprised look, not having expected that.

Was it for the points? No, it was for more than that, he realized when he saw the calculating expression on Tom's face as his brother's gaze darted from Dorea Black to Alphard and Orion – precisely who had explained the girl's motives for being there.

Harry then understood Tom's reasons, though he himself wasn't quite sure if he agreed with them.

The next moment he shook his head, and beamed a smile at Tom, before he shot forward towards the starting line all the others had formed.

He would be doing it for his own reasons and nothing else. He wanted to fly as free as a bird, he wanted to experience that sensation again which he had felt for a very brief moment when he had pushed off the ground. The rest didn't matter much to him, at present.

"Mr. McLaggen!" suddenly snapped the Flying Instructor briskly. "I didn't call your name, did I?"

Harry blinked, seeing that, indeed, the boy had aligned himself with them – the only one of those who hadn't been called who was still up in the air.

"Well, you obviously made a mistake," proclaimed Tiberius McLaggen pompously, puffing out his chest. "I've been flying for ages! All my family members are excellent flyers-"

"I'm not letting you fly, much less participate in a race, until you heed my advice and learn how to grip your broom correctly and how to properly sit on it!" barked Jocunda Sykes irritably. "Now come down right this instant, before I serve you with detention with Apollyon Pringle and that nasty bird of his!"

The threat of being subjected to the sadistic Caretaker of the castle and to the vicious pecks of Rascal the Corvus, did seem to do the trick, since McLaggen quickly landed on the ground the very next second, even if he looked very resentful. Olive Hornby, though, was quick to solicitously comfort him, and that seemed to soothe the boy's wounded, overlarge ego.

"Now, it will only be one lap around the Quidditch field. At the blow of my whistle!"

It sounded three seconds later and they all shot forward, zooming above the heads of all the other students, and an exhilarated cry burst out from Harry.

He soared with joy as he sped forward, his eyes watering behind his glasses, his messy hair flattening back on his head, his robes flapping violently, his fingers freezing in the cold, his injured left arm painfully throbbing with the strain, yet he didn't think he had ever felt such happiness in his life.

He didn't even feel irritated with his broom, which tried now and then to willfully veer to the right, or which sometimes vibrated dangerously, as if about to sputter off and stop working, or which jolted with an abrupt burst of speed to then dwindled back as if its energy was suddenly ebbing away.

All the others had just the very same ancient model and they were having problems of their own. He could particularly hear Neron Lestrange hissing and snarling at his.

But as they flew by the three towering, golden hoops at one end of the pitch, it was already clear who amongst them were the better flyers.

Capricia Carrow was lagging far behind, along with the Hufflepuff girl, Astrid Abbot, and the Ravenclaw, Wenceslas Wright.

The Gryffindors, Felicity Prewett and Algie Longbottom, were clearly very good, but they were a few feet behind. The race was now headed by Alphard Black, Neron Lestrange, and Harry.

Indeed, from the corner of his eyes, Harry even saw Alphard's surprised expression as the boy looked at him. Though in the next moment, Alphard was grinning, apparently quite proud and pleased with Harry's unsuspected ability. On the other hand, Lestrange looked furious as he shot Harry very dark glares.

Just as they were halfway around the lap, about to reach the three hoops at the other end of the field, someone suddenly rammed into him, like a rampaging bull.

Harry let out a shocked cry of pain since they had smashed right into his injured left arm, and his broom dangerously veered to the right with the force of the impact, bucking wildly and nearly unseating him.

He careened sharply, spinning out of control, and he gasped when he saw he was about to crash against the stands.

"Lestrange, you bastard!" he distantly heard Algie Longbottom roaring with fury, while Felicity Prewett cried out "Harry!" with alarm and dismay.

Harry sharply pulled the handle of his broom upwards with all his might, gritting his teeth with the effort and employing every drop of strength, will, and determination, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

He avoided colliding against the stands by a mere inch, turning upside down to dodge them, and then shot forwards with a burst of speed as he managed to turn himself up again. He appeared right behind Algie and Felicity but soon zipped past them.

"Go Harry!" shouted Felicity, letting out a happy laugh as he dashed by her.

Harry pelted forwards, starting to reach Neron Lestrange and Alphard Black, and his green eyes narrowed angrily. If Lestrange wasn't going to compete fairly, he saw no reason to stick to the implicit rules either.

He kept his right hand firmly clutching his broom's handle, and used his injured left arm, now blazing with piercing pain after the hit, to grasp his wand from his robes' pocket.

He certainly wouldn't attack Lestrange physically, as the boy had done, it would be too obvious. No, it had to be something subtle and that no one would notice or could accuse him of.

Harry grinned as the idea struck him. Well, he wasn't at the top of his year in Charms for nothing. And he remembered that very neat, useful spell he had been studying from one of the Charms books that he had taken from the library. It was perfect.

Surreptitiously, he aimed his wand at Neron Lestrange from the folds of his robes, and then whispered, "Confundus!"

In the next instant, the nasty Slytherin blinked, looking dumbly dazed, and then started precariously zigzagging like a disoriented bee.

In a few moments, even Felicity and Algie had passed him by, leaving Lestrange behind.

Suddenly, as he quickly stuffed his wand back into his pocket, he heard a bout of chortles and Harry snapped his head around, to see Alphard Black widely grinning at him over a shoulder. They were the only two who headed the race now, though Black was still a couple of feet ahead of him.

The boy winked, as he said loudly enough to be only heard by Harry, "I won't tell!" Then he added with a cheerful yet also challenging tone of voice, "It's between you and I, now. Let's see what you've got!"

The boy burst forth and Harry swiftly followed, clenching his jaw as he wrapped both his hands tighter around the handle, his knees clamping firmly on his broomstick whilst he completely leaned forward, his body flattening along the broom. His new posture, performed out of sheer instincts, helped much, since the broom apparently took it as some sort of command, and it shot forward like a bullet.

Harry let out a cry of thrilled joy as he gained distance, soon coming to be head to head with Alphard Black, who was wildly grinning.

They both saw that they were reaching the finishing line. At some point, Jocunda Sykes had evidently cast a spell, since there was a glowing, long red tape floating in midair, high above the heads of all the others who had been watching the race and were now loudly shouting, hooting, and cheering.

Both boys put all their efforts in it, panting and rushing forth at breakneck speed. In the next blink of the eye, Harry felt something pressing against his chest, and he stared down, seeing the tape plastered across his torso, its long ends flapping in the air behind him at his sides.

Harry beamed triumphantly as the cries of the students reached his ears.

"That was fantastic!"

"Amazing – best race I've ever watched!"

"He won by a full head!"

"Did you see how quickly he gained back first position after Lestrange knocked him to a side!"

"Never seen someone flying like that!"

"Fifty points to Slytherin!" boomed Jocunda Sykes, looking ecstatic, as Harry flew down to the ground and dismounted off his broom. "Very well done, indeed, Mr. Riddle!"

Harry grinned, his high spirits not even dampened by his housemates' reactions. The Slytherins weren't cheering him, they all looked rather sour. Well, except Tom, of course, who looked satisfied, and annoyingly enough, Malfoy, who was merely observing him.

Alphard Black, for his part, didn't look angry for having lost, but he had a rather odd, pinched expression on his face, as if he was constipated and had to dash to the toilets. Harry realized, in the next second, that the boy had such a weird expression on his face because Alphard was actually doing his best to suppress a grin.

Harry frowned at him, shook his head, and then glanced away. Really, the boy was impossible. Alphard and his wishes for a 'secret friendship', and all his attempts at endearing himself to Harry, still angered and frustrated him to no end.

Several long moments later, the other participants of the race started to land. Neron Lestrange still looked a bit affected, given that he was uncharacteristically silent, with a dumb expression on his face instead of being in a towering rage, as he usually was. Capricia Carrow, though, looked fit to be spitting with fury at Harry having won.

"Well, that's all for now," said Miss Sykes, clapping her hands together. "The lesson is over! Leave your brooms on the ground, I'll take care of them. Off you go!"

It was then, as they all started to leave and Sykes gestured at him to remain behind, that he overheard a bit of the Slytherins' conversation as they made their way towards one of the exits of the Quidditch pitch.

Thaddeus Avery was snarling angrily, "Surely your aunt wouldn't dare-"

"Of course she won't," retorted Orion Black indignantly. "He's still nothing but a mudblood…"

Their voices dimmed with the distance, and Harry spun around, his green eyes wide and alarmed. Indeed, he finally caught sight of Dorea Black again, standing with Dolohov next to the Flying Instructor.

The Slytherin girl was piercing him with glimmering grey eyes, her lips curved upwards in a most ominous way. It made Harry shudder.

Sykes beckoned him again, now impatiently.

Very warily and reluctantly, Harry approached the three of them, dragging his feet.

"Right, I'll leave you to it, then," said Jocunda Sykes brightly, as she flicked her wand and all the brooms rose into the air. She jauntily took off without another word, a line of floating brooms trailing after her.

Harry glanced around him, fretfully. They were all alone now. Tom hadn't even remained behind, the bastard. Clearly he had done that intentionally, clearly his brother knew what would happen and wanted it.

He sighed and turned back to stare at Dorea Black. She smirked at him, her expression much like that of self-satisfied, gloating cat that had unexpectedly cornered a surprisingly juicy mouse.

Suddenly, she whipped out her wand, quickly flicking it as she muttered something under her breath. A leather ball materialized the next second, and abruptly, she hurled it at him.

Without a thought, automatically, Harry instantly caught it with one hand.

"Toss it back!" snapped Dorea briskly.

Blinking, Harry did so, right into the girl's hands. Dorea widely smirked, her grey eyes sparkling gleefully.

"Very fast reflexes and a good aim as well!" she declared triumphantly. She cocked her head to a side as she inspected him, her gaze travelling along his figure. "You'd make a good Seeker too, actually." She then shook her head. "But it's a Chaser I need."

Harry crossed his arms over his small chest, shooting her a rebellious look. "Do you?"

Dorea's grey eyes narrowed, and then she seemed to decide to be candidly honest with him, as she stated flatly, "Look, I need a Chaser for next year. I'm a Chaser myself, you see, but I'll need to replace the other two. Danila Donahue, one of my Chasers, is in seventh year, so I'm planning to substitute her with my nephew Alphard when she leaves Hogwarts – he's quite good, as you have already seen."

She threaded a hand through her long, wavy hair, as she then added with much frustrated irritation, "My other Chaser, Morticia Montague, was excellent – that is, until she took a nasty fall, last year during the first match against Gryffindor." She rolled her eyes with exasperation. "She broke her spine and now she's too afraid-"

"She broke her _spine_?" choked out Harry, his green eyes wide, horrorstruck.

Dorea blinked at him and then loudly scoffed. "Miss Nightingale fixed her in a jiffy, Riddle! There was nothing to fear." She snorted with disgust. "But after that, Morticia has never flown quite as well as before – prefers to keep herself safe now, rather than do risky maneuvers for the sake of the Team, selfish bint!"

She shook her head angrily. "During this year's tryouts, though, she was still better than the other candidates, so I had no choice but to keep her. But I will get rid of her next year!" She pinned Harry with a skewering, hard gaze. "I want to replace her with you, actually. You are the kind of Chaser that I want for the Team – small, lithe, fast, and a reckless, fearless flyer, from what I saw during the race. And you clearly have no problem with feeling pain, taking brutal hits, or playing rough, given that you recovered quite easily when Lestrange smashed into you."

Dorea paused and then an expression of glorious satisfaction spread on her beautiful face, as she disclosed with a smug tone of voice, "So I'm going to train you, Riddle, during this whole year – your arms and legs are too thin, but I'll make you exercise and develop lean muscles on them, don't worry about that. And by this time next year, you'll be superb! The Slytherins will have no other choice but to grudgingly accept you into the Team, even if they hate you for being a muggleborn. We'll be keeping your training a secret until then, of course, so we'll be meeting every Sunday at six in the morning-"

"I'm not doing it," bit out Harry, shooting her a mutinous look.

Dorea blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry crossed his arms over his small chest once more, his expression surly. "Why should I play for those who despise me?"

The girl's grey eyes narrowed to slits, as she spat incensed, "You're a natural on the broom, Riddle! You belong in the air, you silly boy, and I'm not letting your abilities go to waste! Not when I know that with Alphard and you in my team I'll finally be able to thoroughly beat the Gryffindor Captain. He's stolen the Quidditch Cup from me these last few years, and finally I can make him rue the day he dared challenge me!"

Dorea's eyes gleamed most exultantly as she said this, her lips widely curving into some sort of half-dreamy, half-vindictive smile.

Then she took a step towards Harry, her voice lowering, as she pointed out tartly, "And I saw your face when you flew – you looked wildly happy, you little snot, or do you deny it?"

"I don't," said Harry grumpily, then he shook his head, "but still-"

"Still nothing!" snapped Dorea impatiently. Her light grey eyes glinted suddenly, as if remembering a good point, and she said very softly, "And you might want to consider, that if you become the excellent Quidditch player I fully believe you are capable of being, our housemates will come to have some respect for you."

The moment Harry opened his mouth to retort, the girl swiftly raised up a hand, as she added crisply, "Oh, it won't happen overnight, and they'll still hate you for being a muggleborn, but Slytherins appreciate outstanding talent, Riddle – and you clearly have that, on a broom. And you if help Slytherin House win the Quidditch Cup, and show that you are a very valuable asset to the Team-" she widely smirked at him "-then they'll stop harassing, attacking, and bullying you, Riddle, because they wouldn't want to harm one of their Chasers. Indeed, they wouldn't sabotage their own team's chances of winning matches. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Yes," conceded Harry peevishly, that was no revelation to him.

Indeed, it was the first thing that had crossed his mind when he had seen that Tom had left him behind, alone, to deal with Dorea Black. What the girl had just said, he knew, was what his brother had instantly realized and considered. Obviously, that was why Tom had wanted him to participate in the race, after he had heard Orion and Alphard's remarks about Dorea's motives for observing their Flying Lesson.

Dorea's light grey eyes narrowed to slits, clearly not satisfied with the tone of voice in which he had replied.

"Given all the reasons I've given you," she demanded, looking angrily vexed and incredulous, "you still refuse?"

Harry took in a heavy, weary gust of breath, as he carded his fingers through his locks of messy black hair. He eyed her intently, and said shortly, "Fine, I'll agree to be trained by you." He pinned her with narrowed green eyes, as he added firmly, "But if, and the moment, I stop enjoy it and having fun, the deal's off." He shot her a dour look. "I couldn't care less about helping my housemates win the blasted Quidditch Cup. They've made me miserable. I'm agreeing to this for myself."

"Fair enough," said Dorea gravely, giving him a considering look. Then she smirked, in a very self-satisfied manner, and gestured at him and Dolohov. "Come, let's leave the pitch. I'll show you where I'll be training you on Sundays. It's a vast stretch of lawn at the other side of the Black Lake, a spot that can't be seen from the castle – perfect to keep our practices a secret. The hour will help in that too, of course, since we'll be there at the crack of dawn."

Harry groaned at that, which was echoed precisely at the same time by the enormous, muscled third-year boy who had remained silent the whole while, like a mute protector standing and towering behind Dorea.

"Oh, yes, I forgot," Dorea said when Harry and the other boy glanced at each other when they had groaned at the same time. "Harry Riddle, formally meet Antonin Dolohov – Slytherin's Keeper."

The huge older boy now shot him a very nasty, malevolent glare, full of contempt and jealous bitterness too, it seemed, but the expression vanished the next second when Dorea slapped Dolohov up the head, as she snapped, "I'll have none of that between my players! You know how I value teamwork, and that requires respect, Antonin, both ways!"

Dolohov merely grunted, whether it was from reluctant understanding and acceptance or a complain and tacit rejection of her words, it was impossible to know.

Clearly unperturbed by this, Dorea Black carried on blithely, "And you know I'm giving you extra training because you've become a lazy lummox, Antonin. Furthermore, since you're the Keeper and need to practice your goalie skills against more than one Chaser, having Riddle training with us is very convenient. And he, of course, needs to practice with a Keeper and another Chaser too, so it works perfectly all around."

The moment they were out of the Quidditch pitch and started making their way towards the castle, Dorea pointed a finger towards the distance. "See the bridge that goes to Hogsmeade?"

Harry gazed in that direction. Indeed, very far away, there was a very tall and narrow wooden bridge, perched very high across one end of the Black Lake.

"Over that side of the shore, there's a large clearing – that's where we'll be training." Dorea shot him a glance, as she added curtly, "And you'll have to get a broom of your own, Riddle. I'm not having you practicing with the school brooms – they're useless. And you'll need an excellent broom for when you're part of the Team, so I suggest you owl-order one from Quality Quidditch Supplies-"

"I can't," muttered Harry grimly, his face paling.

Dorea halted in her tracks and fully turned around to face him. They were mere feet away from the immense oak doors of Hogwarts' entrance.

She skewered him with her gaze and then glanced at Dolohov, as she said shortly, "Leave us, Antonin. I want a word in private with him."

Dolohov didn't look at all pleased with this, he was frowning and scowling, but Dorea gave him such a dark, vexed look, that the enormous boy soon obeyed, only shooting Harry one last glower.

The moment they were alone, Dorea turned back to Harry, as she said slowly, "Lestrange has been saying that you and your twin don't seem to have much money – that at night, you don strange, threadbare sleepwear. Your muggle parents are poor then?"

Harry snorted at that, but then clenched his jaw and remained silent.

"Look, Riddle," snapped the fifth-year girl impatiently. "I need to know-"

"No, I don't have money enough to buy a broom," bit out Harry dourly, then he crossed his arms over his small chest, and added shortly, "And I can't have a broom, either, can I? My Hogwarts' letter said that first-years aren't allowed-"

"Why do you think I'm going to be training you on Sundays at six in the morning, at the most remote corner of Hogwarts' grounds?" said Dorea irritably. "So that no one sees you using a broom, Riddle!" She waved a hand dismissively. "Granted, I also want to keep your training a secret because I don't want to put up with our housemates' furious complains of why I'm training a muggleborn. But the point is that you need a good broom…"

She trailed off, musingly taping a finger on her chin. "Alphie got the new Comet 180 for his birthday, and it's a marvel. It's back at home…" Her grey eyes brightened. "Right, I'll tell him to write to Pollux and ask to have his broom sent to him – shrunken, of course, so that no one realizes what it is…"

"I'm not asking Black to lend me his broom," gritted out Harry incensed. "I would owe him for that, and he might use it as an excuse to-"

He broke off and clamped his mouth shut, glancing away.

Dorea's light grey eyes narrowed, and she suddenly took a step towards him, as she hissed out, "He'll use it as an excuse to make you be his friend – is that what you were going to say?"

Harry's head snapped around, to stare at her in surprise.

The girl scoffed. "What – you thought I didn't know what my nephew has been up to?" Dorea then pinned him with her gaze. "Besides my brother Pollux, Alphard is my only other relative that I actually like, and I'm in his confidence. He told me all about how he met you in Diagon Alley, and how he's been trying to be your friend-"

"Friends in _secret_!" snapped Harry hotly, glowering at her.

"You foolish little boy!" bit out Dorea, her eyes flashing angrily. "Pollux would disown his son in a second if he heard that Alphard was cavorting with a 'mudblood'! Is that what you want – for Alphard to be left without his inheritance, without a name, without a family!"

Startled, Harry blanched, his mouth hanging open, before he stammered, "No – but –"

"It's all the same with your kind," snapped Dorea with irritation. "You muggleborns don't have the slightest clue, and you go around demanding to be treated as equals without even stopping to consider how things are for us! Alphard is risking a lot by just trying to be your 'secret friend', and it's still not enough, in your opinion!"

Harry frowned, and remained silent.

"For some unfathomable reason," carried on Dorea in a sharp tone of voice, advancing on him, "my nephew likes you and is interested in you. And I want to see him happy for once in his life." She flicked her hair to one side, with frustration, as she added, "He's always been the odd one out, and doesn't really have friends of his own. His cousin Orion has always been Abraxas Malfoy's closest friend, along with Lestrange, and doesn't pay much attention to Alphie, and my nephew's other cousins and siblings are older and have their own little cliques of friends."

Harry's expression slowly softened as he considered all her words.

Dorea paused, to then pierce him with her light grey eyes. "Alphard is simply different than all of them – better, in my opinion." Her eyes narrowed. "But he's still a Black, and when a Black does you the great honor of extending a hand in friendship, no matter the conditions attached to it, you should have the good sense of accepting and bask in the great compliment that is being bestowed upon you and in the fruits that such a friendship will bear."

Harry scowled for a moment, her proclamation making him feel a bit insulted and indignant at first, but then gazed back at her, pensively, as he mulled about the whole matter.

"So you _will_ give him a chance," demanded Dorea, drilling her gaze into him, "won't you?"

"Maybe…" muttered Harry slowly, hesitantly. Then he let out a weary sigh. "Fine, yes."

"Good," said Dorea shortly. "So that's settled. And I'll tell Alphie about the broom and he'll be more than happy to lend it to you."

And with that, she marched off into the castle.

* * *

When Harry reached the dungeons and slipped into the common room, he caught sight of Dorea and Alphard seated together in one shadowy corner. They were whispering among themselves, and then Alphard noticed him and shot him a beaming grin.

Harry stared for a moment, seeing the boy's joyous expression making him feel rather guilty for having rejected him all that time. Then he felt extremely awkward, not knowing quite how to respond, and merely gave him some sort of forced, uncomfortable smile – which he knew had to look pained and weird.

Then he just glanced away and hurried off to the dormitories. As he had expected, he found Tom waiting for him.

No sooner had Harry crossed the threshold, that his brother demanded, "Did Dorea Black-"

"Yes," breathed out Harry, plopping himself down on his bed.

He winced and gently clutched his throbbing left arm. While he took the salve and a new roll of bandages from his nightstand, he told Tom what had happened. He left out the part regarding Alphard, though, knowing his brother wouldn't be particularly thrilled about that.

"Perfect," said Tom smirking, the moment Harry ended the narration. He looked extremely pleased with the situation. "It's just what I wanted."

His brother was so content, in fact, that he gently tended to Harry's injured forearm again, helping him peel off the bandages.

Harry paled and cringed when he saw the state of his arm. The charred skin was no longer just red, but rather bubbly with an ugly puce color. The first application of the salve had cured the boils, since they had vanished, but it was clear that the strain of having used his arm when flying –and being hit by Lestrange- had also worsened the burned parts.

At the sight, Tom clicked his tongue in a chiding manner, but evidently his good mood wasn't dampened.

He applied the salve on Harry's arm again, very tenderly, as he intoned placidly, "I still think Quidditch is nothing but a waste of time, but you becoming part of the team, and thus gaining some respect, as Dorea Black said to you, will work quite well with my plan. Even if it will only happen next year."

He shot Harry a very smug smirk, as if he had been the mastermind behind it all, and Dorea and Harry had just been the puppets that had danced when he had pulled the strings.

Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yes, Tom, I did it all for you and your great, magnificent 'plan'." Then he glowered, and grumbled darkly, "Whatever it is. If you just told me-"

"Not yet," tutted Tom, undaunted by Harry's miffed glare. He finished bandaging Harry's forearm, and then moved to his desk, grabbing his schoolbag.

Harry frowned at him. "Where are you going? I thought we could work on our essays for-"

"Not a chance," said Tom coolly, as he began stuffing his schoolbag with quills, inkbottles, and parchments. "I'm off to the library." He glanced at Harry, seeing his annoyed look, and added loftily, "I'm very busy, little brother. I'm working on many things, as you know-"

"I _don't_ know," snapped Harry crossly, scowling at him.

"You know the important parts," pointed out Tom nonchalantly, arching an eyebrow at him. "You know what I'm researching, don't you? That's good enough. When I discover something important, I'll let you know."

And with that, he left the room, leaving Harry behind, alone and sulking.

Harry stood up and kicked his trunk in anger, then he winced and dearly regretted it when his big toe throbbed. But really, he wasn't at all happy with his brother. He dearly missed him.

They had always spent all their time together, except those three months long ago when Tom had been furious with him and hadn't spared him a word. But this was different, because Harry hadn't done anything wrong and his brother was ditching him -for books!

Harry brooded sullenly, and then he became angered with himself and the self-pity party he was throwing, and sprung to his feet again.

Fine, then, he would go and spend some time with the Prewetts, and then he would tell Tom all about it, bubbling with cheerfulness, and he'll watch how his brother glowered and got all nasty with jealously, and Harry will vindictively snigger in his mind all the while.

That decided, now in a bright good mood, Harry picked up his school things and dashed out of the room, soon making his way to Gryffindor Tower.

Something was up with the red and gold House, Harry saw as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole behind the Fat Lady, after giving her that week's password – the twins did always keep him up to date with that.

He caught sight of the twins, who were playing Exploding Snaps with Algie Longbottom, and made a beeline for them.

"Oh, good, you came!" said Felicity happily as Harry took a seat among them. She shot him a speculative glance. "I thought you wouldn't. You said you would do your Potions homework with your brother, this evening."

"He was busy," said Harry a bit grumpily. Then he brightened. "I brought my History of Magic book, though. Binns gave you the same homework as us, didn't he? I thought we could work on that together, even if we don't share the same class."

"Yes," groaned Felix mournfully. "The three-foot essay about the Hag Convention of 1419 – who cares about that, I ask you!"

Algie Longbottom snorted, just as a card spontaneously exploded and nearly scorched his fingers. Felix whooped in victory at that.

Felicity rolled her eyes at them, and then turned to Harry, smiling widely. "Good idea, Harry. We should get started with the essay as soon as possible. It's due in three days."

Harry nodded as they both started getting out their books, parchments, and quills.

He and Felicity worked together on their essays, and after nearly two torturous, long hours, they finished.

It was then when Harry paid attention again to the rest of the Gryffindors, many of who were still congregated together in the middle of the common room, speaking quickly and looking very animated.

"So, what's going on?" he finally asked as he sharpened his quill's tip with Felicity's penknife, pointedly looking at the older Gryffindors so that she realized what he meant.

"Oh, All Hallow's Eve is in two weeks, you know," said Felicity excitedly. She pointed at a girl amongst the crowd. "Amanda Morninglory is a halfblood. Her mother is an American muggle, and Amanda has been telling us all about how they celebrate Hallow's Eve over there."

"Apparently, the American muggles," piped in Felix with a thrilled expression on his face, who had left the Exploding Snaps to play a game of chess with Longbottom, "get dressed up in wacky costumes or scary ones, and paint their faces and whatnot, and go around doing something called 'Trick or Treat', asking for candies…"

"And we all thought it was a great, fun idea!" continued Felicity, grinning widely. "So now they're planning the costume party! The older Gryffindors will get butterbeer, sweets, and candies from Hogsmeade, since the first outing is exactly on the weekend before Hallow's Eve."

"We're inviting the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too," pointed out Algie Longbottom, then pausing to give instructions to a white knight to move across the chessboard. His expression then turned pleased and proud, as he added, "We have already told them and plenty agreed to come!"

"Oh!" Harry gazed at the three of them with wide, exhilarated eyes, as he said very excitedly, "And can I come too, then? I've never been to a costume party!"

Algie Longbottom looked a bit hesitant at that, and remained silent, which made Harry frown at him, just as Felix piped in, "Sure you can – you're our friend!"

"But he's also a Slytherin," said Algie quietly, shooting Harry an apologetic glance.

Felicity scoffed. "Don't be silly, Algie. The other Gryffindors won't mind."

"You should ask them, first," retorted Algie firmly, "before raising Harry's hopes."

Felicity frowned at the boy, before she said curtly, "Fine, I will then." And without any further ado, she sprung to her feet and called out, "Oi, you lot! Can Harry attend the party?"

The bunch of older Gryffindors abruptly fell silent, turning around to look at the girl, some frowning, others blinking, and several scowling.

"Harry who?" one of them said.

"Harry Riddle," replied Felicity with some exasperation, as she gestured at Harry.

All their gazes turned to him, and Harry forced himself to calmly stare back at them, though he would have rather preferred that Felicity wouldn't have gone about it in such a way.

It didn't escape his notice how the expressions of many of the Gryffindor's faces changed when they saw his green and silver tie and scarf.

"He's a Slytherin!" someone burst out, scandalized.

Many voices then rose together at the same time.

"He's that muggleborn twin!"

"Ah, yes, the one Muriel has been protecting!"

Harry nearly let out a loud, disdainful scoff at that, but wisely kept silent.

"But we can't have a Slytherin at the party!"

"He's been in our common room plenty of times, I've told Muriel that she shouldn't allow it-"

"The Prewetts have been giving him our passwords, I've heard…"

"If he comes, then the other Slytherins might try and do the same and they'll ruin everything!"

"No, they won't!" snapped Felicity, scowling at them. "Most Slytherins are dark purebloods, so they'll be celebrating Samhain that night. And I know for a fact that Headmaster Dippet has always allowed them to leave the castle and spend that night with their families, so Harry will be all alone!"

Harry shot her a puzzled look, and he saw that he wasn't the only one. There were many Gryffindors who clearly didn't know about this 'Samhain' celebration of the dark purebloods, since they were gazing confusedly at Felicity. Only a very few were nodding.

"It doesn't change the fact that he's a Slytherin!" bit out a sixth-year boy, one that Harry recognized as being one of those who always grumbled and shot him dark looks when he was in their common room. "And many of us don't appreciate that you've been giving him the password for the Fat Lady!"

"Very true!" interjected someone else, very gruffly. "Muggleborn or not, he's still a Slytherin, and one of these days he'll tell his housemates our password so that they treat him better, and the slimy snakes will creep into our common room and dorms at night, and who knows what they'll do to us!"

"They'll use the Dark Arts!" someone gasped in alarm, as if the thought had just struck them. "When we're asleep!"

"… hex us, they will, while we're in our beds, defenseless, slimy snakes that they are, and they'll do all sort of nasty, dark things, and destroy our common room, at the very least!"

"Harry would never give them our password!" roared Felix Prewett, jumping to his feet and standing by Felicity's side, who had began yelling back at the other Gryffindors.

It all took a plunge for the worse, after that, with only the twins defending him while most of the other Gryffindors seemed to get even more wind under their sails, voicing all sorts of ridiculous things about what Harry was secretly plotting with his housemates, or that he was a spy and they had suspected all along, or that the Slytherins would kill them all with evil Dark Magic, if given half a chance, and whatnot.

In the midst of the chaos, more Gryffindors abruptly entered the common room, sweaty and dirty, their distinctive apparel indicating that they were the Quidditch players of the Gryffindor Team, who apparently had had a taxing, night training session.

Most of them instantly wanted to know what all the commotion was about and soon got mixed into the shouts and yells, as well.

At that, Harry finally stuffed his things into this schoolbag, very sullenly, and then quietly slipped out.

He had known, of course, after his experience with Muriel Prewett, that the Gryffindors were not the knights in shinning armor they so liked to proclaim they were. He had known that, at some point, their 'good will' would ran out and something like this would happen.

Though, he hadn't expected it would be so soon, or just precisely when he was feeling so downcast and lonely, missing his brother's company so much.

* * *

Harry was panting, as he ran along the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons, having just evaded Rascal the Corvus by mere seconds.

When he had been making his way to the lower levels of the castle, he had heard the ominous flapping of wings, along with the 'click, clack', clanking sound of Apollyon Pringle's wooden leg hitting the stone floors.

A quick Tempus Charm had made him realize it was way past curfew time, and alarmed, he had dashed through the corridors.

So far, he had been fortunate enough as to have never encountered the Caretaker and his nasty pet during their rounds. But he had seen, a couple of times, Neron Lestrange and Thaddeus Avery with faces and hands covered in bleeding, small wounds caused by Rascal's beak, and he certainly didn't want to suffer the same.

Nearly out of breath, Harry was swiftly reaching the entrance to Slytherin House, when he caught sight of something very strange.

Just a few feet away, right in front the blank expanse of wall that led to the Slytherin common room, there was some sort of blurry, glowing thing – it looked like a figure, crouching, glowing with a sort of watery mantle of golden and white magic. And it was speaking!

"No, that didn't work - what were the bloody words then?" the figure was grousing under its breath, in a suffering tone of voice. "Really, a password in Croatian, how am I expected to remember that! She just likes to make things difficult for me-"

Harry skidded to a halt, and the thing swiftly turned around towards him and went very still and silent.

Alarmed, wondering what kind of amorphous, dangerous creature could have slipped inside the castle, Harry instantly whipped out his wand, straightly aiming it, and snapped, "I heard you speaking, you thing! Go away before I scream and get everyone out here-"

"You thing?" the figure echoed, letting out a very amused laugh.

Harry yelped in horror and jumped a step back, when a bodiless hand suddenly appeared, floating in mid-air.

Then he blinked, and gaped, when the hand grasped the mantle of golden and white magic and pulled it to a side. A tall boy suddenly appeared, as if having emerged from underneath it.

Harry stared, mouth hanging open, as the boy stuck the mantle of magic into a large pocket of his robes, only leaving a corner sticking out, which had a strange geometrical symbol that glowed in silver light.

He lost sight of it as the older boy shifted and stood there, gazing at him. Harry observed him in return.

The boy was tall, broad shouldered, and very good looking, with windswept dark hair and hazel eyes. But what caught his attention the most, was what the boy was wearing: a crimson and golden Quidditch uniform with mud splattered all over it, with leather pads on shoulders, elbows, and knees. The golden badge displaying a large 'C', pinned on the right side of the chest, was unmistakable too.

The boy was the Captain of the Gryffindor Team! Harry instantly became very suspicious and on guard.

It couldn't mean anything good if the Gryffindor Captain was trying to break into the Slytherin common room! And he remembered clearly what Dorea Black had said about wanting to beat this Captain – evidently, she quite hated her rival.

"You look familiar," said the tall boy, cocking his head to a side. His hazel eyes brightened the next second in dawning realization. "Ah, yes! You're one of the twins - the muggleborn Slytherins, right? I've heard about you."

"Er…"

"I'm Potter," the older boy said, widely grinning as he stuck out a hand, "Charlus Potter."

Warily, Harry stared, but then shook the proffered hand, as he muttered, "Harry Riddle."

"Ah, yes, that's the name!" Potter beamed a charming smile. "Now, can you help me get inside?" He gestured at the blank wall.

Harry's green eyes narrowed, still holding his wand, though he had lowered it. "I don't think I should."

Potter chuckled as he slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not going to do anything to you little snakes!" A wide, joyful, and dashing smile spread on his face, lightening it up, as he winked at him. "Oh, no, I've got much more pleasurable business in hand. I have a date with the most beauteous, magnificent, delightful, bewitching girl in the school – a goddess! – the keeper of my heart, she is! You wouldn't want me to be late for that, would you?"

Harry's mouth hanged open, and he eyed him incredulously. "You've got a date – with a _Slytherin_ girl?"

"Oh yes," Potter breathed out exultantly, his hazel eyes sparkling. "And I cannot wait to kiss her senseless as she deserves, naughty minx that she is! Giving me a password in Croatian, of all things!"

"Um…" Harry began hesitantly. "So you _do_ know the password?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "I know what it means, but can't remember how it's said in Croatian, of course! Really, I don't know how you put up with it – having passwords in all sorts of impossible, strange languages."

Harry frowned, not quite knowing if to believe him or not. But then he stowed his wand away and compromised. "All right. If you correctly tell me what it means, then I'll believe you and let you in."

"Easy enough," said Potter, grinning, to then scoff and roll his eyes. "It means 'pride of the blood'."

Harry rubbed his brow. "Well, that's right. Come on, then." He gestured at him with a hand as he stood before the wall, and said very slowly, carefully enunciating the Croatian words, "_Ponos u krvi_."

It opened for them and Harry let out a relieved exhalation of breath.

It was no easy thing to learn the passwords by heart, but they all practiced saying them correctly for many hours, if that's what it took. No one wanted to end up like Thaddeus Avery, who had already spent five different nights sleeping in the corridors because he couldn't remember how the passwords were said in their foreign languages.

"Thank Merlin you got it right!" exhaled Potter behind him.

Harry, for his part, was grateful that the common room was empty. It was quite late and everyone was clearly already in their beds.

"Um, so…" trailed off Harry uncertainly, turning around to face the older boy. "I'll be going to sleep now. It was nice to meet you-"

"Oh, wait!" Potter rushed to him, and then stood there, scratching the back of his head. "Could you do me another favor? I don't want to get deeper into the lair and into 'forbidden territory', if you know what I mean - in case someone else bumps into me." He imploringly gazed down at Harry. "So could you go and tell my girl that I'm waiting for her here?"

"Alright," said Harry, releasing a heavy sigh. "Who is she?"

Potter grinned rakishly and winked at him. "She'll be the only one waiting awake in the fifth-year girls' dorm."

Harry nodded, left his schoolbag on a settee, and marched off towards the archway at the left end corner of the common room. He had just set a foot on the very first step of the spiral staircase that led downwards, when a yell of alarm rang loudly.

"DON'T!"

Just for a split second, in the time that it took Harry to snap his head around, startled, he saw Alphard Black at the threshold of the archway that led to the boys' dormitories. It had been him who had shouted, urgently, but it was too late.

The staircase under Harry's feet had swiftly morphed into a slide, and he instantly lost his balance and fell, landing on his back and shooting off, like a speeding bullet. He frantically flailed his arms and legs, trying to get a hold on something, but it was to no avail.

Harry spun and spun, going down the spiraling slide. He saw a blurry flash of three doors on the first subfloor, as he flew by, then another three doors in the next level, and he shouted in alarm when he didn't stop and continued sliding down at an alarming speed, and finally he was on the last level, which had only one door – that of the seventh-year girls' bedroom.

It was the last subfloor and the stairs-turned-slide ended there, but nothing sprouted up to halt his progress. Instead, he shot off from the very end of the slide, and was careening forth, not towards the door, though, that would have somewhat relieved him. He was flying towards the stone wall!

When he was about to brutally smash into the wall, he instinctually crossed his arms over his face. But just as he was about to crash into the hard stones, a gaping dark hole appeared, opening wide, like a gigantic mouth.

Harry got sucked into it, his body somersaulting, leaving him hanging upside down as he got yanked upwards in the darkness, as if he was shooting up inside some sort of huge tube or pipe.

And, suddenly, he was spat out, like a regurgitated thing, and he landed on his rump, sprawling on stone floors.

Pained, dizzy, wheezing, and utterly disoriented, he heard voices as if they were coming from a faraway distance.

"How was I supposed to imagine that Salazar Slytherin had cared about protecting the virtue of girls!"

"Of course he cared, Charlus! Given his beliefs and ideals, Slytherin had even more reason than the other Founders to enchant the girls' stairs so that boys couldn't get in their dormitories!"

The sound of shoes scuffing on floors, and then grey eyes were peering at him, a helping hand offered.

"Are you alright?" inquired Alphard Black worriedly.

Harry could only dizzily blink at him, and groan. Everything ached. The only thing that consoled him was the fact that he had, thankfully, not landed on his injured arm. But still, that was little solace indeed.

All of it was very unfair, inwardly bemoaned Harry. He was having a very rough day. He simply shouldn't have gotten out of his bed that morning, he decided.

Everything was still very blurry, he then slowly realized. He numbly started patting his face with a hand, and finally found his eyeglasses precariously hanging from his left ear.

"What – where – " he wheezed, as he stuck his glasses back into their place.

Apparently, Alphard understood him, because the boy pointed at a fireplace. "You're back in the common room and you came shooting out of there."

The boy then carefully helped him up, and Harry let out a sound, a whimper mixed with a pained groan. His bum and back were killing him.

"Oh, allow me," said Potter, flicking his wand at Harry and muttering something.

The effect was instantaneous, all aches disappeared and his back seemed to get back to normal.

"I'm sorry about that," said Potter sheepishly. "I didn't know what the stairs would do."

Harry grumbled something unintelligible, and finally slowly stood up straight. He shot the older boy a very miffed glower, then.

Potter gave him a sort of apologetic grin, if such a thing was possible, and patted Harry on the back – at least it was gently.

Then the tall, older boy turned to Alphard. "So, can you get her for me, then? You said you had a way, since going down the stairs is clearly a No-No."

"Yes, I do," said Alphard, still holding Harry with a hand. Then he gave Potter a considering look, his grey eyes flickering towards the piece of sheer, silvery cloth that stuck out of the older boy's bulging pocket. "If you keep the promise you gave me this summer, that is."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you can have my Invisibility Cloak when I leave Hogwarts. But it's only a lending, mind you. I want it back the moment you finish your seventh year, because-"

"It's a Potter heirloom," piped in Alphard quickly. "Yes, I know, Charlus." He widely grinned. "You got yourself a deal, then."

Harry, all the while, had watched them in bemusement. Though at least he knew what was what he had seen; that golden and white mantle of magic. 'Invisibility Cloak' – not much explanation was needed to understand what it was and did.

Nevertheless, the discovery left him feeling quite astonished. He hadn't imagined that such things existed. Though he could certainly understand why Alphard would want it – oh, the possibilities - all the things that could be done with something like that!

Then, Alphard started to lead him towards one of the couches, and Harry simply allowed it, still feeling a bit winded.

As soon as Harry had sat down, Alphard turned around, flicked his wand and said something under his breath. A small blue bird shot from the boy's wand tip and then fluttered away quickly, flying through the archway of the girls' dormitories.

"She'll be up soon," said Alphard to Potter, as he sat down across from Harry, and then addressed him. "Are you feeling better?"

Harry nodded. "Yup, thanks."

As they all waited for Potter's mysterious girlfriend to make an appearance, Harry shot Alphard a puzzled glance. After what had happened, he no longer felt all that awkward around the boy, and he was a bit curious, so he asked quietly, "What were you doing up here?"

Alphard lopsidedly grinned at him. "Waiting for you, actually. All the others were in their beds - your twin too. And it was getting late."

"Oh." Harry blinked, not quite knowing what to say to that. Then he began hesitantly, "Um… I saw you and Dorea talking before… did she tell you-"

"She told me all about her conversation with you," said Alphard quietly, then he added nervous and vacillating, "She said you had agreed to be my… er… my friend?" He cast Harry a hopeful look. "Did you really?"

"Um, yeah," mumbled Harry, nodding, then he gave him a small, tentative smile.

Alphard grinned widely in return, his grey eyes shinning.

Their first stumbling foray into their new friendship was interrupted when a beautiful girl stepped into the common room, wearing a strappy, silvery nightgown with a silky white shawl draped over her slim shoulders.

"Dorea?" choked out Harry, having to blink twice just to be certain. He gaped.

The girl didn't pay much attention to either of them, her light grey eyes were fixed on Potter, who was wearing a silly, irredeemably besotted smile on his handsome face.

"You didn't even have the decency of changing after your Quidditch practice?" she said crisply, her light grey eyes narrowing as her gaze trailed up and down the tall boy. "You're mad if you think I'm going anywhere near you – you're filthy!"

"Oh, but my darling," enthused Potter in a playful, suggestive tone, "_dirty_ and _filthy_ is just the way you like me!"

Dorea snorted irreverently, then she waved a hand impatiently, as she said with exasperation, "Well, you'll have to do, just like that. What's the plan, then?"

Potter widely smiled as he bounded up to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. He ducked down and breathed into her ear, "You'll love it. I'm taking you to the Astronomy Tower tonight, and-"

"The Astronomy Tower, really?" she intoned flatly, giving him a very unimpressed look. "Just where everyone else goes?" She splayed a hand and gazed at her fingernails. "I might just have to find myself another beau. A more creative and resourceful one…"

She trailed off, leaving that hanging in the air.

"Don't count me off yet, my luv," murmured Potter, shooting her a wicked, rakish grin. "Just you wait and see what I've prepared. It will sweep you off your feet, it will – literally."

Dorea shot him an interested look at that, and then briefly inclined her head, as some sort of gesture implying permission.

Potter beamed, and quickly took out his Invisibility Cloak and draped it over them both.

Just as Harry saw the bulgy mantle of golden and white magic about to slip out of the common room, Dorea Black's head stuck out from the invisible folds, looking as if it was beheaded, dangling in mid-air, and the girl snapped, "Go to sleep, you two!"

And with that, the couple left, and Harry was still gaping.

In the next second, he whipped his head around to stare at Alphard, as he said astounded and incredulous, "They are _together_? But the things Dorea said to me about the 'Gryffindor Captain' – I thought she hated him!"

Alphard sniggered under his breath. "Oh, on the Quidditch field they're both fierce rivals – they love it that way."

Harry blinked, and then frowned, as he said slowly, "So all the nasty things your sister said to Dorea at the Welcoming Feast – all that was about Charlus Potter?"

"Yes," said Alphard, not looking amused anymore.

Harry certainly had loads of questions about that, but he was feeling quite tired after the long day, so he said hesitantly, "Um, we should call it a night and go to bed…" just as Alphard said excitedly, "Let's go to the kitchens for a midnight snack, the house-elves make a delicious-"

"Elves?" Harry breathed out, staring at him, astonished and excited. "The Elves are in the kitchens?"

Alphard blinked. "Of course! Where else would they be?" Then he broadly grinned at him. "I can show you where the kitchens are and how to get in – Charlus told me about it! And I've already been a couple of times. The house-elves make a scrumptious cup of hot chocolate with a side of scones. And I can tell you all about Dorea and Charlus. What do you say?"

"Sure!" piped Harry eagerly, all his tiredness vanishing at the thought of finally seeing the Elves!


	19. Part I: Chapter 18

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Answering a couple of reviewers:

In canon, Alphard Black was the uncle who died and left Sirius his fortune, when Sirius was a teenager and had already ran away from his family. That's why Alphard Black's name was one of those that Walburga Black had burned off from the family-tree tapestry in Grimmauld Place.

However, as we saw in the chapter about Narcissa, Alphard's future is different from canon's already – this caused by Harry's time-travel and presence in the past. For one, Alphard is still alive. A recluse, Narcissa said.

Harry Riddle and Alphard Black are going to be very much part of each other's lives, and they'll 'meet' again, so to speak, in the future.

Narcissa doesn't know anything about 'Harry Riddle' or that her son Antares with Harry Potter's soul was that twin of the Dark Lord she had briefly heard about from her mother Druella Rosier. But Narcissa does plan to get Antares mixed with old, hermit Alphard Black, because she wants the Black estates and fortune for Antares. But that is a whole other story – part II, that is. *grins*

Why didn't Charlus Potter ask Harry why he could see him?

Because Harry said he had heard him speaking, not seen him, when Charlus Potter was under the Cloak and had stilled and stopped talking when detecting Harry's presence. Harry didn't say "I see you" because for him it was obvious that Charlus was there, being seen, since Harry still didn't know at that point that the magic he was seeing was actually an Invisibility Cloak. And he didn't ask Alphard about it because he isn't telling anyone about his magic-seeing ability, only Tom knows. Harry isn't telling anyone because he doesn't understand why he can do it and because he doesn't want to stand out in that way and be a "freak", so to speak, since he already knows that everyone else doesn't see the magic in the school.

Why doesn't Harry simply follow the green magic lines around the school to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?

If you remember, he saw the Slytherin dense lattice of magic only on the bit of wall that was the entrance to their common room, but there was nothing before he came upon it that blatantly indicated where it was – there wasn't a trail of green lines showing the way because all the common/general areas of the school present the colors of magic of all 4 Founders.

In the case of the entrance to the Chamber, since it's the sinks in the middle of the girls' bathroom, only the sink would have Slytherin's colors of magic, so Harry won't see it unless he gets in the girls' bathroom, and what reason would he have to do so? We'll see that much further ahead. So Harry's search for the Chamber will drag on quite a bit. After all, in canon, Tom only found it in his last year of school. Harry won't take that long, but it won't be immediate either.

**That said, enjoy this chapter and review! *winks***

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 18**

* * *

Ever since Figwig Ogg, the school's Groundskeeper, had mentioned 'house-elves' when he told them to leave their trunks at the platform of Hogsmead's train station, Harry had been thrilled by the revelation that there were Elves somewhere in Hogwarts.

Though he had never imagined they would be in the _kitchens. _He wondered about that as he and Alphard cautiously made their way through the dungeon corridors, straining their hearing in order to detect if there was a flapping of wings that would indicate that Rascal the Corvus was still on the prowl.

In one of his fairytale books -that he and Tom had nicked from a bookstore in London, during the times in which it was Harry's turn to choose what shop to hit- he had read several Celtic folklore myths and legends about Elves; that they were willowy, unearthly beautiful beings that dwelt in the woods of Ireland.

Perhaps, Harry mused, there were also Elves who liked enchanted castles, and….um, food…. so that's why they were in the kitchens? Thinking about it that way, it didn't make much sense, but he was still very thrilled with the idea of finally seeing the magnificent beings!

So he eagerly followed Alphard as they made their way to the school's ground floor, as the boy told him, in a whispered voice, about how Dorea and Charlus Potter had ended up together.

"Charlus has always been after her since they were in third year," said Alphard quietly, "though Dorea wouldn't give him the time of day! It was only when they both became Captains of their House's Quidditch Team that Dorea started to take notice of him." He sniggered under his breath. "They're both the best Chasers in the school, but Charlus has always beaten her, and I think it was that that riled up Dorea and made her become interested in him. She only respects someone who can compete with her and best her, you see?"

He chuckled, and Harry shot him a puzzled glance, as he said confusedly, "But why did your sister Walburga say those nasty things to Dorea at the Welcoming Feast? What's wrong with Potter?"

"Nothing's wrong with Charlus," said Alphard rolling his eyes. "The Potters are one of the oldest and most distinguished wizarding families in Britain! They're _light_ purebloods, granted, but that isn't that bad, because they have loads of prestige and are very wealthy. Walburga is just furious about the whole thing because…" He trailed off and then heavily sighed. "Well, because we, the Blacks, owe the Malfoys a bride."

Harry shot him a perplexed sidelong glance. "You _owe_ them a _bride_?"

"Yes," said Alphard lowering his voice, his grey eyes shinning with mirth as they climbed up the staircase that led out of the dungeons. "Centuries ago, my ancestor, Isla Black, was betrothed to a Malfoy." He shot Harry a wicked grin. "But she eloped with a muggle instead! It was a huge scandal and the Malfoys were furious, and ever since, we've owed them a bride. We're magically and honor bound to it."

"Your ancestor married a muggle?" breathed out Harry incredulously. After everything the Prewett twins had been telling him about the Blacks, it seemed impossible!

"She did," said Alphard, his tone then dripped with relish as he glanced at Harry with much amusement. "It's due to the 'Black Sheep' Curse – that's what I call it, anyway!" He chuckled under his breath at his own pun. "In every generation of my family, there has been a member who was a 'black sheep' – who did something that got them disowned and cast away from the family." He brought up a hand, and started ticking off his fingers, "There was Isla Black, that I've already told you about. Then Phineas who supported Muggle Rights, and then Uncle Marcus who was a squib – just to name some."

He broke off and added in a whispered, cheerful tone of voice, "I've always said that it's because of a Bloodline Curse that must have been cast on the family – those things were used in the old days, you know? – but Walburga becomes demented every time I say that." He adopted a shrill, screechy, high-pitched tone of voice as he mimicked, "_The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black is Not Cursed!_"

Alphard sniggered under his breath. "I think it gets her so riled up because she dearly fears that one day, when she has children, one of them might end up being a Black Sheep too!" His grey eyes sparkled, as he chortled gleefully. "Wouldn't that be fantastic!"

Harry shot him an amused glance as they stepped into the Entrance Hall of the school.

When they turned and began walking towards the very end of the ground floor, Alphard waved a hand, as he continued, "The point is that Dorea was supposed to marry Maximillian Malfoy-"

"What?" Harry gaped. "I've seen him – he's… _old_!"

"That doesn't matter, he's a widower so he can marry again," said Alphard dismissively, to then roll his eyes. "Ever since the old wizard clapped eyes on her, he's demanded to have Dorea as his bride, and thus have the debt fulfilled." He shot Harry a pointed look. "And you've seen Dorea – she's the most beautiful of all unmarried Black girls, and the Malfoys have always had very high standards about the beauty their brides had to have. So Maximillian wanted Dorea, and my grandfather Cygnus – who's Dorea's father- happily agreed, since Cygnus and Maximillian are old friends."

He paused and shook his head. "Last year, during Dorea's Fifteen Birthday Ball, Grandfather took her to his study, where Old Maximillian awaited, and they sprung it on her. Grandfather and Malfoy had already signed the magical betrothing contract, and all that was needed, to clinch the deal, was Dorea's signature."

Alphard chuckled under his breath. "And you can just imagine how it went - Dorea was furious. She was already seeing Charlus Potter in secret, at school-" he shot Harry a very proud look "- only I knew about that, because she has always trusted me. And she had already decided that she wanted Potter."

He paused, and then added with much relish, "From what she told me, the confrontation was very nasty. Dorea refused to be 'the sacrificial lamb on the altar of family duty' and she wouldn't even consider marrying that 'lecherous, nasty old curmudgeon!'" Alphard chortled, his eyes shining with tears of mirth. "That's what Dorea has always called Old Maxy, you know – has never liked him."

Then he sobered up, his expression turning grim, as he added, "She wouldn't yield and Grandpa Cygnus was furious. He kicked her out of the house and disowned her-"

"And she went to live with you?" interrupted Harry, remembering the things Walburga had said at the Welcoming Feast.

Alphard nodded, and sniggered under his breath. "Grandfather got a nasty shock when my father took her in. Grandfather Cygnus is really old and a bit senile, and he passed on the title of Head of Black House to my father some years ago. And although my father has always heeded Grandfather Cygnus' advice in all matters, Grandpa should have known that Father would help Dorea."

The boy beamed a smile. "She's my father's baby sister and he has a soft spot for her, you know. And I've always thought he thinks of her as his older daughter, and his favorite one. That's one of the reasons why Walburga is so jealous and hates her so much." He grinned widely. "Another reason is that Father is also going to give Dorea one of the Black vaults as her dowry, for when she marries Potter."

"So they're getting married?" Harry said, blinking.

"Oh yes," said Alphard, grinning. "This summer, Dorea finally told Father about Charlus Potter, and she was allowed to spend a week with his family." His grin widened. "The Potters loved her, of course - Dorea can be very charming when it suits her purpose." He sniggered and then waved a hand. "And then Charlus stayed with us for two weeks, so that Father could assess him. And Father finally gave them his blessing."

As they turned a corner, the boy added matter-of-factly, "Now our families are negotiating the finer details of the betrothing contract, so that's why Dorea and Charlus are still scurrying around in secret. But once it's signed, they'll be able to be a couple openly, without breaching any rules of propriety."

Alphard then paused to shoot Harry a very toothy grin, as he added exultantly, "But the best part is that, to soothe Old Maximillian's furious temper at being denied Dorea, Father offered Walburga as a bride, and Old Maxy refused!" He chortled loudly. "And then Father proposed that Walburga became Abraxas' fiancée, to settle the debt, but Old Maxy rejected that as well!" He beamed and sniggered. "And 'Burga was spitting with fury and humiliation at being turned down – twice! She should have known, though. She's not pretty, so doesn't meet Old Maxy's standards, and Abraxas is about to be betrothed to some nasty German girl, from what I've heard-"

"He is? But he's twelve!" gasped out Harry, staring at him aghast, mouth hanging open.

Alphard blinked, nonplussed. "So? Many of us get engaged when we're in our cradles, or at least during our school years. By the time we leave Hogwarts, we're betrothed, at the very least." He cocked his head to a side, frowning. "Isn't it the same for Muggles?"

"No!" said Harry vehemently, shaking his head, feeling very glad that it wasn't.

"Strange," muttered Alphard, looking disconcerted.

Harry gaped at him, a bit horrorstruck. "So you're also... er –what do you call it– betrothed?"

Alphard snorted loudly. "No. Cygnus is the oldest, thus my father's heir. And I'm just the spare." He shrugged, though he looked a bit gloomy. "So no one cares who I marry as long as it is to a pureblood." A smile that seemed a bit forced spread on his face then, as he added, "But that's alright – it's the only perk of being the spare son, in my opinion."

Then he halted in his tracks, and announced excitedly, "Aha – here we are!"

Harry blinked, nonplussed, as they stood before a large painting of a bowl of fruits, hanging on a wall at the very end of the Entrance Hall of the school.

"You have to tickle the pear," said Alphard cheerfully.

"Tickle?" Harry cast him a disbelieving look, to see if his leg was being pulled.

Alphard grinned. "Yup, go ahead."

"Alright," muttered Harry dubiously, as he stretched out a finger to touch it.

It happened the very instant he touched the canvas. In the blink of an eye, his finger went through and the rest of his body with it, as if he had tumbled into it or been sucked in.

Harry cried in alarm just as he heard Alphard's identical shout from behind him. Harry's eyes grew as wide as moons, and frantic, as he found himself standing in a small room, only a table in the very middle where the bowl of fruits laid on top, the walls and floors made of stone.

But they weren't, he realized the next second, the discovery making him feel gobsmacked. Everything was made of oil paint.

The details were incredible, as to trick the eye to believe everything was real. But it wasn't. He took a hesitant step forward, his heart thumping in his chest, and saw how his footmark was left on the oil paint that formed the floor, only to vanish in the next second.

"What did you do?" came the frenzied, horrified shout, and Harry snapped around to see Alphard peering at him, looking wildly scared.

The boy was staring at him with wide eyes, from across something that looked like a frameless window that just floated in midair where one of the walls should be. It was a 'window' that displayed to the outside the painting within.

"I didn't do anything!" cried out Harry as he rushed forward. He frantically pressed the palms of his hands on the window, pushing. When nothing happened, he started pounding against it. "I can't get out! How do I get out?"

"I don't know!" said Alphard, looking beside himself. "Living beings can't get into magical paintings, only ghosts and the subjects of other paintings can, from what I've heard-"

"Obviously that's not true because I'm a 'living being' and I'm stuck here!" snapped Harry, his temper rising with every panicky beat of his heart.

"The painting's magic must be faulty! Perhaps due to the passage of time it wore off or something…though I've never heard of that happening before…" muttered Alphard under his breath. Suddenly, he halted and the boy's grey eyes grew impossibly wider, as he gasped, "How are you breathing?"

"What?" Harry stopped pounding against the 'window' to stare at him, then he gaped. It hadn't even crossed his mind, though it certainly did then. Shakily, he drew in a deep breath and cautiously let it out slowly.

The next moment, he sighed with relief. He was breathing as normally as he had been seconds before. The air even felt normal, albeit it had a lingering oily taste to it.

Alphard, who observed his experiment very closely, said tremulously, "Apparently you _can_ breathe, but I don't think you should be doing it for very long. What if the air there is some kind of toxic poisonous fume made of paint or magic or who knows what! You have to get out!"

"That's what I've been trying to do!" yelled Harry, demonstratively pounding a fist on the window to the outside.

It was like being stuck in an unbreakable fish bowl, and his chest constricted with abject fear when he realized that he could be there forever, watching how life carried on on the outside and how the years passed, and he would only be a boy peering out from within a painting, growing old and dying, only his skeleton to be left for future Hogwarts generations to point their fingers at and tell the story of the once-upon-a-time Slytherin first-year of many centuries ago who fell into a painting. Future generations of Gryffindors would probably laugh too!

A shudder ran down his spine and he gazed at Alphard with huge eyes, as he chocked out, "What do I do?"

"Oh – try tickling the pear!" said Alphard excitedly, as if the brightest of ideas had just burst in his mind.

"The bloody pear?" said Harry in a strangled voice. "That's what got me into this fix to begin with!"

"But maybe now it will take you to the kitchens – magically transport you there or something of the sort," piped Alphard, his voice turning fainter as he spoke to end up in an uncertain note.

Harry, however, became hopeful, and he quickly reached the painted table and followed the suggestion. But nothing whatsoever happened except that after 'tickling the pear' it lost some of its paint and ended up in Harry's fingertip, just to fly back from his skin to the pear to become part of it again.

Dismayed, he began to turn around again to face Alphard, just when he caught sight of something on the back wall.

"There's a painted door here!"

"Of course!" said Alphard, slapping a hand on his forehead. "All of Hogwarts' paintings are connected to each other. It must lead to another one. Try it and see if you can get out from that one, I'll wait for you here!"

Harry didn't waste a single second and urgently pelted forwards and yanked the door open. He had to make haste, especially if Alphard could be right and he might be breathing poisonous 'air'.

The transition to another painting was like having jumped into a spiraling free-fall. He felt dizzy and disoriented for a brief second, his stomach sickly churning, and then he stumbled onto his feet, squinting when he found himself standing in what looked to be half of a small amphitheater, only that there was a long table in the middle holding a corpse that looked to have been hacked off and there were a bunch of men in green robes, with bottles in their hands, hiccupping, leaning on each other and sharing bawdy jokes, everything made of tiny dots and strokes of paint.

"… and the hag said to the troll, want to see my nimbulus tentacula?"

The portrayed healers broke into drunken peals of laughter before one of them caught sight of Harry gaping at them.

"Ah, we have a visitor!" the painting exclaimed cheerfully, red splotches appearing on his cheek as if just then added by a stroke of a paintbrush. "Come to learn from us the mysteries of the human anatomy?"

"You must be a new portrait. We haven't seen you around before, have we, chaps?"

Another healer squinted at him, hiccupping, "You would make an interesting subject for dissection. You look very realistic. Who was your artist?"

"My artist?" echoed Harry dumbly, before he raised his hands which still looked to be made very much of flesh and blood, and snapped, "I'm not a painting! I'm real, and I need help-"

The healers roared with laughter, guffawed and sniggered, starting to lean onto each other once again, as they traded impressions.

"Poor lad!"

"He's clearly a new portrait-"

"Still hasn't realized what he is, it seems!"

"Could be he's a post-mortem portrait. Have to pity those, they always have a hard time accepting that they're only a painting and that the real them has died…"

"I'm not a –" Harry started to explain frantically, but then he desisted and simply ignored the drunks and made his way forward.

The side where the rest of the amphitheater should have been was wholly occupied by the same window-type thing as in the painting of the bowl of fruits, only that this one was much larger, giving the outside world the full view of the painting inside.

Through it, he could see the grand, moving staircases that hung high up in Hogwarts' Entrance Hall, only that they were now at the level of his eyes. But it made little difference, as much as he pounded and pushed, the window didn't give way.

He considered yelling for help and screaming himself hoarse, but it would be pointless. It was late at night and there was no one roaming the staircases.

Harry spun around, and with frenzied eyes he searched the room. Finally, he saw it and rushed towards a shadowy painted door.

The plunge was again dizzying and he found himself squinting against sunlight, only to realize that the effect was caused by the bright colors that had been used to paint the sky all around him.

Glancing around, Harry saw he was like a giant amidst small, rolling green hills. He could see a castle and a tiny town painted in the distance, and his feet were surrounded by a long stretch of forest, the trees no taller than his pinky finger.

"Who goes there? Intruder upon my lands, name yourself, you scurvy knave! Or Sir Cadogan the Brave shall skewer you from hairy navel to jaundiced eye!" a tiny figure shouted, coming galloping on horse, with battered armor and tiny lance, rushing along a small hilltop.

"You overgrown villain, I shall pierce your heart if you do not lay your arms before my feet and declare me the champion of all-"

The tiny knight fell head over heals, horse caught in the middle of the tumble, as his lance got stuck on the ground. Harry snorted, paid him no mind, and made his third attempt to break out of a painting.

As unsuccessful in his efforts as ever, feeling increasingly more desperate, he went through countless of other paintings: snoozing ballerinas, a group of roaring drunk monks that told Harry exactly where the healers had gotten their firewhiskey from, an Amazonian jungle that had him running from enormous insects, the Gryffindors' Fat Lady snoring loudly in her sleep, a ship at sea where the sailors had every intention to push him off the plank, and an African plain where the very first thing he encountered was a rhinoceros charging forth from behind a scraggly bush, moment when Harry shrieked, turned tail and ran for the hills, towards a floating door, with no intention of sticking around to see if an enormous beast made of paint could actually kill him or not.

Harry heaved a deep breath and carefully tiptoed around the latest of the paintings he found himself in. It was just a portrait in this case, and he felt deeply relieved after his experience with the rhino.

It was dark, with only a fire crackling in the hearth, casting dots of orange and yellow splats of paint on the subject of the portrait. It was a richly robed wizard snoozing in an ornate armchair, with black hair streaked with grey on head and beard.

The room depicted was filled with shelves with books and appeared to be an elegant study. A tapestry hanging from a wall caught his attention, since it bore the Black coat of arms, which he recognized from the signet rings that Alphard's brother Cygnus and his cousin Orion wore.

As he silently made his way towards the window of that painting, the soft snores of the portrayed wizard abruptly halted and a deep, low voice grumbled gruffly, "Paracelsus, is that you again attempting to steal my smoking pipe?"

Harry spun around to see one grey eye cracked open, staring at him. Soon, both eyes flew wide open as the wizard stood up straight on his throne-like chair, the portrait's gaze roving up and down over him.

"You are not Paracelsus," stated the painting sharply.

"Er-"

"You are not a portrait at all," hissed out the wizard as he quickly rose to his feet, skewering him with narrowed grey eyes. "You are a student. From my own House, at that," he added, gesturing at Harry's Slytherin uniform. His eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat furiously, "How did you get in?"

"It was an accident," said Harry quickly, feeling a modicum of relief at having found someone who didn't look like a complete incompetent or a dimwitted drunk. "If you could help me get out-"

"An accident, indeed!" roared the painting. "I don't know what kind of spell you used – some new one that shouldn't have been invented, illegal no doubt!"

Harry's eyes grew large in alarm and he interjected swiftly, "No! I tell you, I didn't mean to-"

"You wanted to break into the Headmaster's office, didn't you? And you thought that the best way to do so was through a portrait, did you not?" snarled the wizard accusingly, pulling himself up to his full height. "Well, you little miscreant, you shouldn't have chosen my portrait to break in through!"

"The Headmaster's office?" Harry blinked and then frowned, before he glanced at the 'window' and through it to see a shadowy large oval room, with many rows of other portraits hanging from the opposite wall.

"Playing the innocent act won't work with me, no matter if you sound as dumb as you look!" roared the painting. "Don't you know who you're dealing with? I had the misfortune of being the Headmaster myself and I know all the little tricks you play when you're up to no good – hormonal adolescents who like to go around pranking the staff and with no space in your air-filled head but for thoughts of food, having fun, and chasing after girls and boys. Waste of a good education, you all are! When we try to discipline you, you can only whine and plead that you're misunderstood!"

"Er… right," muttered Harry bewildered, taking a step back. "Um… I'll just go then, and do my whining somewhere else-"

"Oh no, you won't!" snapped the portrait. "You'll stay put and face the consequences of your misconduct. I'm waking Armando Dippet. Let him deal with you!"

He whipped out a wand from his robes and aimed it at Harry the instant he attempted to inch away from the wizard.

Harry eyed the wand and then met the grey eyes again, as he said slowly, "You realize that it's made of paint, don't you? Just like you are?" The portrait nastily glowered at him, and before such response, Harry felt emboldened, squared his shoulders and scoffed. "Can you actually do magic at all?"

"You're in my portrait, I can do anything I wish here," snapped the wizard sharply.

Harry shot him a considering look, trying to discern whether to believe him or not. Finally, he smiled broadly. "Suuuure you can. But if it's all the same to you, I'll scamper off and get out of your hair-"

"You're not moving an inch!" snarled the painting, threateningly jerking forward the tip of his wand. "You'll wait here while I go fetch the Headmaster!"

"Of course I will," said Harry sarcastically, letting out a loud snort. "You just go do that. I'm taking off."

"You won't!"

Utterly ignoring the wizard's roar, Harry trotted towards the only visible door, since it was of no use to try with the 'window'. Even if he could miraculously get out through it, landing in the Headmaster's office would only get him in even more trouble.

"Even if you leave, I'm informing the Headmaster! You'll be facing expulsion for this, mark my words-"

"Right," unconcernedly said Harry over his shoulder as he yanked the door open, "and when he comes to Slytherin House to find out who got into your portrait, I'll just play dumb. If he actually believes you, which he won't, because from what I hear, the living can't get into paintings. Dippet will just think too much pipe-smoking has addled your brains – not that you really have any, being a portrait and all."

And with that and a last impish grin, he waltzed through the door.

He was momentarily stumped when he faced a long corridor of endless doors instead of falling into another painting. Clearly, this portrait had many other connections than any of the others. He started rushing along, uncertain of which door to pick.

"You little miscreant! I won't let you escape unscathed. You will face your due punishment for your rule-breaking!" he distantly heard from behind him, only to shoot a glance over his shoulder to see that the painted wizard had followed him into the corridor and was now chasing after him.

Harry grew alarmed at that. And he had thought that this one was a sane one! He broke into a run, putting as much distance between them as possible.

"Come back here, you runt!"

All the doors flashed by like an endless black blur as Harry continued rushing forth. For a second he caught sight of something silver and he instantly skidded to a halt before the only door that wasn't black.

Quickly glancing behind him, he saw that the wizard was still far away, and thus that he wouldn't know which door he had taken. Urgently, Harry opened the silver door and jumped into darkness.

He landed in a painting of a dark room, very much like the study he had left behind, only that there was no portrayed wizard there or any crackling fire. The scarce light that suffused the painting seemed to actually come from the outside world, through the 'window'.

Hopeful that perhaps he was in a painting hanging in a common room or dormitory, preferably of Hufflepuff House, so that he could cajole some insomniac but benevolent student to help him out, he excitedly rushed to the window. That was, until he heard the voices on the outside.

"…come, come, Maximillian, why not tell us once and for all what made you halt your attempts to get the mudbloods expelled?"

"I certainly do not know what you are talking about, Pollux. As I said, Hogwarts' Board of Governors is filled with despicable muggle-lovers. I was outnumbered and strategically decided not to push the matter. You know as much, you were there yourself."

Someone snorted softly and a tenor voice said, "You pretend to make us believe that was the only reason? When we have been receiving letters from our children, asking for our help, apprising us of the deplorable and shameful situation of having two mudbloods being sorted in Slytherin House-"

"Quite right, Rosier! With our children being forced to interact with them, against their will, they are being irrevocably tainted. Why, those mudbloods' presence amidst our children represent a threat to the values and education we have imparted on them, as my daughter Walburga so wisely pointed out in her letter to me. It only takes one of our children to start sympathizing with the mudbloods, to begin believing that they aren't that different, and it could start a chain reaction-"

"Ah, but Maximillian didn't have a daughter dutifully informing him of the situation and the gravity of the consequences. He was not as fortunate as the rest of us were, Pollux. If you'll remember, it was us who knew before him. And us who informed him of the facts."

A high-pitched laugh resounded and a voice interjected with pointed maliciousness, "Indeed, your grandson did not write to you about the subject, Maximillian. Why would Abraxas keep such news from you? It seems the control you have over your heir is slipping."

"My heir has worthier matters to be interested in than that of two mudbloods," drawled Malfoy's voice in a chilly tone.

"Be that as it may," interjected someone sternly, "I still believe there's something you're keeping from us. Those two mudbloods – what's their name, does anyone remember?"

"Riddle," someone answered with much scorn and disgust.

"Precisely, the Riddles. I was there with you when you received a missive from the Dark Lord, Maximillian. And that very day, you halted all your attempts of manipulating the Board of Governors to vote your way on the issue of having the mudbloods expelled."

"What are you implying, Pollux?"

"Is it not clear? What I'm saying, Rowan, is that the two events seem to be linked."

"You must be jesting," said Malfoy's deep voice, dripping with ridicule. "Why would the Dark Lord ask me to ensure that the mudbloods remain at Hogwarts?"

"Why indeed! That's what I ask myself and what I demand to know."

Harry's breath had long since been stuck in his throat from the moment he realized the wizards had been talking about him and Tom, but now, it was horror and disbelief that had his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

With a sense of ominous foreboding, and just wanting to know who exactly he was dealing with, he inched closer to the 'window' of the painting he was in, and he very carefully took a peek from one of its edges.

The group of wizards was right underneath his painting, their seats surrounding the fireplace that seemed to be under him. Maximillian Malfoy, he recognized immediately. Pollux Black, though he had never seen him before, he did as well, resembling Cygnus and Alphard so much. There was another wizard who looked very much alike, who could only be Arcturus Black, Orion and Lucretia's father. A blonde wizard who looked to be in his sixties, could only be the 'Rosier' who had been addressed before; Druella's father, or an uncle, perhaps. There were three others he didn't recognize at all.

"I grow weary of talking about the mudbloods," said then Arcturus Black. "What I want to know is when the Dark Lord will be conquering Czechoslovakia. That's more important and relevant for our plans. Surely the Dark Lord has confided in you, Maximilian." He arched an eyebrow. "Or perhaps your control in that regard is slipping as well?"

"Control!" A burly wizard let out a shriek of a guffaw. "No one controls the Dark Lord!"

"As unnecessary as that input was, Dolohov," said Pollux Black scathingly, "I quite agree with the sentiment. When it comes to the Dark Lord, it is dangerous to imply any sort of control over him." He shot his cousin a censuring glance. "Let us not forget that, Arcturus, or we incur in the danger of overstepping our bounds with him. And I, for one, prefer to show him all due respect and be spared from his wrath."

Rosier pierced the wizard with narrowed blue eyes. "But we are still planning on taking all possible advantage, are we not?"

"Advantage of him, certainly not. It's too risky. He's too powerful and unpredictable," interjected Maximilliam Malfoy, his voice curt and frosty. "Advantage of what he's willing to give us in return for our sustained support, yes."

"Sounds good enough," conceded Rosier gruffly.

"All this is very well," cut in Arcturus Black, to then piercingly gaze at Malfoy, "but I still want to know when he's taking over Czechoslovakia."

"Next March," replied Maximillian Malfoy curtly.

Harry's eyes grew wide at that, stunned and aghast, a horrified gasp escaping unwittingly from his lips, though it was drowned by the shout that rang at the same time.

"There you are, you little urchin!"

Startled, Harry reeled backwards at the same time that the painted wizard who had been chasing him before erupted into the painting and leapt towards him, just as he saw Pollux Black springing to his feet, his expression furious and alarmed, as he yelled, "What's the meaning of this, Phineas? Did I just see someone in your portrait-"

All the other wizards quickly and noisily rose to their feet at that, their voices meshing together as they rose loudly.

"A portrait was spying on us?"

"He's not a portrait, he's a Hogwarts' student!" panted out the painted wizard as he made a grasp for Harry.

Harry ducked, swerved to a side swiftly, and then made a mad dash towards the only door he saw at the very end of the portrayed study, his heart in his throat, his pulse beating erratically, and his feet skidding and slipping on the floor made of oil paint.

"How's that possible-"

"How much did he hear!"

"Get him, Phineas! He must be silenced!" roared Pollux, who by then, like all the others, had his face nearly pressed on the canvas of the painting, wand drawn out.

"I'm trying!" snarled Phineas, fast on Harry's tracks.

Harry yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him, knowing it would do little good. He didn't halt but inwardly groaned when he found himself in another corridor filled with doors. But this time he didn't wait until he found a door that looked different from all the rest. No, this time he was scared out of his wits and could barely even think straight.

'He must be silenced' didn't leave much room for interpretation. He wasn't fleeing from being expelled by the Headmaster or from getting detention, this time he knew he was running for his life.

Midway along the corridor, he choose a random door, prayed to whatever Gods he didn't believe in, and vaulted forwards.

"You're not getting away this time, boy!" was the last thing he heard from some distance behind him.

The free-falling sensation engulfed him once more and he abruptly landed in a painting of a library, with tables filled with telescopes and other astronomy gadgets, rolls of parchments here and there, and with a lone chair missing its occupant. He didn't even pause and rushed to the painting's window.

Just as he reached it, he saw the room outside, only lit by moonlight spearing through curtains, with rows of shelves filled with books and strange silvery artifacts that puffed and swirled. But what caught his attention was the large, weird looking bird sleeping on a perch. It was strange but breathtakingly beautiful, with fiery red and golden plumes.

It was a pet! So it could only be a teacher's familiar!

Frenziedly hammering his fists against the 'window', Harry yelled with all his might, "Wake up! Bird, wake up!"

A head popped out from folded wings, and yellow eyes blinked at him.

"Get your owner! I need help, please! Get the teacher that owns you! Or anyone - HURRY!"

The bird trilled softly at him, eerily sounding inquiring, as it cocked its head to a side and just peered at him with curiosity.

Harry nearly sobbed with impotence as he screamed desperately, "Don't sing to me! Help me! He's coming!"

Just when he thought that the bird wasn't as intelligent as any bloody common barn owl in the Wizarding World was, it took up flight into the air. To his astonishment, though, the damnable bird didn't fly out of the room in search of help. Instead, it flew right towards him.

Startled, Harry jumped backwards just as the bird crossed the 'window' and flew into the painting with natural ease. He gaped at finding that he wasn't the only 'living being' that apparently had no trouble getting stuck in paintings.

The bird, flapping its magnificent gold and red wings, steadied in front of him, trilling and shaking its tail at him.

"I don't understand you," said Harry urgently. "What do you want me to do?"

The bird trilled again, and flew lower until it was at the level of Harry's right hand, pointedly shaking its tail again, brushing its feathers against his hand.

"You want me to take hold of your tail?" guessed Harry, bewildered.

But he didn't stop to consider why or if he had understood correctly. He just grabbed the bird's tail feathers, feeling quite stupid doing so, and knowing that that wasn't going to help him at all.

In any moment, the so-called 'Phineas' was going to find him in this painting and he didn't have the foggiest idea what would happen to him then. He would at least scream at the top of his lungs until he woke the whole castle up, even if it was while he was being dragged from the scruff of his neck by a portrait. Or he would whip out his wand and take his chances, hoping that magic actually worked inside a painting and that a portrait's subject made of paint could be killed with the limited spells he knew.

"What-" he yelped in surprise as he was suddenly lifted into the air. He held for dear life on the feathers with both hands, and gaped at the back of the bird that was so effortlessly carrying his weight as it flew forth in a flash.

And he didn't stop gaping, flabbergasted, as one of the doors lining the wall of the painted library just sprung open by itself, as if commanded to do so by the bird, as inexplicable as that was.

As they transitioned to another painting, he didn't even feel the free-fall sensation of all the times before. Instead, it felt as if he was still embarked on a smooth flight.

His feet suddenly landed on a cushioned floor, and he automatically let go of the bird's tail as he quickly glanced around.

Harry was dismayed by what he saw. No wonder the floor of the 'painting' had felt padded. Everything was made of cords and threads, not paint!

The fat wizard with red cheeks that was blabbering happily as he conducted a bizarre dance by waving his hands, the three humongous trolls wearing ridiculously pink tutus, who were clumsily attempting to follow the wizard's instructions, even as they held clubs in their meaty hands, all of them were made of cords of colorful cloth and threads that stitched everything in place, making them look like big, walking and speaking –grunting, in the trolls' case- dolls.

"Paintings are connected to tapestries as well?" Harry moaned loudly as he peeled his gaze away from the crazy spectacle and glanced up at the bird. "Why did you bring me here!"

The bird softly trilled at him, the sound of it beautiful and soothing, but it was abruptly interrupted as the wizard made of cloth cried out cheerfully, "Oh, we have visitors! Titi, Tete, and Toto, get in position! Let's show them how beautifully you can dance a ballet!"

"Are you sure you meant to bring me here?" urgently whispered Harry to the bird, who had landed on his shoulder. He winced as he watched the trolls clumsily stumble on their big feet, making a whole mess of things.

"No, no! Titi, that's not a pirouette! It's done like this!" shouted the wizard, to then demonstrate by spinning around like a loon, flapping his arms up and down.

The bird trilled insistently, and Harry shot him a glance, to see that it had lifted up a talon and was pointing with a sharp claw. He followed the direction and saw a watery-like, translucent veil spanning throughout a whole side. Realization dawned on him. It had to be a tapestry's version of the 'windows' that paintings had!

"That's the way out!" he gasped in understanding. He snapped his head around and breathed out with profound gratefulness from the very depths of his relieved heart, "Thank you!"

The bird chirped and flung up into the air, and Harry rushed towards his exit. Just when he was a few feet away from it, he saw what was on the outside world: a very dusty long corridor of the school, that looked as if it hadn't been used in many years, but strangest of all, there was a female figure just across the corridor from him, floating inches from the floor, her tones greyish, as she swished up and down before an expanse of wall heavily latticed with bronze and dark blue cords of magic.

The figure had her back turned to him, but her voice was clearly audible. "I need redemption… I need redemption… I need redemption…" she repeated three times again and again, the distraught desperation painfully evident in her voice.

Harry stared, frowning, and took a hesitant step forward.

"No, Toto, we don't hit the guests!"

The warning had come too late. Before he could even spin around, something hit him on the head and Harry found himself falling through and out of the tapestry, painfully landing on the hard stone floors of the corridor.

He groaned as he rubbed the back of his head, glowering at the troll of the tapestry that was stupidly grinning at him as he flailed around his big club. At least the club had only been made of cloth, and at least now he had his answer: things from paintings and tapestries could indeed hurt him. Not that he planned to ever again touch a magical painting or tapestry for as long as he lived.

The bird seemed determined to stick by his side, because it swiftly flew out of the tapestry and landed once more on his shoulder, trilling softly.

"What are you doing here? Who are you?" said a sharp, angered voice.

Harry blinked at the ghost floating and towering over him. Now that he could see her face, it was clear that she was incredibly beautiful, with a willowy figure and long dark hair that reached her waist. What her eye color could have been in life was impossible to say, except that they had been light, because the grey of her eyes as a ghost was pale. The only thing that marred her beauty was a gaping wound and the copious dark grey spots that stained the bodice of her very old fashioned dress.

"I asked you who-"

Harry glanced away from the chest wound and kept trailing his gaze up until his eyes met hers, and the ghost suddenly clamped her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. "I didn't mean to interrupt whatever you were doing-"

"Eyes of jade, House of Snake," she breathed out as if repeating a long ago memorized litany, her eyes fixed on him, flickering from his eyes to his Slytherin uniform, then to his hands, "skin of gold, hard of touch, you will know him by these traits."

Harry stared at her, nonplussed. "Um… sure. I have to rush now!"

Then he swiftly turned heel, ready to dash away to pounce upon the very first teacher who crossed his path so that someone could help him out of the mess he had gotten himself into.

"No –wait! You have to show me your hands, your arms!" she cried out, in a flash floating right across his path, staring at him as if he was the ghostly apparition and not the other way around.

"Look, lady," snapped Harry irritably, "I'm in loads of trouble and I haven't got the time for-"

"SHOW ME YOUR ARMS!" she bellowed at him, the very force of it flattening his unruly hair backwards.

Utterly taken aback, Harry repeatedly blinked at her. In the next instant, he automatically obeyed because she looked dangerously scary at that very moment.

"See," he said pointedly, rolling up his sleeves and displaying his skin to her. "I'm a wee bit tanned because I like to be outdoors. But I don't have 'skin of gold'-"

"He didn't mean skin of gold," she breathed out slowly, her eyes impossibly wide, fixed on his arms. "He meant that you would have specks of gold on your skin, like he has."

Harry didn't even bother asking whom this 'he' was. It would most likely be a figment of her imagination, by the look of things.

"I don't have 'specks'! Don't you see?" he bit out impatiently. "I'm evenly tanned and I don't have any freckles!"

She shook her head, her mane of hair swishing with the motion. "He wasn't talking about freckles, but about specks of gold, and you have them."

Harry blinked, stared down at his own skin, and then stared back at her, highly miffed and exasperated. "I really don't have any sort of _specks_ of any bloody color-"

"I see them," she whispered, inching closer as she stretched out a tremulous hand. "Hard of touch… the last trait… I must know…"

And in the bat of an eyelash, her fingers had clamped around his wrist. Harry shivered at the chilly coldness of her skin.

"I didn't go through," she murmured breathlessly, her gaze pinned where they were joined. She heaved a shuddery breath, and closed her eyes as she exhaled shakily, "I'm _touching_ you. I can feel your skin against mine, your warmth. You're solid to me. I can _feel_ you."

Harry cleared his throat and said as gently as possible, trying to rein in his temper, "Yes, it seems to be a freakish thing I have with ghosts, now if you don't mind I must go-"

She snapped her eyes open, skewering him with her gaze. "You don't understand." The grip she had on his wrist jerkily tightened to a painful degree, making Harry wince. "You're it. You're who was promised to me. My savior, my salvation-"

"I never said he, in himself, was your salvation, Helena," said a voice dryly.

She violently jerked as if doused in chilly water and madly spun around, her voice a mix of fury, incredulity and hysteria, as she cried out, "You!"

Harry peered around her and then gawked at the sight. There was a man shimmering and nearly translucent, with golden light and specks sparkling on his skin, in his early twenties, much tanner than he was, and very handsome, with curls of dark hair and the strangest eyes; milky white and sheer, looking as if nebulas or even tiny stars swirled in them, like mirages.

The man looked straight at him, a gorgeous wide smile on his face, as he said softly, "I've finally found you."

"Found _me_?" said Harry baffled, pointing a finger at himself.

"Yes, you," said the man, grinning. "It took me longer than I expected. There were so many possible lines in which you could have landed and I didn't want to find you until you were around this age. Too soon or too late, and it wouldn't have been good."

Harry frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Who are you?" He cocked his head to a side, as he added uncertainly, "Er – are you a ghost too?"

"He's not a ghost!" the real ghost shrieked, her voice angered and accusing.

The man utterly ignored her, his weird eyes remaining pinned on Harry, as he beamed a grin at him. "I'm no ghost, no creature, I'm just me. I am-"

" 'Santi' he's going to say!" cut in the ghost, letting out a humorless bout of incisive laughter. "Because it makes him sound so boyishly charming, doesn't it?"

"Enough, Helena," interjected the young man, frowning at her.

"Oh, you don't want him to know what your real agenda is?" she bit out scathingly. "What you have planned for him? Why don't you tell him and see how he likes it!"

All amiability vanished from Santi's face, as he said sharply, "You don't know what you're talking about-"

"I know enough!" snapped the ghost, to then point a finger at Harry. "You just said it – you finally found _him_. It's all about him. What about me!" Her voice broke, a half choked sob issued from her lips, her tone wretched, "Have patience, you told me, time and again. He'll soon be here, you'll soon have help. But it's been a thousand years!"

She wailed, the sound distraught, terrible and heart-wrenching, before her expression contorted into one of fury as she flew at Santi, her fingers poised as if they were claws and she intended to rip him to pieces, as she screamed, "All your promises were dust in the wind!"

The young man instantly gripped her wrists before he could be assaulted, and the ghost seemed to melt in his embrace, her hands gripping and trailing all over him, her voice shaky as she whispered brokenly, "Touch… it's been so long… why did you abandon me? Why did you leave me alone for a thousand years?"

"It was your own fault, Helena," said the young man softly, gazing down at her with a mix of pity and anger, though he still held her gently. "What possessed you to become a ghost? You knew it wouldn't solve anything. A thousand years would have gone by in a flash if you would have allowed your soul to be reborn-"

"Reborn!" she shrieked, suddenly furious again as she tore herself away from him. "And go through another cycle of rebirths, again and again under the Curse, with the pain, the men, the violence, the horror, the deaths! I couldn't go through it all again! You said my savior would come soon – I thought you spoke of years, or decades, not centuries, so I chose to be a ghost instead. But it's been a thousand years without touch, without being able to feel or taste, and you weren't here!"

Santi shook his head, and repeated sternly, "You shouldn't have become a ghost. If you had allowed the natural process to take place, I would have found you, wherever and whomever you were, this year, this very day, and I would have brought you to Hogwarts, to him." He gestured at Harry, who was confusedly watching them. "But as always, you chose the easy way out – or what you thought would be."

The ghost glared at him at that, and spat hatefully, filled with indignant fury, "Easy way out? How dare you, when you above all know of my Curse and all what I've suffered-"

"And you deserved every last bit of it," snapped the young man sharply, his strange eyes hardening. "You reaped what you sowed, Helena, and it wasn't undeserved-"

The ghost let out a yell of anger, "Everything I did, I did for the man I loved! I thought you were the only one who understood me-"

"Exactly, for the man _you_ loved, and bugger everyone and everything else," interrupted Santi curtly, his words now strongly tilted with a foreign accent which Harry thought could be Spanish. "Selfish to the end, and I see you haven't changed-"

"I didn't deserve-"

"What she suffered because of you, that was undeserved," snapped the man impatiently and angrily. "What happened to me, that was undeserved. The Curse she cast on you, that you fully earned."

The ghost hissed under her breath, and Santi added sharply, gesturing at the wall, "And instead of doing what was right, what I suggested, you again chose to try an easy way out. Really, Helena, did you truly think the Room of Requirements could give you your salvation?"

"I had to try something – anything! All these centuries-"

"Room of Requirements?" interjected Harry with curiosity, staring at the expanse of wall that the 'Santi' person had gestured at, still seeing the lattice of vibrant magic. "What is it supposed to be, all that bronze and blue magic stuff?"

"You see it?" said Santi, smiling at him, though he didn't look very surprised, but rather satisfied.

"Of course he does!" snapped the ghost acidly. "He's just like you!"

"Not yet," whispered Santi softly, his expression content.

"But he will, if you have any say in it," bit out the ghost, "which you fully do." She swiveled around to pierce Harry with her eyes, as she continued in a voice dripping with scorn, though it was clearly directed at Santi and not him, "Because he's only interested in _you_, not me. You are exactly what he's been waiting for all this time. You're all he _wants _and_ yearns _for-"

"Enough!" snapped Santi angrily, glowering at her. "You're doing nothing but scaring the boy. This is not the way-"

"Better said, _you_ don't want to scare him off with the plans you have for him!" retaliated the ghost sharply. "You want him to think that you're his friend, his protector-"

"I _am_ your protector," said Santi vehemently, disregarding the ghost to intently lock his strange gaze with Harry's. "The only true one you will always have."

Harry stared at him, befuddled, while the ghost scoffed. One look at her, and Harry saw that her quicksilver mood was about to change again – certainly, given her swift mood swings, she wasn't quite right in the head, and he dearly didn't want to be again in the line of fire.

Furthermore, he remembered the reason for his previous haste, and interjected quickly, "You two obviously have loads to talk about and I'm in the way, so I'll just-"

"In the way?" snapped the ghost, her tone shrill. "You're not in the way, child, you _are _the way!" She turned towards Santi, and said desperately, clutching his arms, "What does he have to do? Show him! Make him do it now!"

"It doesn't work that way," said Santi calmly. "I said he was the _key_ to your salvation, not your savior, if you care to remember. There's much he needs to know-"

"Then tell him!"

"-from me, but from you, foremost," carried on the man as if he hadn't been interrupted, leveling at her a censuring glance. "It will take time-"

"Time!"

"Yes, time, Helena," said Santi curtly. "You waited for millennia, you can afford to wait for a couple of years more. He's too young and he doesn't have what he requires, yet."

He shot her such a chiding glance that the ghost went silent, and then he added with a sardonic curl of his lips, "Furthermore, it certainly won't be done in his presence. He has witnessed too much already."

At first, Harry thought Santi was staring at him, then he realized he was gazing at the bird on his shoulder. He had almost forgotten about it.

"Fawkes, is it, what you're going by nowadays?" said Santi, chortling as if vastly amused.

The bird squawked and flew off Harry's shoulder, and then the man did something – Harry could only imagine it was that 'wandless magic' stuff he had heard about, though seeing it now both amazed him and scared him – and the bird went careening towards Santi.

Alarmed, Harry cried out, "Don't hurt him!"

"Hurt him?" echoed Santi smiling, as he held a wildly flapping Fawkes by his talons, and then started petting him with the other hand, which only made the bird look all the more indignant and disgruntled. "Do you know what he is?"

"Er – no," replied Harry hesitantly, watching how the bird tried to free himself and uncertain whether to do something about it or not. "But he helped me-"

Santi chortled. "Did he now?" He raised his nearly translucent eyebrows. "Fawkes, here, is a phoenix."

"Oh," breathed out Harry, his eyes wide as he stared at the magnificent bird.

"Not only that," carried on Santi blithely, "but he's Albus Dumbledore's phoenix."

Harry froze and paled at that, and Santi chuckled at his reaction, as he said cheerfully, "Precisely. Though perhaps I should say that Dumbledore is his and not the other way around. You see, it's phoenixes who choose the wizard they want to bond with. You won't find this in any textbooks." He grinned at him in amusement. "Wizards don't like to think of themselves as being anyone's pet, but that's indeed the case with phoenixes and their wizards. And Fawkes here is very fond of his pet." He shot the bird a wide, mocking grin. "Aren't you?"

Fawkes squawked even louder than before, flapping his wings violently, but abruptly stilled when Santi added loftily, "And he wants nothing more than to fly back to Dumbledore to tell him everything he has learned tonight."

"_Tell_ him?" repeated Harry perplexed, blinking at the bird. He knew next to nothing about phoenixes but he hadn't imagined they could actually speak.

"Yes, in his own way, he can communicate with his bonded wizard, transmitting thoughts through his singing," said Santi calmly, before he shot Fawkes a smirking, smug grin, "but he won't. Because there's something he doesn't want anyone to know, something I will disclose to you if he blabs to Dumbledore anything about what happened to you today."

Fawkes let out a shrill trill and then hunched his wings and went still, looking thoroughly annoyed but also defeated. Santi, for his part, beamed a satisfied smile at the bird.

"Leave," said the ghost suddenly, her voice sharp as she pierced Fawkes with narrowed eyes.

The bird flapped his wings once and let out a sad, mournful trill, which only seemed to anger the ghost further, since she snapped, "You've never helped me either, so leave! I don't want you here, ever!"

Fawkes shook his head sorrowfully, but then let out a soft trill and burst into a ball of flames, vanishing in the next second. Harry gaped.

"That's his favorite exit strategy when he's feeling frustrated," said Santi with an amused chortle. "But don't worry, he won't be telling Dumbledore anything."

Harry snapped his gaze up to stare at the man, and then carded his fingers through his hair, shakily. "That's not what I'm really worried about… Though it's better if Dumbledore doesn't know…"

He trailed off uncertainly, and then pointed a finger at the tapestry, not knowing where to begin or if to even say anything about it to this stranger, who he didn't really know who or what he was.

"Ah, you're troubled," said Santi before Harry could open his mouth. He smiled at him gently. "Don't be. I've already taken care of it."

Harry stared at him, frowning. "Taken care of what?"

"Of the bunch of dark wizards who were after your trail, of course," said Santi nonchalantly. "How was it that Pollux Black put it? Ah, yes, you had to be 'silenced'."

He grinned at Harry and chuckled.

Harry blinked, gawked, and then stammered out, "How do you know about that? It happened before I met you and I didn't see you anywhere before that-"

The ghost scoffed and Harry glanced at her, nonplussed.

"I, myself, the one you see now, didn't do it," said Santi calmly. "But I came back a few minutes earlier and took care of it. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black doesn't remember you." He widely grinned at Harry. "In fact, the only thing he remembers is Fawkes taking someone away from Paracelsus' portrait in Dumbledore's office. Because he caught just a glimpse of that before Fawkes took you to Barnabas the Barmy."

He gestured at the tapestry, where the loony wizard depicted was still trying to teach the three beastly trolls how to do ballet.

"I thought it was better if they believed that Dumbledore had something to do with it, that's why I let Phineas remember Fawkes," continued Santi coolly. Then he paused, his strange, swirling milky eyes losing their focus for a second, before he widely smirked. "In fact, right now, the wizards are interrogating Phineas and they are coming to the conclusion that you were a portrait of Hogwarts, sent by Dumbledore to spy on their secret meeting in Grimmauld Place number twelve. So see, there's nothing to worry about. It's Dumbledore whom they'll fully blame." He chortled happily.

"Grimmauld Place?" repeated Harry numbly, feeling very much out of his depth and not understanding a single thing.

"That's where you were," replied Santi patiently. "In the Black's townhouse in the middle of muggle London."

Harry shook his head repeatedly, trying to puzzle out his confused thoughts. "I don't understand. How did you-"

"How did I know what had happened? How did I wipe Phineas' portrait's memories? How did I do it all before I met you, and also undetected and unseen by them?"

"Yes," said Harry, frowning deeply. "And how did you get in the portrait to do it, because I've been told that no 'living being'…" His frown deepened even further. "How did _I_ get stuck inside paintings, too! If you know, you have to tell me-"

"Because you're not a living being," snapped the ghost, looking very impatient.

"What?" Harry glowered at her, feeling deeply insulted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes, and then gestured indolently at Santi. "It means that you're like him."

"What?" repeated Harry, biting the words out. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean, then?" He huffed and gestured at the spot from which Fawkes had disappeared. "Besides, the bird is a living being, isn't he? And he had no trouble getting into the painting-"

"Ah, but you asked for his help, didn't you?" interjected Santi. "A phoenix can come to the aid of those he considers worthy and good of heart, beings of Light Magic that they are, and no magical barriers can oppose them in such circumstances – like the barriers that prevent living beings from entering paintings and tapestries."

"Alright…" said Harry a bit uncertainly, then crossing his arms over his small chest to pierce the strange man with his gaze, his jaw in a stubborn set. "That doesn't explain all the rest-"

Santi waved his hand dismissively. "All the other 'hows' are simply explained by saying that I can do all that because I'm me."

Harry's green eyes narrowed to slits. "And what are you, then, exactly?"

Santi smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Simply that, me. I'm one of a kind."

"Two of a kind, now," piped in the ghost, her eyes travelling to Harry.

"There!" snapped Harry grumpily, pointing a finger at her. "What does she mean by that?"

Santi scowled at the ghost, and Harry darkly glowered at them both, as he gestured wildly with his hands and bit out, "Look here, I'm a _living being_, alright? And I'm not like him. I'm not glowy, golden, and all sparkly!" He stomped a foot on the floor with sheer exasperation. "I don't have weird eyes and I'm not transparent and stuff!"

"He can be as solid as he pleases-" began the ghost in a mock, cheerful tone.

"Helena, please," groaned Santi.

"I'm growing tired of all this," she snapped, scowling. "Just tell the boy everything and-"

"If you want to do that," interjected Santi curtly, shooting her a hard glance, "then it's you who should start telling him all about you."

She stilled and her eyes narrowed to slits. "Certainly not!"

"He cannot help you unless he understands," persisted Santi sternly, "and he cannot understand unless he has all the information-"

"I cannot tell him everything!" said the ghost, her voice wavering and becoming faint, even her face seemed to pale with desperation. "For that, I would have to relive it all!"

Santi shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "It's the only way."

"No," she said tremulously, her eyes huge and haunted.

Santi ignored her and turned to Harry, as he asked casually, "Do you know who she is?"

Harry glanced at her dubiously. "I think I do. I've heard about Ravenclaw House's ghost who doesn't like to be seen and is always fleeing away from students. I guess she's it, then – the Grey Lady."

A brittle sound, half choked laugh, half bitter scoff, issued from the ghost's lips. "Is that what I'm called nowadays? The living certainly have a short memory."

"It's a start," said Santi, smiling and nodding at Harry, to then pointedly glance at the ghost. "The rest is for her to tell you."

The Grey Lady glowered at him. "I refuse-"

Abruptly, a loud wail echoed through the corridor, mournful, longing and wretched, accompanied by the sound of clanking chains.

"Helenaaaa," the deep, gravelly voice was calling out.

The Grey Lady spun around, a look of abject horror on her face, her mouth opening in a silent, terrified scream.

In the bat of an eyelash, she swiveled around and flew away, sinking into one of the walls. Seconds later, another ghost flashed by, only to disappear into the same spot.

Harry blinked, and then pointed. "That was the Bloody Baron, I think. What-"

"That was the consequence of the Curse that ails the Grey Lady," put in Santi loftily.

Harry stared at him, and frowned. "You mentioned a curse before-"

Santi forestalled him with a raised hand. "That's for you to glean from her."

Abruptly, he came to stand before him, or better said, kind of floated to where he was, and gripped him by the shoulders.

Harry shivered, though not from unpleasantness. Even through the layers of fabric, he could feel Santi's touch, soft and so very warm. It also felt very strangely familiar, as if it belonged there and was just right.

Some of it must have shown on his face, because Santi smiled at him, ever so pleased, before he adopted a grave expression. "It is of the utmost importance that you get her to speak to you, to tell you all about her life. She will be very reluctant, but you must succeed. That's your task."

"Task?" Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. I don't see why I –"

"You want to help her, don't you?" demanded Santi, piercing him with his weird milky eyes.

Harry shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Er – no? Why should I?" He harrumphed peevishly. "I have my own problems and things to do, let me tell you. And she wasn't exactly nice to me, was she?" He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Bonkers, she is, in case you didn't notice."

The corner of Santi's lips hitched upwards. "True, but she hasn't had an easy existence, and you're the only one who can help her." Seeing Harry's unimpressed expression, he smiled widely in amusement, before adding more seriously, "Furthermore, by helping her, you will be helping yourself, through all the things you'll discover from what she has to say."

"Right," said Harry dubiously.

"Trust me," said Santi vehemently, "even if I'm only a stranger to you, for now. I truly only have your best interest at heart. Will you do as I ask? You have nothing to lose."

Harry shot him another uncertain glance but then finally nodded. "Alright. When I find the time, I'll look for her and I'll try to make her speak to me…"

"Good," breathed out Santi, warmly smiling at him. His face turned grave again as he added adamantly, "Another thing, don't tell your… brother anything about me or her."

"Tom?" Harry blinked at him, then darkly glared, crossing his arms over his small chest. "Why not?"

Santi sighed, and said sternly, "Because the Grey Lady possesses, let us say, information that would be dangerous in certain hands – in your brother's hands, that is." He skewered Harry with his milky gaze, and added pointedly, "He likes to unscrupulously use people, doesn't he?"

At that, Harry scowled at him. It was true, for sure, but he didn't like others bad-mouthing his brother, only he had the right to do that! Besides, what did this 'Santi' person, or whatever he was, know about anything? He certainly couldn't know Tom, or him for that matter!

"What he would do with that information would be disastrous, to others," said Santi insistently when he saw Harry's unyielding expression, "but mostly, to himself."

"Oh," said Harry, frowning worriedly, even though he didn't even partly understand what the man was talking about. "To know about the Grey Lady would hurt Tom, then?"

Santi nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"Alright, then, I suppose…" Harry trailed off, but then he brightened. "But there's no reason for me not to tell him about you."

Santi looked briefly alarmed and then made a moue of dissatisfaction, before he said sharply, "You can't tell him about me. Ever." He lifted a hand when Harry was about to interrupt him. "I was serious when I said that I'm your only protector. That's why Tom can't know-"

"I don't need protection from my own brother!" snapped Harry, feeling quite indignant.

"You will," interjected Santi curtly.

Harry fiercely glowered at him, his small hands balling into fists. "Tom would never hurt me!"

"He wouldn't willfully hurt you, no, I don't believe he would," said Santi slowly, cocking his head to a side as if pondering how best to phrase his words. "But he will hurt you when misguided and thinking that he's doing what is best for you – and it will not be."

Harry frowned, feeling deeply perturbed, uncertain, and confused.

At that, Santi gently smiled at him and ruffled Harry's already unruly hair. "You're still so very young. But we have many years." He chuckled. "Indeed, we have Time."

At the strange inflection on the word, Harry shot him a bemused glance, and the man chortled, as if amused at his own pun, as he added, "I might as well tell you now, since the Grey Lady will certainly mention it. She will tell you that I can bend Time at my pleasure, which is basically true. But I also impose strict limits on myself, that's why I must go now."

Harry gawked at him, then snorted loudly, now believing that the Grey Lady wasn't the only one who was a loony.

Santi clearly knew what was crossing his mind because the golden, sparkly man patted his head, smiling indulgently. "You want proof, eh? Very well. I know all about your Sorting. I know that the Founders' judgments spoke to you. I know what they said." He widely grinned at him. "You are the 'tool of titans', that's one of the things Salazar Slytherin said, if you'll remember."

Harry gaped at him, his mouth hanging open, his green eyes wide. "How-?"

"You told me," said Santi with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't!" choked out Harry, affronted.

Santi chortled. "Ah, but you did, in the future. And you haven't told Tom about it, and you never will. It was only I whom you trusted." His cheerfulness vanished from his handsome face when he added gravely, "On that note, given your little 'adventure' through the paintings today, do you care to hazard a guess who one of those titans is?"

Harry paled dramatically, his heart stuttering and dropping to his stomach, as he remembered what he had overheard, and he said in a thin, scared whisper, "Grindelwald?"

"Got that right," said Santi shortly, piercing him intensely with his gaze. "And you'll have to do something about it, won't you?"

"Do what?" exclaimed Harry, panicky and highly troubled.

"Simply prepare yourself as best as you can," replied Santi calmly. When Harry opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought about that 'brilliant' and vague suggestion, the strange young man held up a hand. "I must go. But we'll talk soon. Indeed, we'll have much time to talk all you want and to get to know each other."

"Know each other?" Harry's eyebrows shot upwards, not knowing what to feel about _that_.

"Yes." Santi dazzled him with a gorgeous, charming smile. "And you might want to hurry too."

Harry stared at him, blinking and befuddled.

"I believe you have a good little friend awaiting you," pointed out Santi gently, "beside himself with worry."

Harry slapped a hand on his forehead, his eyes wide as he breathed out dismayed, "Alphard!"

"Quite." Santi grinned at him. "I'll see you soon!"

And with that, and a cheery wave of his hand, the young man simply vanished into thin air.

Harry blinked, shook his head and then simply spun around and made a mad dash.

Indeed, he found Alphard Black still waiting for him in front of the painting of the bowl of fruits, looking as if he was in hysterics.

When he saw Harry running towards him, the boy actually flung himself at Harry, hugging him tightly, as he let out a frantic sob. "I thought you had died! I thought you were dead, in some painting – you know, because of the air!" He chocked, and then half hiccupped and half sobbed. "I was about to go wake up the Headmaster. I didn't know what to do!"

"I'm all right. Really," said Harry hurriedly, feeling very guilty, as he patted his new friend on the back.

Alphard pulled away from him, his teary grey eyes roving all over Harry to ascertain he wasn't lying. Finally, he rubbed his eyes and nose with the cuff of his shirt, and stared open-mouthed at him. "What happened? How did you-"

"I seems I can breathe inside paintings without problem," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "It just took me a long time to find a… er, a painting that would let me get out from it."

Alphard's grey eyes went wide, as he stuttered, "But how – why –?"

"I reckon it was just what you said," cut in Harry quickly, as he gestured at the painting of the bowl of fruits. "Its magic must have gone all wonky." He let out a forced laugh as he scratched the back of his head. "Best if we don't test it again, don't you think?"

"Oh!" Alphard breathed out, shooting the painting a terrified glance. "Yes, I sure don't want to tickle the pear now!" Then his expression turned downcast and mournful. "But I so wanted to show you the house-elves!"

"And you will," said Harry swiftly, beaming a smile, "some other night."

"I suppose it would be best if we just went to sleep," said Alphard slowly, still looking very much disappointed, "it's pretty late."

Harry nodded vehemently, and they began their return back to Slytherin House.

"I suppose we should tell a teacher," whispered Alphard at some point, looking troubled. "You know, about the faulty magic of the painting, so that they can repair it."

Alarmed, Harry had to quickly mask his expression, and he said casually, "Oh, I dunno about that. We would have to tell them everything then, and we were way past curfew. I don't want to get a detention!"

"Oh, right," said Alphard, biting his lip.

"And besides," Harry quickly added, "Apollyon Pringle must have a way to know when paintings' magic go bad, right? Being the Caretaker of the castle and stuff."

"I suppose," said Alphard, not sounding very certain.

"I really don't want to get detention," insisted Harry now with a whine, shooting him a woeful, little glance.

At that, Alphard understandingly smiled at him, patting him on the back. "Don't worry. We won't tell anyone, then. It will be our secret. It was kind of an adventure, really!"

"Yeah," breathed out Harry, who truly didn't want to have adventures of that kind ever again.

Though as they made their way to the dungeons, Harry was highly tempted, several times, to ask Alphard many questions. About his father, what he knew of the man's involvement with the Dark Lord, about the so-called Grimmauld Place and Phineas Nigellus' portraits, and about the Dark Lord Grindelwald himself. But he never dared, knowing there was no way he could do it subtly enough as to not make Alphard suspect that something else had happened during Harry's 'adventure' through the paintings of Hogwarts' castle.

By the time they reached their dormitory, panting with exhaustion, they had only had to escape from the prowling Rascal the Corvus for several minutes, but they had managed to lose him quickly through the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons.

Choking on their pants of breath, they tiptoed around their dormitory very quietly and swiftly got ready for bed, with Alphard shooting Harry a last conspiratorial grin before going to sleep.

For his part, Harry would hardly sleep a wink, his mind too troubled with everything that had happened.

In the following weeks, his sleep would be fleeting as well, since he would constantly and fretfully worry and ponder about what to tell, how much, and to whom.

Since what would most heavily weigh and prey on his thoughts was the fact that, apparently, Czechoslovakia would be attacked in March.

The knowledge of such terrible thing would settle like an immeasurable burden on his soul. After all, Santi hadn't said anything about not speaking a word about that part.


	20. Part I: Chapter 19

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers, your comments keep me going!

Oh, and in the following chapters we'll start seeing a lot more of Tom, don't worry. *winks*

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 19**

* * *

The following weeks passed by like a blur for Harry.

He couldn't sleep well, he barely paid any attention in class – even in his favorite one, Mr. Tilly Toke's Charm class, where they were up to the point of casting Hovering Charms on each other, resulting in having students flying all around the room, some laughing and some even shrieking in horror, like Capricia Carrow, who still hadn't forgiven their teacher for pushing her off a high chair– and he had even lost his appetite and his sweet tooth.

His friends had noticed, though the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom seemed to think he was depressed because he couldn't attend the Gryffindors' Halloween costume party.

When excitedly discussing the planning of the event, they would suddenly remember his presence in their midst and they would clamp their mouths shut, Algie Longbottom looking awkward and uncomfortable, the twins looking sad and guilty.

Harry had even heard that Felicity and Felix were very angry with their housemates and were still arguing and fighting with them, for his sake. In any other occasion, he would have told them to let it rest, that attending a party was the least of his concerns. But he couldn't even make an effort to care about any of it.

His new secret friend, Alphard Black, had also detected something was troubling him. It had happened on the day in which Harry finally woke up from bed with a solution in mind.

Feeling vastly energized and cheerful, he had almost skipped all the way towards the Great Hall for breakfast, with every intention of using the free hour before his first class to write a letter to the Prime Minister himself. Indeed, who better to tell about the attack on Czechoslovakia but Neville Chamberlain!

His brilliant idea, though, was cruelly crushed when Tom and he received letters from Alice. One of the newspaper clippings that Alice had sent his brother had instantly caught his attention.

'Prime Minister returns victorious from Germany!' the article said in big bold letters. 'Munich Agreement signed!'

The first picture accompanying the cheerful article showed the Prime Minister at an aerodrome, triumphantly waving the resolution signed the day earlier with Germany. Another displayed a still beaming Neville Chamberlain on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, celebrating and waving at the crowds, with King George VI and Queen Elizabeth by his side.

Harry felt a powerful burst of hope and happiness as he looked at the pictures and read the article over his brother's shoulder. Clearly, there was no need to tell anyone at all about the attack!

Given everything the Prewett twins had told him about Gellert Grindelwald, Hitler was the wizard's puppet, and if Hitler had made peace with England and had sworn not to attack any other country, then it must have been because the Dark Lord had ordered him not to! Maximillian Malfoy just didn't know that yet, that was why the wizard had believed that Czechoslovakia would be conquered in March.

At that point, feeling as if nothing could go wrong in the world, Harry had popped a piece of French toast into his mouth, munching it joyfully. That was, until his brother spoke.

"Idiots," Tom scoffed scornfully under his breath, as he unceremoniously stuffed the article back into the envelope of Alice's letter, " 'Peace for Our Time', don't make me laugh."

"What-?" came out the strangled, taken aback words from Harry's mouth. He urgently swallowed his piece of toast, and pinned his brother with his stare. "What d'ya mean?"

Tom arched an eyebrow at him, as he said nonchalantly, "What I mean is that they're all fools for believing that a signed piece of paper has any value at all-"

"But it said it was a Peace _agreement_!" interrupted Harry, choking out his words as he pointed at the envelope containing the newspaper article.

"Exactly," said Tom sharply, "it's a contract, in essence. And contracts are made to be broken, aren't they?" He snorted disdainfully and then focused his attention back to his breakfast, as he added dismissively, "That 'peace agreement' is as worthless as the ink it was penned with."

Harry gaped at him in disbelief. "But it said-"

"Really, brother," snapped Tom impatiently, shooting him an annoyed scowl, "haven't you been paying attention to Muggle News? Do you really think someone like Hitler, who goes around calling himself a Führer, of all things, and by that he might as well crown himself an Emperor and it would mean the same-" he scoffed scathingly "-would just decide to play nice? He's been doing a pretty good job in taking countries that aren't his. Why would he stop?" He carelessly waved off a hand. "He's fooled Chamberlain to gain some time, that's all."

Harry's face scrunched up with a deep, highly troubled frown, as he muttered, "So you really think there'll be war-"

"I've been telling you so for ages," bit out Tom, looking irked beyond measure. "Yes, there'll be war. Yes, Hitler won't stop. Anyone with half a brain would realize that much."

Harry dashed out of the Great Hall before his brother could even ask him what bee he had on his bonnet.

Given that writing to Neville Chamberlain was no longer an option, since the man clearly believed in the validity of the agreement he had signed, Harry considered simply writing to Alice. But soon, he realized several things.

Even if she believed him, she would want to know how he came upon such information, and he couldn't tell her anything about it, because revealing to her the existence of the Magical World and Hogwarts could end up very badly.

He knew about the Statute of Secrecy thing, and he dreaded the possibility that the Ministry of Magic would somehow know and end up sending one of those 'Obliviator' chaps that the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom had once mentioned, when telling him about the Ministry and all its departments. And the last thing Harry wanted was for anyone to mess with Alice's brain; that was unforgivable, in his view.

The only other alternative he could come up with, was to write to that Winston Churchill fellow he had so often heard about, when Alice and Robert Hutchins discussed politics. He remembered that Bob had said that the man was an 'old dog' in politics, and was the only one who publicly decried Hitler and Germany as a threat.

There was one grave obstacle, though. One thing was to write to Neville Chamberlain, who all knew he lived in Downing Street. Winston Churchill, on the other hand, Harry didn't have the foggiest idea where he could be found.

Thus, after the end of a class shared with the Gryffindors, he pounced on Felicity Prewett.

"Owls can really, really find anyone in the whole world?" he asked quickly. "With just knowing their name? Even if they're a muggle?"

Felicity blinked at him, before replying matter-of-factly, "Yes, of course. In the Wizarding World, owls are bred by trained wizards, and they cast all sorts of spells on them when they're just eggs, to give them several magical abilities, like that of being able to find anyone by just knowing their name."

The girl tilted her head to a side, gazing at him with her beautiful, mismatched hazel and blue eyes, which glinted with curiosity. "Who do you want to write to-"

Harry was gone before she could even complete her sentence.

It was thus, that by evening time, he had used every spare moment in writing a letter to the politician. He had gone through many drafts, and though still dissatisfied with the end result, he had felt a modicum of relief as he stuck the letter into a pocket of his school robes.

He was in such a good mood, that when Alphard Black waylaid him, he allowed himself to be cajoled into going to the kitchens.

It was their twelfth time down there. Indeed, three days after Harry's 'incident' with the painting of the bowl of fruits, Alphard had insisted on showing him the elves.

At first, the boy had been a bit hesitant in tickling the pear –Harry certainly didn't offer himself up as a volunteer- but it had worked without a hitch. The painting had flung itself to a side, revealing a passageway.

"You were right," had piped in Alphard, looking mightily content. "Apollyon Pringle must've repaired its magic!"

The 'Elves', at first, were a crushing disappointed for Harry. They were not the willowy, ethereal and beautiful beings mentioned in his Celtic folklore book. Instead, they were short, green things, with huge bulging eyes, gigantic flapping ears and large, pointy noses.

However, he soon became very fond of the little creatures. Though they weren't all that 'little': just about his very same height, which still made him grumble. But they were very kind and cheerful, and tripped over their own feet in their rush to cook or bake anything Harry or Alphard asked for, allowing them to indulge their sweet tooth, which they both shared in common.

Thus, the kitchens had become their secret little meeting place, since it appeared that no student ever went there. It was in the kitchens -with the house-elves always orbiting around them, solicitously asking what they desired and making for them delicious pastries and scones, along with scrumptious cups of hot chocolate- where the two boys spent all their time together, when they wanted to talk, when they played Exploding Snaps, or even when they had to do their homework.

That day, though, it seemed that Alphard had decided to voice his concerns.

"What's been going on with you?" the boy asked, as he settled down his cup of hot cocoa.

"Huh?" said Harry distractedly.

"That!" said Alphard, pointing a finger at him. "You have been going around, with that dazed, worried look on your face." The boy leaned forward over the table, peering at him, as he said softly, "Does it have something to do with your parents?"

"My parents?" Harry blinked at him.

"Yes," said Alphard quietly, looking concerned. "I saw you and your brother receiving letters again, today at breakfast. And you started arguing with him, or something, and you looked very worried." He gazed at him with commiserating, big grey eyes. "Did you get bad news from home? Is one of your parents ill?"

"Ill?" Harry started to shake his head, before he changed tacks and quickly nodded.

Indeed, he might as well say that Alice was ill, because there was no doubt in his mind that she would soon be so.

Tom always said he was a complete dunderhead in anything politics-related, but he comprehended enough to realize that if Maximillian Malfoy was right, and Czechoslovakia was going to be attacked in March, it would amount to the same thing as the Germans declaring war on England, given the so-called 'Munich Agreement' they had signed and would be breaking.

And Harry knew exactly what would happen then.

Now, Old John Bryce's tales about his time as a soldier, fighting in the Great War, didn't sound as thrilling, adventurous and wonderful as before, because now it would be Robert Hutchins in the trenches, fighting against the spike-headed Germans.

Tom had warned him about it, in King's Cross Station. Bob wanted to enroll in the army if there was ever a war, and Alice would be crushed. It only made the whole matter ever more urgent and worrisome for him.

"Oh, yeah, it's my… mum. She's ill and a bit frail," he finally said in a shaky whisper, "so we're worried."

Alphard shot him a look filled with understanding and sympathy and left it at that, for which Harry cherished him immensely.

It was then when he realized what a good friend the other boy had been, because Alphard must have detected his lack of concentration in class, must have been concerned, but in all that time, the boy had never pressed him to know why, and had simply helped him with homework after class.

Not only that, but following Dorea's plan, Alphard had written to his father, asking for his racing broom whilst expressing his wish to keep practicing his flying abilities without the teachers finding out.

Weeks before, a huge, intimidating owl had landed in front of Alphard, with a box no larger than a wand's. Later that day, the boy had proudly presented Harry with a shrunken Comet 180.

Alphard had even woken up at the wee hours of Sunday morning, to accompany Harry on his first Quidditch training session. As they had made their way to the remote spot at the other end of the Black Lake, the boy had excitedly explained to Harry all the details and features of the broom, adding some very useful suggestions of how it was best mounted and directed.

Every Sunday thereafter, Alphard would be there, watching and cheering him on, even when the weather turned bad and it started raining and hailing.

Furthermore, even though Dorea Black was a very tough trainer, Quidditch had soon become Harry's favorite activity of the week.

Having Antonin Dolohov there, being the team's Keeper in need of more practice, would sometimes remind Harry that the older boy's father had been one of those in the secret meeting in Grimmauld Place, and it would make Maximillian Malfoy's spine-chilling words, 'Next March', reverberate like roaring thunder in his head.

But as soon as he was on the Comet 180, all those thoughts would simply melt away from his mind and he would feel as carefree as never before in his life. Flying was truly the best thing that had ever been invented, and it bestowed on him the only few hours a week of true peace.

Not only did he immensely enjoy it, but he had realized that he was actually quite superb at it. At least, Dorea Black couldn't stop gushing about his 'fabulous' skills and moves, although Harry had done much to earn her praise, since no matter what outlandish and crazy stunts and acrobatics she came up with and made him try, he was always up to it and ended up performing them without a fault.

Once, the older Slytherin girl had even hugged him tightly in mid-air, as she cried out, ecstatic, "I've been waiting all my life for a Chaser like you, Riddle!" A wicked, highly satisfied glint had shone in her grey eyes. "Charlus and his pathetic bunch of Gryffs won't stand a stance next year!"

Moreover, Harry could already see the benefits of the arduous training on his body. His arms and legs were no longer the thin things of before, but they had gained some lithe muscles. And he could only wish that he would keep getting stronger, and grow to be very tall too, so that for once, it would be him bossing Tom and not the other way around, as usual.

Though, it hadn't been all sonnets and roses. Dorea had come to utterly despise his big, rounded eyeglasses.

It had started on the second Sunday, when Dorea had passed him the Quaffle, so unexpectedly and so forcefully, that the ball had slammed on his face, breaking his glasses. She had had a quick fix for that, and had taught him the charm.

On the following practice session, in the middle of a very complicated maneuver, they had come tumbling down to the ground. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain, still in a patient good mood, had taught him a sticking charm.

Last Sunday, though, it had down-poured, and her mood had been short and acerbic. So when Harry -hardly being able to see a thing through his stained glasses- missed a shot, leaving Antonin Dolohov to easily deflect it, nastily guffawing at him, Dorea had put her foot down.

Flying up to him, she had snapped, scowling fiercely as she gestured at his eyeglasses, "I could teach you a spell for that, but what would be the point? Even if you cast the three charms on your glasses before a match, they could wear off in the middle of a game – matches can last for many hours, Riddle, and you aren't allowed the use of a wand when playing Quidditch. Those horrid eyeglasses of yours have to go!"

Angrily, she had made him fly down to the ground. She had been so furious, that it seemed to have affected even her hair, since suddenly –when it had been glossy, perfectly coiffured, and beautifully wavy all during practice, withstanding even the heavy rain- it became a frightful tangled mass of hairs sticking in all directions.

"What are you gawking at, Riddle?" Dorea had snapped at him. Only to touch her hair the next instant, and grumble under her breath, highly irritated, "Oh, the grooming charm must have worn off." With an annoyed flick of her wand, she solved the problem, though she still glared at him, biting out, "Yes, that's my natural hair. Not that you're one to speak, your hair is just as atrocious!"

Automatically, one of Harry's hands went to his hair, trying to flatten it out, not that he had ever cared much about it. Only Alice had complained, the many times she had attempted to comb it into submission. Well, and when they had been younger, Tom would frequently mock him for it, calling him 'scarecrow-head'. Still did sometimes, at that.

"Look here, Riddle," Dorea said firmly, skewering him with her grey eyes, "you'll have to take a potion to correct your sight."

Harry frowned at her, and echoed a bit dubiously, "A potion?"

"Yes," she said shortly, shooting him an irked glare. "You have several options." She started ticking off her fingers. "There's one that you can find in any apothecary and is quite cheap. It corrects your eyesight for a month, so you would have to buy it and take it on a monthly basis, because we'll always be having practice and I don't want to see those glasses of yours ever again." She halted, before adding nonchalantly, "The only drawback to that potion is that it gives you terrible headaches at random."

She cocked her head to a side. "Now that I think about it, that potion isn't an option for you. I don't want you to cost us a match due to some trifle little thing as your head hurting too much." She shook her head. "No, you'll just have to use the Dark potion. It permanently corrects your eyesight, only that in thirty-five percent of the cases it can leave the drinker completely blind, with no magical way to reverse it."

Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "You're off your rocker! I'm not trying that!"

Alphard, who by then had approached them and had been listening in with curiosity, piped in, "Oh, that's the one you used, wasn't it, 'Rea?"

"Quite right, little nephew," said Dorea, beaming at him, before her grey eyes narrowed and she pierced Harry with a scowl. "I was as blind as a bat, just like you, but when I was ten I already knew that I was serious about Quidditch, and I took a chance and the potion paid off." Her eyes narrowed to mere slits, as she demanded sharply, "The question is, are _you _serious about playing Quidditch? If not, tell me now because then I'm just wasting my time with you."

"I _am_ serious about Quidditch!" said Harry vehemently, before his voice turned hesitant, "but if the potion could turn me blind…" He trailed off, shaking his head, before he frowned. "You said something about it being 'dark'?"

Dorea shrugged her shoulders unconcernedly. "It is. You'll only find it in Knockturn Alley's apothecary, and it's a bit expensive. It's a banned potion, considered Dark, because it uses an illegal ingredient – the eyes of some magical creature nearly extinct that no one really cares about." She rolled her eyes, showing what she thought about _that_.

Harry stared at her, before his expression turned even more troubled. "Exactly how expensive is it?"

"Nowadays, about a thousand galleons or so," she replied offhandedly.

"I don't have that kind of money!" said Harry gobsmacked, gawking at her. That was ten times the amount Dumbledore had given Tom and him, and they had bought all the possessions they owned at present with that!

He shook his head sadly. "I don't have a single galleon, in fact." He paused, his green eyes suddenly brightening, as he said excitedly, "Oh, I know! I could ask Professor Slughorn to brew it for me-"

"Slughorn!" shrieked Dorea, bursting into loud guffaws, tears of mirth in her eyes. "He'd charge you even more than the apothecary in Knockturn Alley! Slughorn would sell his own mother if it earned him a small fortune!" She shook her head, as she said between peals of laughter, "He's a creature of comforts, you see, with expensive tastes – such that can't be maintained with his teacher's salary. Why, just take a turn around the Greenhouses at night and you'll see Slughorn covertly slipping in, nicking buds of Professor Beery's Venomous Tentacula to sell in Knockturn Alley. He filches everything that isn't bolted to the floor, actually!"

She nearly choked on her chuckles, as she added, "He even used to scavenger the Forbidden Forest for plants that were expensive potions ingredients, until the Centaurs trampled all over him and he spent a week in the Hospital Wing! He doesn't dare put a toe near the forest ever since."

With a last chortle, Dorea wiped her tears of mirth from her eyes, and glanced at Harry again. "No, you'd do better just buying the ingredients and asking your twin to brew the potion for you."

"Ask Tom?" Harry blinked at her.

"Yes, I've heard he's brilliant at Potions, and the potion is not that complicated, just very tedious and time-consuming to brew."

Harry had had several objections to that, first but certainly not least of all was that he couldn't even afford to pay for ingredients. But Alphard had very generously offered to give him his allowance of a month, to pay for them.

Not one to accept charity, Harry had very stubbornly refused, but his friend had worn him out in the end, with a very candid sentiment expressed in his words, "I'm not giving you free money, I'm investing in you as a Quidditch player, Harry! I'm planning on being a Chaser too, next year, and I want my fellow teammate to be just as good or better than me - that will make me enjoy the sport even more. And when you become a famous Quidditch player, I will proudly say I was your first sponsor. Really, just accept the stupid galleons!"

Harry yielded in the end, and a few hours afterwards, Dorea tracked him down and handed him 'Obscure Brews to Correct the Senses', with a page dog-eared on the chapter detailing the instructions for the potion.

A day later, she was already demanding to know if she had talked to Tom.

Harry smoothly lied and nodded, since approaching his brother about it wasn't high up in his list of priorities. Moreover, he also dreaded to imagine what Tom would demand in return for brewing a potion that would take him a long time and thus pull him away from his precious, stupid little books.

Though, the day when Tom confronted him about his lack of concentration in class, Harry actually remembered that he was owed a favor in exchange for looking for the Chamber of Secrets.

He had known, that at some point, his brother would ask what was the matter with him. Tom was the one person who knew him best in the whole world, so of course the boy had noticed that something wasn't quite right with him.

And Harry had mightily dreaded it, because he knew that if Tom pressed him, he could very well be unable to keep it all in, and he would just blurt out the whole thing – Santi and Grey Lady included.

Indeed, back then, Maximillian Malfoy's words were still haunting him, day and night. He had felt frantic with impotence and worry. He hadn't known what an eleven-year-old boy like himself could possibly do about such a grave and urgent matter. And given the chance, he feared he would break down and plea and ask his brother for help.

However, he wasn't given the chance, because Tom was still so self-absorbed in his research -about the Chamber, but foremost, Salazar Slytherin's line, wanting to discover how they could be the wizard's descendants- that his brother's mode of approach didn't even tempt Harry the slightest bit to be in any way forthcoming with him.

"I don't care why you've been moping around and I don't have time right now to tutor you, but you best stop getting low marks on your essays, or else," Tom had hissed out at him angrily, plopping a couple of thick textbooks of all sorts of subjects on Harry's desk. "Read, study, and stop embarrassing me."

His brother had only halted to shoot him a demanding glance. "How is your search for the Chamber going?"

Harry had almost told him where he could go to sod off, but he hadn't, because he had actually spent considerable time and effort on that quest.

Indeed, after meeting Santi, he had decided he could kill two birds with one stone, carrying on both of his tasks at the same time: finding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and finding the Grey Lady again, to glean from her the 'story of her life'.

Thus, every evening after class, he had spent a couple of hours meandering around the castle.

He had caught glimpses of the Grey Lady three times, but one look at him and she was gone. It became patently clear to him that Santi had vastly understated her 'reluctance' – the Grey Lady didn't seem in any way disposed to open up her bosom to him and even less, share life experiences.

His search for the Chamber of Secrets had been just as unsuccessful. The moving staircases of the castle kept making him go around in circles. Once, he actually saw the lattice of magic on the walls vibrating, as if Hogwarts was good-naturedly laughing and playing with him, tricking him and moving her stairs around to make him land always on the same spot, or sometimes in remote corners of the castle.

Harry hadn't found it all that funny and had almost yelled at the castle.

Nevertheless, it had allowed him to discover a few interesting things.

He had miraculously found again the corridor where he had met Santi and the Grey Lady, taking note that it was on the seventh floor, the unused and abandoned part of Hogwarts.

He had stood in front of the wall covered with bronze and dark blue cords of magic, though he certainly hadn't seen any door that would lead to the 'Room of Requirements', whatever that was.

Moreover, when Barnabas the Barmy had cheerfully greeted him and recognized him, Harry had quickly turned heel and dashed away, not wanting to stick around for awkward questions of how, if he was a student, had he managed to get in the tapestry.

By accident, in one of those days when the castle was clearly feeling quite mischievous and had kept shifting around her stairs whilst he stood on them, he had come upon a still-life painting near the kitchens, the whole thing shimmering with yellow and black magic, which instantly told him that he was beholding the entrance to Hufflepuff House's common room.

And finally, on a third-floor corridor, he had stumbled upon a statue of a humpbacked witch, the hump itself glowing in red and golden light.

He had touched, and then pushed and shoved, and it had given way, the statue shifting to a side, revealing a narrow passage. With a quick Lumos Charm on his wand, Harry had instantly seen that it also shimmered red and gold all along its ground and walls.

Very curious about the secret passageway that Godric Gryffindor himself had clearly built many centuries ago, he had made a mental note of going back there when he had more time to explore.

To his brother, though, he simply retold his frustration with the moving staircases and the many times he had ended up inspecting the same abandoned classroom, only to realize it too late.

"Then draw a map, you lamebrain, and tick off the classrooms you go examining," said Tom snidely, shaking his head as if not believing he could have such a dolt for a brother.

Harry stared at him at that, silently admitting to himself that it was actually a good idea. Not that he told his brother that. He just shot him a peeved glower and left him biting his dust as he waltzed out of the room with his chin raised high in an affronted gesture.

Nevertheless, he was planning on asking Professor Tilly Toke for help on that, because if he was going to make a map, he would do it with magic.

He didn't want to go around the school looking like a fool, with roll of parchment and quill in hand. No, he would use Charms and make for himself a wickedly brilliant map and then he would rub it in on Tom's face and never let him use it.

But that would be later, because at present, he had a letter in his pocket, addressed to a certain someone, with which he would finally solve the Czechoslovakia issue.

Thus, after finishing their cups of hot chocolate, he parted ways with Alphard in front of the painting of the bowl of fruits, since they couldn't be seen together.

And with self-confident, assured steps, Harry made his way towards the owlerly. Inevitably, though, with every step he took, he thought about his letter, and his certainty started to slowly dwindle.

At first, he thought about how he wished he had his brother's penmanship; Tom's elegant, fluid and clear script, instead of his, which looked like chicken scratches. Then he wished he could write all grown-up like, like Tom, who always used big words that sounded very important and impressive. His letter, on the other hand, sounded as if it had been written by the little boy he really was.

Frowning, Harry started to realize that Winston Churchill could very well take one look at his letter, snort, chuckle -or whatever the man did when unimpressed, or when believing he was being pranked- and toss it to the garbage bin. After all, he could offer no proof to his claims. And Churchill would know it had been written by a little boy and would most surely give it no credence at all.

Furthermore, sending it by owl might be a very bad idea. He had heard that the old muggle liked to hunt – what if the chap blew off Lord Horkos' head? He would never hear the end of it from Tom.

Just when he came to the decision that he should just turn around and find some other solution for the problem, he heard two hushed voices coming from around the corner.

"… Grindelwald… not heard… Julian Erlichmann… no news?... I fear the worst…."

Suddenly, he almost smashed into Albus Dumbledore as the wizard appeared in his corridor.

For a moment, Harry caught sight of something in the professor's hand. It looked like a small glass sphere, with a curly, blonde head inside, of a woman.

He blinked and stared, puzzled and intrigued, but the sphere vanished into the wizard's violet robes in the next instant.

"Mr. Riddle, what an unexpected surprise," greeted him cheerfully the Transfiguration Professor, the man's sky blue eyes twinkling. "Running a bit late, aren't you? Curfew started an hour ago, my dear boy."

"Oh," said Harry, fidgeting awkwardly, wondering if he was about to get detention.

"It will be forgiven this time," said Dumbledore with a congenial chuckle. Abruptly, he peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, a slight expression of worry flashing across his face. "You look troubled, my boy. And you have been distracted as of late, in my class. Is there anything the matter?"

For a moment, Harry could do nothing but stare, then his mouth parted open in a silent 'O', and he almost slapped a hand on his forehead.

He had been so stupid - the answer to his problem was right there in front of his very nose! Granted, he still didn't like Dumbledore much, and Tom often hissed out with much irritation that the professor was always watching him closely, but it was Dumbledore!

He had lost count of the many times that Felicity Prewett had sung the man's praises, and it had been her who had told him all about how Dumbledore, from the start, had been warning the rest of wizarding England that the 'German Minister of Magic' was really a Dark Lord.

Why, the twins' father, Faustus Prewett, was supporting Dumbledore's faction in the Wizengamot, as they kept trying to have that Law passed. The very same law that, many weeks ago, had the Slytherins grumbling angrily. But just the other day, Felicity had mentioned something about the law really being all about forcing Charlemagne McLaggen to aid the muggles in case of war, of actually preventing the Minister of Magic from making some pact with Grindelwald.

Furthermore, Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards in the world! At least according to the Prewetts. So given all that, who better than Dumbledore to take care about the whole Czechoslovakia thing!

Harry was so excited that he barely knew where to start.

He jerkily gestured at his pocket, where his letter to Churchill rested in, and then he pointed in the general direction of the owlerly, and finally blurted out frantically, "Yes! I overheard – that is, I didn't mean to, but it just happened – and I wrote a letter, I was about to fetch Lord Horkos to send it, but there's no need, you're here-"

"Lord Horkos?" said Dumbledore, his auburn eyebrows shooting upwards as an expression of alarm briefly flickered through his features.

Harry blinked at him, a bit startled at the man's reaction. "Er- yeah, he's my brother's owl-"

"I see," muttered Dumbledore quietly, his face once more calm, though his eyes seemed to sharpen as he pinned Harry with his spectacled gaze. "Your brother named him, I take it."

It didn't sound like a question but more like a self-assertion of the wizard's own thoughts. Nonetheless, puzzled, Harry nodded hesitantly.

Dumbledore's expression turned grave, as he eyed Harry from the rim of his half-moon spectacles and prompted gently, "Is there anything you wish to tell me? About your brother?"

"What-?" Harry's mouth hanged open. Frowning, he snapped with exasperation, "What does Tom have to do with anything!"

"That is for you to tell me, my dear boy," interjected Dumbledore softly, his concern now clear on his face.

"Tell you what?" echoed Harry dumbly, feeling utterly baffled. He shook his head and bit out with irritation, "About Tom? Nothing's the matter with him! The trouble is Czech-"

"If you're worried about anything he might be doing," said Dumbledore quietly, as he intensely peered at him over his glasses, "it would be best if you confided in me. And together, we would find a way to help him."

"Help him?" Perplexed, Harry nearly gaped at the wizard. Yet suddenly, he felt such a burst of sheer anger and crushing disappointment, that he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "My brother is just peachy! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

And with that and a disgusted glower, Harry spun around and ran away from the wizard.

He didn't know what he had been thinking! It was just as Tom had said, Dumbledore was still as suspicious of them as the day they had met him at the orphanage. And for a brief moment – clearly of utter insanity – he had actually thought he could trust the wizard, that Dumbledore would be the solution to all his problems!

Why, if Tom ever found out what he had been about to do, he would be cruelly mocked till death.

Nevertheless, it wasn't any of that which had him almost beating his head with his fists, but rather the fact that Dumbledore had been his last resort. Now, he truly didn't know what to do.

It was such the depression in which he sunk in the following weeks, that All Hallow's Eve came by and passed, and Harry barely noticed it.

The splendid feast in the Great Hall, with countless decorations and carved pumpkins floating all around, lightening the place, with the mouth-watering dishes, desserts, and candies, the celebratory cheerfulness that reigned in the castle in those days, with the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws attending the costume party to which he wasn't welcomed, the fact that the Slytherins disappeared from school – just as predicted by Felicity – and with Alphard, later, with much guilt but nevertheless firm in his convictions, refusing to tell him what that 'Samhain' celebration had entailed, all of it happened and Harry couldn't have cared less.

He didn't even have the energy to tell Alphard just what he thought about his dark pureblood traditions and the need to keep them a secret from him, an outsider, allegedly a non-dark wizard.

Harry simply spent all those days in sheer misery, moping and meandering around the castle like a wretched ghost.

It wasn't until they entered November –with the weather turning very cold, the mountains around the school becoming icy gray and the lake like chilled steel, with every morning displaying grounds covered in frost and snow- that Harry received a wake up call from Alphard.

They were in the kitchens, with cups of hot tea in their hands as they worked on their essays for Potions, about the tedious subject of '101 magical proprieties of newt's eyes'. Or better said, Alphard was working on his essay and Harry was merely copying it onto his own piece of parchment, feeling as uninterested and lackluster as he usually did in those days.

Suddenly, Alphard cleared his throat as he settled down his quill on the table, and said softly, "I know that you have a lot on your mind, with your mother being ill..."

"Huh?" Harry gazed at him with dull eyes. "Oh, yeah. She's actually worse," he then added in a mutter, because really, those words quite accurately reflected his state of mind.

Everything was worse, now that he still didn't know what to do about the attack on Czechoslovakia. Part of him dearly wished he had never heard a word about it, so that he didn't feel that pressing responsibility, and the utter impotence that came with it when realizing that there didn't seem to be much that he could do.

"I'm sorry," said Alphard, looking very sad and concerned for his sake. However, his voice became firmer as he added, "I haven't said anything to you because I didn't want to burden you, but…" He cleared his throat again, looking uncomfortable. "Well, I think you _should_ know, because in the end, it wasn't a bad thing."

Harry shot him a glance as he scribbled something on his parchment. "Know what?"

"You really don't know – nothing at all?" whispered Alphard, leaning forward to intently gaze at him. "Your brother hasn't told you anything?"

That did catch his attention, and he fully turned around to face his friend, as he frowned. "About what?"

Alphard released a heavy exhalation of breath. "Where to start!" He carded his fingers through his short, wavy hair, and then shot him a quizzical glance. "Haven't you seen the House points lately?"

Harry scrunched his face up, trying to remember the giant hourglasses set in niches along one wall in a corner of the Entrance Hall, with rubies for Gryffindor, sapphires for Ravenclaw, emeralds for Slytherin, and yellow topazes for Hufflepuff House.

"Um, yeah, I think we don't have that many emeralds anymore," said Harry slowly. "Ravenclaw is beating us-"

"Exactly," cut in Alphard quickly, "and at first, we were winning by a lot, mostly due to all the points your brother got in class, because he answered all the questions."

"So?" Harry stared at him, still not understanding what had his friend in such an agitated state.

"So," said Alphard patiently, "your brother stopped participating in class, about two months ago. You didn't notice?"

"Er- not really." Harry then snorted loudly. "He probably decided to stop being such a teacher's pet-"

"That wasn't the reason," said Alphard in a singsong, his tone smug. His grey eyes grew big then, as he added in a rush, "Oh, and didn't you see your brother hanging around a lot of students of other Houses? And how our housemates have stopped bullying you? And the glances that my sister has been shooting at Tom? And-"

"Hold your horses!" exclaimed Harry dismayed, feeling as if he was being battered with questions. Then he deeply frowned as he spun them in his mind and slowly began to remember and take notice of the little things that had happened during the past months.

He had seen Tom consorting with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even some Gryffindors, in different places and on different days, but he hadn't given it much importance. He had ascribed that as Tom being Tom, probably cajoling something out of them.

His housemates had indeed stopped harassing or attacking him, but they had probably just gotten tired of it or just feared that some teacher would finally realize what they had been doing. Although he wasn't able to say if the present situation was an improvement, because his housemates had gone to the other opposite extreme: they still shot him glowers and glares, which looked angrier than before, but they wouldn't even say a single word to him.

Furthermore, the only other thing he had detected was that Walburga Black had begun casting Tom very weird glances. She actually looked constipated most of times.

Besides that, the only weird thing was, that one day, a Flourish and Blotts owl came swooping into the Great Hall and left a package to Tom. His brother had opened it and flung a shiny, brand new book at him, smirking with self-satisfaction, as he said, "Take the stupid thing. I owe you nothing now."

Harry had seen that it was 'The Most Extraordinary Chaser Tactics and Maneuvers of the Century!', the gift Alphard had given him the day they first met in Diagon Alley, and which Tom had later burned at the orphanage, in a bout of jealousy or something of the sort.

If he hadn't had Maximillian Malfoy's words weighting heavily on his mind, he would had felt very happy. But he had only frowned, as he asked, "How did you get the galleons to buy it?"

"That's none of your business," Tom had replied tartly, before going back to his lunch.

Thus, none the wiser about what Alphard could be hinting at, he shook his head, and muttered, "I really don't know what you're talking about." He rose up a hand the moment the other boy opened his mouth, and groused out, "And no, Tom hasn't said a single word to me about any of it. He isn't speaking to me anymore. He's mad at me because I'm not doing well in class. But he refuses to help me!" He darkly scowled. "He doesn't give two figs about what's going on with me. That's my _dear_ brother for you."

Alphard stared at him with wide eyes, as he breathed out, "You're so wrong." He shook his head, as he added candidly, "Look, I don't really like your twin that much, but I have to admit, you have a good brother there."

Harry snorted scathingly. "Yeah? How's that?"

"That's what I've been trying to explain to you!" said Alphard with a bit of exasperation.

"Then you might try doing a better job at it," Harry muttered peevishly under his breath.

Alphard shot him a miffed glance, before he sat up straight on his chair. "Alright, then listen to me. As I said, two months ago, your brother stopped answering questions in class. At first, no one paid it much mind, but then, we all started seeing him around students of other Houses-"

"You already said that," interjected Harry grumpily.

"_And_," carried on Alphard, utterly ignoring his remark, "we started seeing that without Tom's participation in class, our House points were going down, but the points of the other Houses abruptly started rising!" He leaned forward, as he breathed out, "He was seen, exchanging rolls of parchments for pouches of galleons. Your brother was doing the homework of loads of other students of different Houses, even some who were second or third-years, and he was charging for it!"

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards, as he said uncertainly, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! Many Slytherins saw him do it," said Alphard, shaking his head as he sniggered under his breath. "He wasn't being subtle about it! And he did it for weeks!" He chuckled, as he added, "You know how seriously they take it, and how important it is for our housemates to win the House Cup. They were all furious with your brother, because all those points the other Houses were earning were because of the essays Tom had sold to them!"

Harry blinked, and then inaudibly mumbled under his breath, "Well, that explains how he bought my book."

"And you can just imagine what happened," continued Alphard, his grey eyes growing big. "They all confronted him one day and-"

"Wait – what?" interrupted Harry quickly, frowning and piercing him with his gaze. "Where was I?"

Alphard scratched his forehead pensively, before his expression brightened. "Ah, it was that Sunday! Remember that I had a nasty cold and couldn't go watch your Quidditch practice? It was then. An hour after you left with Dorea and Dolohov, Algernon Wilkes woke up the whole House and took us to the common room." His expression turned upset for a moment, as he added, "They all ganged up against your brother, furious and yelling. It wasn't pretty."

Harry shot him a fretful, worried look. "Did they hurt him?"

"Oh no," said Alphard with a chuckle. "You should have seen him! They were all shouting at him, and he stood there, looking at us all as if we were mud under his shoes. And when they stopped yelling, he just smirked at us, and said that he wasn't going to stop selling essays. And that he wouldn't earn points for a House that didn't welcome him and you." He waved off a hand. "Or something like that."

The boy widely grinned, as he added excitedly in an admiring tone, "And then he turned all serious and scary, and said something like 'No one touches my brother' – and he was staring straight at Walburga!" Alphard chortled happily. "I swear on Salazar's snakes, my sister actually went pale! It was fantastic!"

"Oh," breathed out Harry, gazing at him with green eyes wide as moons, a very warm, fuzzy feeling suddenly surrounding him. He couldn't help the beaming smile that spread on his face. "Tom really said that?"

"Yup," said Alphard, vehemently nodding his head. "But wait – it doesn't end there! Many were still angry, Walburga most of all, but then something happened." He leaned forwards as he whispered quietly, "Your brother ambushed her when she was coming out from a girls' bathroom, alone. And he cursed her, Harry! I saw her myself – it was _very_ nasty." He sniggered under his breath. "Burga refused to go to the Hospital Wing and in the end only Dorea could fix her up. And haven't you seen the glances 'Burga shoots Tom?" He shuddered dramatically. "I think she fancies your brother now!"

"Those constipated looks - that's her fancying Tom?" Harry said incredulously, not knowing whether to guffaw or be concerned for his brother.

"Well, she has a thing for him, I think," said Alphard, to then shoot him an apologetic glance. "But she cannot seriously fancy him, you know, he's still just a muggleborn."

Harry shrugged his shoulders, really not caring two straws about Walburga's amorous affairs or the limitations she imposed on herself.

"Still," grumbled Alphard, looking highly miffed, "that doesn't stop the first and second-year Slytherin girls from making eyes at him, gossiping and giggling – you know, that stuff girls do. Some have even started to go around trailing after him!"

His friend looked very upset and vexed about the matter, but Harry could only frown as he remembered something. "Hang on. You said Tom _cursed_ her, as in-"

"As in he used a dark spell!" piped in Alphard, nodding. "That's something that had many wondering-"

"It can't be," interrupted Harry shortly, starting to feel a bit perturbed. "My brother doesn't know any Dark Arts."

Alphard frowned at him. "Well, it couldn't have been a truly harmful dark curse, because Hogwarts has a ward that detects such spells, alerting the Headmaster. But it must have been a curse borderline Dark Arts." He turned very grave, as he added, "Because I saw my sister and she was a bloody mess, Harry. She's being very tight-lipped about the whole matter, and even if she knows what curse he used, she isn't telling." He shook his head disparagingly. "Dorea herself couldn't figure it out, though she managed to heal 'Burga in the end."

Given all the stuff the Prewett twins had told him about the 'dangers of delving into the Dark Arts', Harry became increasingly worried with every word his friend spoke, and could only stare at him.

"Many have wondered, you know," said Alphard, his tone mystified, "about where your brother might have learned such curse from-"

"Oh!" breathed out Harry, as realization struck him. "He has a pass for the Restricted Section of the library. Slughorn gave it to him-"

"Everyone has a pass from Sluggy," interjected Alphard with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. "He gives it to any Slytherin who asks, because he knows that if my father or Abraxas' grandfather hear that he isn't, they would use their posts as Governors of the school to fire him – under some other made-up reason, of course." He waved a hand dismissively. "All our parents are counting on us to continue our studies of the Dark Arts in the Restricted Section, since Hogwarts doesn't teach the subject."

"Right," muttered Harry, shaking his head. "But my point is that clearly, Tom learned the curse from there-"

"He couldn't have," said Alphard decisively.

Harry frowned at him, perplexed. "What d'you mean? Of course he could! Tom told me himself, long ago, that the Section is filled with Dark Arts books for anyone with a pass to look at-"

"Oh, of course, you don't know!" breathed out Alphard, his eyes wide. He quickly leaned forward, as he whispered urgently, "It _was_ filled with Dark Arts books, but it's not anymore. Way before your brother cursed 'Burga, the older Slytherins saw that the vast majority of Dark Arts books were missing. Algernon Wilkes managed to glean from Ciceron Plume that Dumbledore had raided the Restricted Section, taking the books with him." He grew excited, continuing as if unraveling a complex conspiracy, "And then Dorea went to visit Headmaster Dippet under some pretext of needing something for her prefect duties, and in the minutes he was gone, she spoke to Phineas-"

Alphard halted, and then quickly rushed out, "We have an ancestor who was a Headmaster and his portrait is hanging there in Dippet's office." He waved off a hand dismissively. "The point is that she asked him, and Phineas said that the books were under lock and key in the Headmaster's office."

"Hang on," interjected Harry, rising up a hand as an ominous, foreboding feeling started churning in his stomach. "You say _Dumbledore_ started that? That he was the one to take the books?"

"Yes," replied Alphard instantly. "Apparently, it was his idea."

Harry sat up straight on his chair, and skewered the boy with his gaze, as he demanded sharply, "When did this happen?"

Frowning, Alphard said slowly, "I think it was about a month ago-"

"I need the exact date!" snapped Harry hastily.

Alphard blinked at him, looking taken a back, before he turned pensive. "It happened… the Tuesday… two weeks before Samhain..." He then nodded to himself. "Yes, that was the day."

Harry choked on a gasp as the realization dawned on him. It had been precisely the day after he had his encounter with Dumbledore. It was too much of a coincidence, especially given the weird things the wizard had asked him about!

In the bat of an eyelash, Harry jumped to his feet and stuffed all his things into his school bag. By the time Alphard had gathered his wits, Harry was almost through the door.

"Wait - what about our Potions homework!"

"We'll finish it tomorrow!" Harry threw over his shoulder, and he left the kitchens in a mad dash, leaving Alphard to blink and gape after him.


	21. Part I: Chapter 20

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Some reviewers have commented that they don't like how Harry is being portrayed, that he's childish, immature, naïve, and even stupid – though on this, I disagree. He isn't dumb, he's merely acting his age. He's still 11.

I'm trying to be realistic here. He isn't like cannon Harry, whose family didn't love him and had to grow up fast.

This Harry has plenty of people who love him, care for him and who have protected him, like Alice, Robert Hutchins, his friends at the orphanage and Tom. And nothing 'bad' has happened to him yet, that he knows of. So of course he's naïve, innocent, childish and dependent. But that's what character development is all about.

Just as we saw, in some past scenes, how he behaves like a Slytherin due to Tom's influence on him, and in some others, he's the good-hearted boy due to his innate personality and Alice's influence, we'll see that as he grows up, events in his life will shape him, making him stronger, more independent and self-confident. But it won't happen overnight. So for now we'll have to put up with a realistically eleven-year-old Harry, who has led a relatively 'easy life' thus far.

On another note, some have commented about Dumbledore's characterization. I always keep something in mind when writing this younger version of him: in canon, when he was 60 years or so older, he made many mistakes even when he was already wise, patient, cautious and very experienced. For all the more reason, when he's younger, he will make even more obvious mistakes, in his desire to help others and mean well.

What happened in the last chapter was that, after hearing about the Lord Horkos thing, Dumbledore was certain he knew what it was all about, and so he tried to make Harry confide in him about what Tom must have being doing, thinking Harry was being difficult and obtuse on purpose.

He was so sure, that he didn't pay attention to what Harry was actually trying to tell him. I think it's a common mistake that some very intelligent people do, thinking they already know all and thus they don't actually listen to others. But after this chapter, it will be very clear why Dumbledore jumped to conclusions.

That said, the pace of this story will be picking up gradually as world events start affecting the boys' lives. The older they get, the faster things will move and the more action we'll see, so don't get frustrated, lol ^^

I hope you enjoy this chapter and tell me what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 20**

* * *

Panting, Harry finally reached the library, seeing that his brother was precisely where he had expected. Though he skidded to a halt when he saw that Tom was siting in his usual table at one corner, albeit, surrounded by a flock of girls.

"Oh, you're so smart, Tom! You should've been in our House," was saying Olive Hornby, sounding both mournful and adoring.

She was the first-year Ravenclaw girl who was seated closest to his brother, scribbling something on a long piece of parchment, now and then shooting Tom coy, fluttering glances.

Tom, for his part, looked like a magnanimous king surrounded by a worshipful court. Charming his audience with gorgeous smiles as he spoke in a low, soft voice, the girls giggling and blushing, as they hanged to his every word. Apparently, he was helping them with their Potions homework.

At the sight, Harry felt a sudden surge of irritation, and he stomped his way over, scowling darkly.

"I need to speak to you," he said shortly, as he stood at one end of the table.

Some girls shot him annoyed glares, whilst his brother waved a hand dismissively, without sparing him a glance. "I'm busy right now. Come back later."

Harry's mood darkened considerably, and he barked, "You're coming with me now!"

And without giving his brother a chance to reply, he leaned over the table and briskly started picking up his brother's books, quills and parchments, stuffing them in Tom's school bag.

Tom remained seated, shooting him a quizzical glance, while the girls squawked like a flock of affronted, angered geese.

"You can't take him away! He was helping us-"

"He knows so much! Better teacher than Professor Slughorn-"

"Oh, you truly are, Tom," breathed out sycophantically one of Olive Hornby's little friends, one of those who were always cruelly taunting and mocking poor Moaning Myrtle.

Which only made Harry even angrier, because he hated how her housemates treated her, and it made him feel pity, but also guilt since he still fled in opposite directions whenever he caught sight of Myrtle in the corridors, when she tried to approach him and make him remember his promise of being friends.

"You can't take him away from us, Riddle!" snapped Olive Hornby, standing up as she glowered at him.

Harry shot her a disgusted look, as he bit out, "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" And with that, he hefted Tom's schoolbag on his back, grabbed his brother's wrist, and yanked him away.

As they crossed the library's doors, Tom, who had thus far allowed himself to be pulled away, broke free and demanded in an annoyed tone of voice, "What is it? What do you want?"

"Not here," whispered Harry, glancing around as they entered a corridor. "Let's go to our dorm. There won't be anyone there at this hour."

He hastened his steps, and though Tom remained silent and effortlessly matched his pace, he could still feel his brother's irked gaze boring into one side of his skull.

As they made their way to the dungeons, they came across many meandering groups of students. And here and there, Tom was greeted by and charmingly greeted in return Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

His brother _had_ been busy. It only made him remember everything Alphard had told him about, and Harry quickened his steps.

The moment they arrived at their bedroom, Harry dropped Tom's bag on his brother's desk, and spun around.

Tom had elegantly seated himself on his bed, and now arched an eyebrow at him as he prompted impatiently, "Well?"

"Where did you get Lord Horkos' name from?" demanded Harry sternly without beating around the bush.

Tom stared at him, then frowned. "What's all this about?"

"Just answer the question," said Harry sharply.

"You already know the answer," replied Tom with annoyance. "It was from a book in Flourish and Blotts."

Now it was Harry who frowned at him. "What book, exactly?"

Tom heaved a deep breath as if a bothersome bug was pestering him. "When I was exploring the Section of Magical Theory, I saw a book there, opened and lying on the floor." He shot Harry a strange glance, for a moment looking hesitant, before he continued in dismissive tone of voice, "It was opened on the chapter about a wizard called Lord Horkos."

Harry waited, and waited, but his brother said nothing more and merely gazed back at him with a bored expression on his face.

"And?" prompted Harry, gritting his teeth with exasperation.

"And nothing," snapped Tom, glowering at him. "Why are you asking me this-"

"There's something you're not telling me," bit out Harry angrily, stomping a foot on the floor. "This is important, Tom! Just tell me and then I'll explain!"

Tom heavily frowned at him, before he grumbled dourly, "Fine. The book was called 'Obscure and Forgotten Dark Lords and their Inventions'. The chapter I began reading was about an Ukrainian Dark Lord of the Middle Ages, called Lord Horkos the 'Unvanquishable', the 'Indestructible', the 'Undefeated'. It told about how he had been killed eight times and always came back from the dead-"

"Hang on," said Harry, rising up a hand before he stared at his brother with utter disbelief. "You named your owl after a Dark Lord? Have you lost your marbles!"

Tom sprung to his feet and glowered at him as if he had been dealt the worst of insults, as he hissed out, "I wasn't being stupid! I didn't know what a 'Dark Lord' was back then. I thought it simply meant he had been a powerful wizard-"

"Alright, alright," said Harry quickly, "don't get your knickers in a twist!" He shook his head, before he pressed on, "So what else did the book say about this Lord Horkos fellow?"

Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes. "No. Now it's you who's going to start talking. Why are you asking me all of this?"

Harry gritted his teeth with frustration. He brusquely gestured from one to the other, as he snapped, "Look, the only way this is going to work is if you tell me all you know first, and then I'll tell you all I know. Got it?"

Tom poignantly glared at him, before his features rearranged themselves into a nonchalant expression, as he said loftily, "Very well, I'll answer your stupid questions." He waved a hand dismissively, his tone turning casual, "The author of the book carried on, explaining that historians believed the Dark Lord Horkos had created a vessel of some kind, which granted him immortality-"

"That's where you got the idea from!" breathed out Harry, his eyes widening in sudden realization.

He remembered the times when Tom had insisted that immortality had to be possible for wizards, given that their lifespans doubled those of muggles, given how many magical creatures, like dragons, lived for millennia, and how like, with magic, everything was possible.

Now he understood that all those reasons had been a load of crap, and that Tom had known exactly what he was speaking about.

"Yes," admitted Tom very reluctantly, scowling with irritation.

Recalling how Dumbledore had reacted to the 'Lord Horkos' name, it all started to make sense to Harry, and with an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pierced his brother with his eyes, and asked sharply, "So what was this 'vessel' thing?"

"A magical artifact of some sort," said Tom impatiently. He sat back down on his bed, as he continued briskly, "The author went on and on, describing how he had spent ten years in Ukraine, tracing back Lord Horkos' steps, wanting to discover what he had created. And apparently, if the author is to be believed, he found a book in a muggle junk shop, in some remote Ukrainian town – a grimoire written by Lord Horkos himself, the author claimed, which detailed the spells used to create this vessel artifact that granted immortality." He heaved a deep breath, before he added airily, "The author named the artifact after the Dark Lord, playing with the Latin term for 'cross', since he argued that the vessel had been both the wizard's salvation and doom. 'Horcrux', he called it, the Cross of Lord Horkos."

Harry plopped himself down on Tom's bed, crossing his legs as he gazed at his brother, muttering under his breath, "It must have been something very bad and nasty-"

"Bad?" Tom snapped his head to pin him with an angered gaze. "How could it be bad when it gave the wizard immortality!"

"He died in the end, didn't he?" quipped Harry pointedly.

Glowering, Tom bit out churlishly, "Because he must have messed it up."

Harry rolled his eyes, but then he frowned pensively, trying to understand why Dumbledore had reacted so strongly to the name. Really, it seemed quite silly to him – some Dark Lord who had created a long forgotten artifact that allegedly granted some kind of immortality that in the end didn't work!

Cocking his head to a side, he gazed inquisitively at his brother. "So how do you make this Horcrux thingy? How does it work?"

Tom shot him an irritated look, as he groused out darkly, "I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" Harry frowned at him. "You read the book."

Tom glared at him with all the power of his frustration, as he bit out sharply, "I _was_ reading the book! I had just started on the part of the chapter that began explaining that the artifact was made with 'Soul Magic' dark spells, when it disappeared!" He shook his head angrily. "I felt someone behind me, and I turned around. But there wasn't anyone there. The moment I looked back to my hands, the book was gone."

"Gone?" Harry blinked at him. "How?"

"Magically, of course," snapped Tom, shooting him a snide look before his expression turned dour. "I thought it might have re-shelved itself into some other Section, or something of the sort. So I asked the shop attendant." He grumbled darkly under his breath as he added, "The wizard got all uppity with me, affronted, saying that Flourish and Blotts didn't deal with 'those kinds of books', and he practically shoved me out the store – I barely had time to pay for our textbooks! Remember? You were with me at that point."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, sniggering under his breath. "That's too bad for you, I guess."

Tom glared daggers at him, but Harry merely grinned placidly as he leaned back on the pillows, calmly stretching out his limbs, as it all made sense to him, the pieces finally falling into place.

"So you looked for the book in Hogwarts' library, about a month ago," he concluded contently, letting out a yawn, "and you didn't find it."

"What are you talking about?" Tom skewered him with his dark blue gaze. "I started looking for the book from the moment Slughorn gave me a pass to the Restricted Section. Ciceron Plume told me they had it, but when he checked the shelves, the spot where it should have been in was empty." He shook his head angrily. "He even went through his registries and no student or teacher had checked the book out-"

"Wait – what?" Harry sprung up straight, and frowned, baffled. "But Slughorn gave you the pass ages ago! It couldn't have been gone then, that was too soon." His frown deepened, as he muttered under his breath, "Dumbledore didn't know yet."

"Dumbledore?" bit out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits. "He didn't know _what_?" He instantly brought his face up to Harry's, as he hissed out accusingly, "What did you do?"

"Er… well…" Harry chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head as he pulled the most innocent expression over his face.

It didn't seem to work because Tom's eyes just got angrier and narrower, and he swiftly changed tacks and pointed a finger at his brother. "It was your own fault! I didn't know you had named your owl after some loony Dark Lord!"

"You told him my owl's name?" hissed out Tom furiously.

"He could have found out on his own!" snapped Harry defensively. "You should have changed his name-"

"You can't change an owl's name once it's given," bit out Tom angrily. "They only respond to the first name given by their first owner."

Harry stared, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that ain't my fault either, is it?"

Dauntingly, he could almost see the wheels churning in his brother's head, Tom's expression turning darker and darker with each passing second, until his brother bit out, "So you're the one to blame for Dumbledore ransacking the Restricted Section and taking half the books! He did it to keep me from finding out what a Horcrux is!"

"Um – yeah," said Harry, letting out a forced, blasé laugh. "I think that was the reason."

Tom fulminated him with a murderous glare. "I can't believe it, my own brother…" He shook his head furiously. "I didn't have the time to go through all the books. One of them might have had some information about Horcrux-"

"But he didn't take them all, right?" said Harry quickly, trying to mend things.

"Oh, he left those about Magical Theory, and Dark Potions," said Tom, skewering him with a glower, "and about the genealogy of dark wizarding lines – be grateful for that, because if you had also cost me my research about Slytherin's line, I wouldn't forgive you." His face darkened, as he added, "But the most interesting books about dark magical artifacts and Dark Curses are gone."

Harry frowned then, something simply not making sense. "Alright, so he took those books the day after he found out what your owl was called. But you said the book you had seen in Flourish and Blotts had been in Hogwarts' Restricted Section but wasn't there anymore when you checked. And that was ages ago, so it couldn't have been Dumbledore."

"Yes," Tom grudgingly conceded.

Becoming increasingly intrigued with each passing second, Harry tilted his head to a side. "So who took it?"

"I don't know," admitted Tom, scowling.

"And why did you find that book in Flourish and Blotts when the shopkeeper told you they didn't have it?" continued Harry, his frown deepening.

"I don't know," repeated Tom, his voice turning lower and angrier.

"And why did it disappear from your hands when you were distracted?" pressed on Harry, utterly mystified by this point. "Who took it from you?"

"I don't know!" snapped Tom viciously.

Harry blinked at his brother, and then quipped nonchalantly, neatly summarizing things up, "Well, I had nothing to do with all that, so you can't be angry with me."

He beamed a smile. His brother glowered.

"Oh, but I _am _angry with you," hissed out Tom, pushing his hands on the bed to pull his face in front of Harry's. "What were you doing consorting with Dumbledore? Why did you tell him Lord Horkos' name?"

"I didn't mean to," groused out Harry. "I came across him when I was on my way to the Owlerly to send a letter to Winston Churchill-"

"I beg your pardon?" swiftly interrupted Tom, staring at him, before his tone turned snide, "Why would _you_ be writing to Churchill?"

"Erm, well…" Harry stammered, and then trailed off. In the next second, he cast a long, considering look at his brother, and then made up his mind.

After a bit of cajoling, his brother had been forthcoming with him in the end, and given that he was stumped in the matter of what to do with the information he possessed, he decided he might as well try getting Tom's help.

So doing some fast thinking, he quickly decided what innocent little lies he would be telling, and began retelling his odyssey through Hogwarts' paintings, completely leaving Alphard, Fawkes, Santi and the Grey Lady out of the narration but putting special, frenzied emphasis on what he had overheard when he had been in Phineas Nigellus' portrait of Grimmauld Place.

"… and then I was in a tapestry, a troll clubbed me on the head, and I fell through this transparent, veil-like thingy that tapestries have instead of the windows of paintings, and I finally landed on a corridor of the school," concluded Harry faintly, running out of breath.

Staring back at his brother, though, he found a reaction he wasn't expecting.

"You can get into paintings?" bit out Tom, looking incensed beyond measure. "How! Living beings can't-"

"Living beings can't get into paintings," parroted Harry in a tired monotone. "Yeah, I know."

At his brother's piercing stare, he then shrugged.

Suddenly, Harry's scar began to throb painfully, and he rubbed it, scowling but also perplexed at the reason for his brother's apparent anger.

Tom seemed to be highly irked, his expression had darkened and his eyes had narrowed.

A ray of understanding shone in Harry's mind, and he gaped at him incredulously. "You're envious?"

"I'm _not_!" snapped Tom instantly, shooting him a venomous look. "I just don't think it's fair that you can get into paintings when I can't. I've touched one, and nothing happened!" He glowered darkly, as he muttered, "So now you can get into paintings as well as see magic. And I can't do either-"

"Didn't you hear a word I said!" Harry shook his head with disbelief, as he wildly gestured with his hands. "I was chased by humongous jungle insects, drunken healers wanted to cut me open and chop me up, sailors nearly shoved me off a plank into a sea made of paint, a huge rhino came charging at me, and a troll nearly smashed my head open! It wasn't fun!"

"But it's an ability of some sort, and it's useful," groused out Tom acidly. "And I can't do it."

Harry shook his head with exasperation. "But you have Hogwarts nudging your mind and welcoming you when you touch her walls – I rather have something like that, instead of her always shifting her stairs on me!" He shot his brother a quizzical glance. "I bet you could communicate with her if you wanted to. Have you tried it?"

Tom glared, as he said bitingly, "No, and I don't intend to. I don't like having alien, sentient beings barging into my head, let me tell you."

Giving up, Harry threw his hands up into the air. Though he halted in mid motion, snapped his gaze to Tom's, and breathed out slowly, "Hang on. Why are we even discussing this?" His green eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you said a word about what I overheard?"

Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him. "About Czechoslovakia apparently being attacked in March?" He shot him a scathing look, and scoffed, "Hardly surprising. How many times do I have to tell you that war is coming-"

"Not that," snapped Harry, his green eyes now mere slits, highly suspicious. "You didn't bat an eyelash. I told you that it seems that Maximillian Malfoy didn't do his best to get us expelled because he received a letter from Grindelwald. I told you that, for some reason, the current Dark Lord has an interest in keeping us in Hogwarts, and you didn't look remotely surprised!" He pointed an accusing finger at his brother, as he said crossly, "What aren't you telling me!"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," began Tom in a lofty tone of voice. "Of course that it puzzled me in the extreme and made me wonder-"

"Bollocks!" immediately judged and declared Harry. He pierced him with his stare, and stated, "I know you're lying, because you have that expression on your face you always pull when you're keeping something from me."

"What expression?" said Tom coolly, his face blank.

"That one!" chirped Harry instantly, feeling quite smug.

Tom shot him the nastiest of looks, before he harrumphed under his breath. "Very well, you little midget." He slowly got up to his feet and started making his way over to his trunk, though he spun around for a moment, and bit out sharply, "Let's just get one thing straight. I'm showing you because I want to, not because you're pestering me."

"Of course you are," quipped Harry sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Tom gave him a dark look but nonetheless proceeded to cast all sort of unlocking spells on his trunk. Intrigued, Harry left the bed and bounded up to him.

The moment the trunk was opened, what instantly caught his attention were the numerous pouches of all colors, some velvet, others of silk or just plain leather. As Tom started to search his trunk, the pouches tingled with the sound of coins.

With wide eyes, Harry breathed out, "You made all that by doing others' homework? How many galleons have you got already?"

Tom paused and shot him a sidelong glance, as he smirked. "Oh, so you finally noticed and figured out what I've being doing?"

"Of course," said Harry quickly, not about to tell him that, actually, he had been too absorbed with his own troubles to notice anything at all, and that it had been his 'secret friend' Alphard who had apprised him of events.

"We'll not be paupers for long," said Tom smugly, as he gestured at the pouches. "This is just the beginning."

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "You're going to start charging more?"

"Yes," said Tom, chuckling sharply under his breath, "but I wasn't referring just to money. What I mean is that, gradually, I won't only ask for galleons but also favors. Our housemates have many things I want."

"Our housemates?" Harry frowned at him, bemused. "I thought you were selling essays to students of other Houses."

Tom waved a hand dismissively. "That was only to make a point and show the Slytherins just what an asset I could be. Now that they've realized that they gain more by having me working with them instead than against, they're starting to approach me." He shot him a brief, self-satisfied look. "Thaddeus Avery and Neron Lestrange have already paid me to do some of their homework. They're just the beginning. Soon, more Slytherins will ask, and then I'll be able to stop selling essays to other Houses." He smirked smugly. "After all, I have every intention to make Slytherin win the House Cup every year I'm at Hogwarts, and our housemates will know that they will owe it to me."

Harry shook his head and muttered under his breath, "I don't see why you should care. They'll still hate us for not being purebloods."

"I don't want them to _like_ me," hissed out Tom impatiently, "but to respect me and be in awe of me, however grudgingly, and they're already starting to do so." He smirked widely at him. "And besides, my whole intention is to make a thorough use of them and take all possible advantage. Selling them essays is just a way to do that. Just you wait and see all the things I'll get from them."

"Like what?" prompted Harry curiously, tilting his head to a side.

"Favors, books that can only be found in their manor's libraries, rare and expensive potion ingredients," began rattling off Tom as he continued to peruse his trunk, "invitations to balls and parties where I'll be able to start forging connections… that sort of things."

"Oh, that sounds good," said Harry, grinning, before he took a step to be closer to his brother, and added quietly, "By the way, thank you."

"Hmm?" said Tom distractedly without sparing him a glance. "What for?"

Harry warmly smiled at him, as he said softly, "For telling them that they couldn't touch me."

Instantly, Tom snapped his head up, scowling. "Who told you that? You weren't there."

Harry shrugged his shoulders, though he couldn't stop beaming. "Oh, I just overheard some Slytherins talking about it."

Glaring, Tom bit out shortly, "Well, don't think too much of it. I did it for my own reasons, not for your sake."

Obviously, Harry didn't believe one word, but he hadn't expected any other retort, so he kept grinning. Which only made Tom twitch, glower, and then go back to his trunk.

"Here they are," suddenly said Tom exultantly, as he pulled out two books and handed them over with much care, as if they were his most revered and treasured possessions.

Harry stared down at them, and then shot his brother a highly peeved glare. " 'How to Care for your Pet Owl' and '101 Grooming Charms and Hairstyles', really, Tom? What's this rubbish?"

Tom gave him a wide, gleeful smirk. "Haven't you ever heard that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, little brother?" Then he plucked something else from the trunk and slapped it into Harry's hands. "On the second week of school, I found those two books and that letter stuck under my pillow." He gestured magnanimously. "Go ahead, read it. You wanted answers, didn't you?"

Intrigued, Harry settled the books on Tom's bed and opened the folded piece of parchment. As he began reading, his whole body froze and his breath got stuck in his throat.

_My esteemed Tom Marvolo Riddle,_

_Allow me to express my deep admiration for your magical abilities. It is not every day that a young boy with your qualities enters the Wizarding World. You have grasped my interest and I am fervent, devoted advocate of helping promising and outstanding young wizards like yourself reach their full potential._

_Accept my two gifts as a show of my respect for you and my desire to see you grow into the powerful wizard I believe you can be. _

_With Hogwarts' curriculum being what it is, ever bestowing a deficient education, you will find the two books to be vastly enlightening, and much to your taste and interest, I shall hope. _

_Please do share this with your brother, who has, like you, earned my patronage. I wish you would both accept it and that you will come to think of me as a friend. And perhaps, in time, I will have the honor of calling myself your mentor._

"It's not signed," mumbled Harry numbly, his fingers jerkily sinking into the parchment. He shot his brother a wild look and said in a strangled voice, "Tell me it's not from whom I'm thinking."

"Look at the postscript," said Tom gleefully.

Harry did, and frowning, he briefly saw that it described in much detail two charms and their counters. Before he had the chance to read it fully, his brother was already casting one of the spells on the two books.

It instantly changed the books' covers into ones that were all black, looking a bit battered from use and the passage of time, the titles having morphed into silver words of some foreign language.

"And this spell," said Tom, looking giddy as he flicked his wand, "translates a whole book into English."

The moment it was cast, Harry leaned forward to stare at the titles: 'Comprehensive Study of the Dark Arts: Grade One'. The other book had the exact same title, only that it read 'Grade Two'.

"Open them!" prompted Tom excitedly, as he sat down on his bed and gazed at Harry, looking as if he was waiting for his reaction with much expectation.

Just knowing that he wouldn't like what he would find, Harry bit his lower lip as he flung open the covers of both books. And there, in the same elegant scrawl of the letter, he saw the words: 'Property of Gellert Grindelwald,' and just below it, 'Durmstrang Institute, 1870.' The second book had the same, only the year was different.

"He gave us his very own schoolbooks," said Tom exultantly, as if Harry needed any clarification on the matter.

At that very precise moment, Harry felt such a powerful surge of sheer fury mingled with horror and fear, that he could only skewer his brother with his gaze and shout irately, "You've had this for all these months, and you didn't tell me! What were you thinking, keeping this to yourself? Don't you realize what it means-"

"I didn't tell you before," yelled Tom back, rising to his feet, "because I knew how you would react!" He shot him his most disgusted and snide look. "I knew that the Prewett twins had been filling your head with stupid ideas about how dangerous the Dark Arts are, and about how evil Grindelwald is. And then you got all weird and worried about the oncoming war-"

"I was worried because of what I overheard Malfoy and Pollux Black and all the rest talking about!" snapped Harry furiously.

Tom pointed a finger at him, as he hissed out, "See? This is exactly my point. I knew you wouldn't have an open mind. So I was waiting for the right time to tell you, when you wouldn't react so hysterically."

Harry's hands clenched into fists, shaking with the temptation of docking his brother with a punch. He somehow managed to rein in his temper, and bit out, "I'm not hysteric. I'm worried, you great idiot!"

"Worried about what?" scoffed out Tom scathingly.

Harry shot him an incredulous look, and then mimicked mockingly, "_Worried about what?_" He glowered at him. "What do you think, you ass! We have a Dark Lord who's interested in us for some reason and-"

"Hush!" snapped Tom, instantly raising a hand, looking very alert.

Harry heard it too then, the sound of footfalls coming down the stairs, soon to reach their bedroom.

"Grab the books and follow me," said Tom urgently, "and bring the letter too."

Swallowing the volley of words he wanted to bellow at his brother, Harry immediately complied, knowing they had to go to some other place to continue what he was certain would be a very heated argument.

They were out of the bedroom in a second, and just when they caught sight of the hem of someone's school robe coming from around the bend of the spiral staircase, Tom quickly took the stairs. But he was going down instead of upwards.

Frowning, nonplussed, Harry followed him, as he whispered, "Where are you going?"

Tom briefly shot him a snide look over his shoulder, without halting his steps or slowing his pace. "You didn't finish reading the end of the letter, did you? There's another postscript there. Read it."

Frowning, Harry stuck the two books under an elbow and opened the letter again, as he quickly followed his brother further down the spiral stairs.

In a whisper, he read it out loud to himself, "For a place to do a bit of exercise, I recommend you visit the floor of the seventh-year boys' dormitories, behind where the stairs end. Others would need to tap the second brick to the right with the tip of their wands and utter the password, but not you, my boy. Make use of that unique tongue of yours and simply say 'Open'."

Just then, Tom was doing exactly so, hissing, "_Open._"

The bricks of that small expanse of wall vibrated and then furled themselves to the sides, leaving a huge gap open.

Standing, aghast, Harry paled and burst out in alarm, "He knows we're Parselmouths! How can he know!"

Tom waved a hand dismissively before he vanished into the darkness. Harry instantly followed him, persisting, "Tom! How can he-"

All breath left him when he found himself in a very vast chamber, surrounded by several tiers of stone seats, like those of an amphitheater. Most of the chamber was occupied by a large circular area of stone floors at the very center, its perimeter lined with dummies and mannequins, a few feet from each other.

From a distance, Harry could see that they were made of different things: some of different types of metals, others of wood, but many were made of a skin-colored pulp mass thing that had all the appearance of being magically-constructed flesh – at least, Harry hoped it was a magical-construction.

However, what caught his attention the most, and had him looking in awe and wonder, was the heavy lattice of magic that spanned throughout the whole place, the cords thin and delicate, of a vibrant, shinning silver, only a very few dark green ones here and there which only seemed to be keeping all the others in place.

"What is this place?" he breathed out. "It's beautiful…"

"Beautiful?" Tom approached him, frowning. In the next moment, he looked as if he had swallowed a sour lemon. "Ah. You're seeing its magic, aren't you?"

Harry just nodded, his eyes fixed on one of the walls, seeing all the tiny little symbols running up and down the trails of magic. Experimentally, he poked one with a finger, and saw it jiggling and squirming away.

He chuckled happily, and rushed out breathlessly, "It's wonderful, Tom - it's filled with all these Ancient Runes. I can't wait to be in third year! We have electives then and Ancient Runes is one of them. I'm sure gonna take it! And then I'll finally be able to understand all the stuff I see around the castle!"

He shot his brother a glance and saw Tom with a musing expression on his face.

"It's just how I thought, then", said Tom, now looking exceedingly satisfied. "What you must be seeing are wards that isolate this chamber from the wards of the school that alert the Headmaster when Dark Arts are being used." He suddenly smirked at him, as he gestured at the whole chamber with an encompassing, grandiose motion. "Because this, little brother, is a dueling arena."

"Oh." Curious, Harry made way to one of the fleshy dummies and experimentally pinched it. It was squishier than real flesh but a rather good imitation of it.

"Those actually bleed," remarked Tom gleefully.

Harry shot him a inquisitive glance at that, and his brother was quick to inform him further with a smug tone of voice, "I've started to practice dark spells from Grindelwald's books in this place. Our housemates just come here on the weekends to keep up with their Dark Arts practice, so I've been coming during the weeks, at night."

Tom strode to the very center of the dueling ring, raising his arms in an enveloping gesture. "Here, too, is where Slytherin House have their dueling tournaments."

"Tournaments?" Harry stared at him, intrigued.

Tom nodded. "Remember what your Quidditch Captain said in the Welcoming Feast?"

"Ah…" Harry nodded slowly, as he understood what Tom was hinting at. "Yes, Dorea said she was one of The Two, because of her name and stuff, but also because she was the undefeated dueler of the House." He glanced around. "So this is where-"

"This is where, once a year, they hold a dueling competition," cut in Tom excitedly. "And the two best duelers get to become the leaders of Slytherin House. Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black have been that for the last two years." He shot him a wide smirk. "Not for long, though. In a couple of years, it will be me winning all the duels and becoming the leader." He raised his chin up, his dark blue eyes sparkling, as he declared curtly, "As is my birthright, given that I'm Salazar Slytherin's descendant." He paused and then added quickly, "And yours too, if you wanted."

Harry just rolled his eyes. He had no interest in being the 'leader' of a bunch of purebloods who looked down their stuck-up noses at him.

"You do that, Tom," he said dismissively, before his voice turned stern as he pinned his brother with his gaze, "How come Grindelwald knows we're Parselmouths? No one knows-"

"Dumbledore does," interjected Tom indolently.

"Dumbledore wouldn't have told a Dark Lord he's trying to bring down, would he?" snapped Harry impatiently.

Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes. "_Bring down_? Curious choice of words there. Why would you say that?"

Harry stilled for a moment, before he said casually, "Oh, you know, all that stuff about the law Dumbledore is trying to pass in the Wizengamot-"

"That's not to bring down the Dark Lord but to prevent Charlemagne McLaggen from signing a pact with him," hissed out Tom, his eyes now mere slits, bright with suspicion. "What do you know, Harry?"

Harry made his green eyes go really wide, and he blinked, once, twice, pulling the dumbest look he could manage. "About what, brother?" He then shook his head mournfully. "I know so very little. I wish I was as smart as you are, brother-"

"Spare me the theatrics!" bit out Tom incensed. "I've been more than honest with you – I showed you the books, the letter, and I brought you to this place. Now it's your turn to pay back that trust-"

"You showed me the books, letter and this place because Grindelwald told you to do so!" snapped Harry crossly. "And you should've done it instantly, not months later!"

Tom waved a hand dismissively, as he said airily, "That's beside the point." He then skewered him with his gaze. "You found out about something, didn't you, that day when you 'came across' Dumbledore?"

Harry grumbled under his breath. It was frightening how perspicacious his brother could be.

"Fine," he groused out. He heaved a deep breath, and then rushed out, "So I was making my way to the Owlerly, because I had written to Winston Churchill about the attack on Czechoslovakia in March, and then-"

"What!" hissed out Tom, looking highly alarmed. "That's what the letter was about?" In the next instant he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him so hard that Harry's teeth rattled, as he snarled furiously, "Are you insane! You could have gotten expelled!"

"Geroff!" cried out Harry, trying to break free. But his brother only released him when the two books Harry had been carrying nearly fell to the floor.

Tom yanked them away from him and then demanded sharply, "Give me Grindelwald's letter!"

Frowning, Harry plucked it out from his pocket and handed it over.

"What are you doing?" he asked, bemused, when Tom aimed his wand at it.

"Getting rid of evidence that could tie us to the Dark Lord. I was only keeping it for you to see," bit out Tom, before he cast, "Incendio!"

Harry watched how the letter turned to ashes, before he scowled at his brother and said sternly, "Then you should destroy the books too."

"Not a chance," said Tom in clipped tones. "You and I are going to learn every spell and curse in those books, and of all the books that will surely come afterwards-"

"No, we're not!" snapped Harry furiously. "I'm not going to learn stuff that a Dark Lords wants me to know!"

Tom looked frustrated and angered beyond measure. "We'll discuss that later." He pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare, as he demanded, "You didn't send Churchill the letter in the end, did you?"

"No," mumbled Harry sadly. "But now I think we should-"

"We can't!" hissed out Tom. "Don't you know what's going on?" He shot him a snide look. "If you read the Daily Prophet you would know that the Minister of Magic has key muggle figures under watch! If you had sent that letter to Churchill, the Ministry wizard keeping an eye on him would have seen it – they would have known who wrote it and they would have come here and expelled you from Hogwarts! You were breaking the Statute of Secrecy by writing that letter, Harry!"

Harry went pale and he stuttered, "A-are you sure? The Daily Prophet actually said that Charlemagne McLaggen has spies on Churchill?"

"Well, no, but you have to know how to read in between the lines," bit out Tom impatiently. "Churchill is notorious because he's one of the few saying that Hitler has to be stopped before it's too late. And McLaggen is so opposed to helping English muggles in case of war, that he's taking every possible measure to prevent that Dumbledore and those who support him in the Wizengamot make contact with muggle politicians."

"But we have to do something!" cried out Harry.

"No, we don't," said Tom firmly, before he narrowed his eyes. "And don't change the subject. You were telling me about how you stumbled across Dumbledore."

Harry shot him a frustrated look. "Fine," he grumbled peevishly, "but we're not done yet about what he _have_ to do about the attack." That warning uttered, he then proceeded quickly, "Dumbledore was coming from another corridor, and then I saw that he had this glass sphere thing in his hands. I think I saw the head of a woman inside, and he was talking to her. It sounded serious and important-"

"He was talking to someone about important things, openly, in the middle of the castle?" interjected Tom disdainfully. "How stupid can he be?"

"It was late at night, after curfew, and no one was around," snapped Harry impatiently.

"_You_ heard him, didn't you?" pointed out Tom scathingly.

Harry scowled at him. "Fine, then! He's a complete idiot. Satisfied?"

"Vastly," said Tom smoothly, smirking at him. "So what were they saying?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, before he heavily sighed. "It was about Grindelwald. It sounded like Dumbledore was worried because they hadn't received any news from Julian Erlichmann."

Tom's dark blue eyes went wide, and he breathed out, "Julian Erlichmann – are you certain?"

Harry nodded, and Tom's eyes acquired a disquieting gleeful glint. He shot Harry a glance. "You _do_ know who he is, right?"

"Of course I do." Harry rolled his eyes. "Our housemates talk plenty about him. How he's the youngest European Duelling Champion. And Grindelwald's pupil and favorite."

"And his lover," said Tom, still looking giddy.

"Lover?" Harry blinked at him. "What d'ya mean?"

"That Grindewald beds him!"

"What?" Harry's whole face scrunched up, nonplussed. "But 'Julian' is a boy's name, isn't it? So he's a boy?"

Tom stared at him, then scoffed. "You're such a simpleton. Don't you remember that day, when we were seven, and we saw policemen in our street, carting off the butcher's son's body?"

"Yes," said Harry in a soft, sad voice, a shudder running down his spine at the remembrance of the seventeen-year-old's mangled body, all his broken bones and horrible gashes and bruises. "You told me some sailors had beaten Terry to death, and that his body was found in one of the alleys near the docks and that I should never, never go into that part of our neighborhood."

"I did?" Tom stared at him, looking surprised of the lie he had told to protect Harry. He shook his head and added nonchalantly, "Well, it wasn't true. No sailors beat him up. His father had discovered him in bed with a man, in their own house. So he beat him up and left him by the garbage bins." He shrugged his shoulders. "The whole neighborhood knew, of course, and the policemen must have know as well, but no one seemed to care much about it. The police just said that some foreign sailor long gone must have done the deed and left it at that."

"What?" Harry choked out, horrified and incredulous. "Terry's dad killed him? I don't believe it-"

"That's not the issue!" bit out Tom impatiently. "Do you remember the things Alice said in those weeks?"

Harry frowned. "She kept ranting about her favorite playwright – that Oscar Wilde chap."

"Exactly," said Tom, smirking. "And what had happened to him?"

Harry blinked at him, utterly befuddled of how that had to do with anything. "He spent some time in prison and after went to France and died."

Tom shot him an exasperated look. "What was he sentenced for?"

"Something very bad," said Harry musingly, trying to recall the funny word. "Sada- no, soda-"

"Sodomite, you dimwit!" snapped Tom. "It means that he liked to bed men – young men in his case."

Harry gaped at him, thoroughly baffled. He glanced at his brother a second time, just to make sure his leg wasn't being pulled. But no, it didn't seem so. He was utterly confused, he couldn't make head or tails of it, because he was quite certain that only girls and boys could do the 'sex' thing and it was because boys had willies and girls didn't.

He was sure of that. He clearly remembered the day when Alice had yelled about 'dangerous, rampant teenage hormones!', when she had been shouting at Eric Whalley because she had caught him in the act of paying a couple of pennies to one of the girls in the orphanage, to see what girls had 'down there'.

Of course, poor Eric had seen nothing but a flash of yellowish undergarments when the girl had quickly lifted up her skirt for a very brief moment, and then the boy had found himself with Alice suddenly towering over him as she dealt him a furious slap on the head, bellowing at him.

But after that, Eric had ran up to Billy Stubbs and him, panting and looking awe-struck, as he informed them that girls didn't have anything down there, that they were 'flat'.

Harry shook his head and gazed back at his brother, perplexed. "But all boys have willies! So how-"

"I already told you what sex is," said Tom sharply. "Do you think that all the mongrels we see rutting and mounting each other on the streets are always a male and a female? No, many times it's two males going at it. It's instincts, they mount everything in sight." He let out a disdainful scoff. "Well, human beings aren't much different, are they? Clearly, it's not something liked or allowed in the Muggle World, but apparently, it isn't that much of a big deal for wizards." He waved off a hand dismissively before he added in a disgusted tone of voice, "Which is hardly surprising given that wizards even rut with magical creatures."

Harry gazed at him, blinking. "I still don't get it. How can two boys do the 'sex' thing then?"

Tom shot him a highly irritated look, but suddenly he frowned, looking as if some possibility was highly bothering him. Then he snapped sharply, "Never you mind. You won't ever need to know about that."

Harry stared at him, disconcerted, but he wasn't given a chance to ask anything further, because his brother quickly said, "The point is that Julian Erlichmann _is_ Grindelwald's lover." Tom shot him a glance. "You do realize what Dumbledore's words meant, right?"

"Duh," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Julian Erlichmann is spying on Grindelwald under Dumbledore's orders."

"Exactly!" said Tom exultantly, his eyes glinting brightly. "I would have never imagined it – the Dark Lord's favorite, his little lover and darling, a traitorous spy!" he crowed gleefully. "It's simply too good! Just wait 'till I write him a letter telling him that!"

Taken aback, Harry stared at him, feeling something constricting his chest – panic, awful guilt and alarm – and he then barked furiously, "You plan to do _what_? You're not, Tom!"

His brother shot him a withering look. "Of course I am." He smirked triumphantly. "And I bet that after that, I could ask Grindelwald for anything and he would give it to me, as a reward."

"You're not telling him anything," growled Harry, taking a step towards his brother, his small hands clenching into fists. "Erlichmann would be killed, Tom. I'm sure."

"So?" Tom shrugged unconcernedly, before he caught sight of Harry's expression and glared at him as he hissed out, "What do you care about some stranger?"

"I care exactly because he's 'some stranger'," snapped Harry bristling. "I told you about what Dumbledore had been speaking about because you had been honest with me so I was honest with you – but I was trusting you with that, Tom! And if Erlichmann get's killed because I flapped my gums at you, then his death would be my fault – and I'm not having that!"

"It wouldn't be your fault, you little twit," bit out Tom impatiently. "He would be getting what he deserves for being a traitor and spy. It would be his own fault."

Harry shook his head repeatedly. "Put it any way you want, it will change nothing. You're not telling, and that's that. It's right that Dumbledore has a spy. It evens the field and makes it fair, in my view."

"Meaning what?" Tom pinned him with narrowed eyes.

Harry scoffed loudly. "Come off it. Don't play dumb." He yanked the two books from his brother's hands and waved then in front of Tom's nose. "How did these get under your pillows, eh? You know as well as I do that someone in this castle received them, and the letter, from Grindelwald, and they were the ones who put it under your pillows." He frowned musingly. "Maybe it was an older Slytherin."

"Someone like Grindelwald," interjected Tom coolly, "wouldn't trust an underaged wizard."

Harry shot him a glance. "Then a teacher." His eyes widened the next instant, and he gasped out, "Slughorn! As our Head of House he's the only teacher that could get in our dorms-"

"It doesn't necessarily have to be Slughorn," pointed out Tom matter-of-factly. "Any teacher could have asked a house-elf to do it and not say a word."

"You're right," muttered Harry, frowning. That fact just perturbed him even more. He liked all his teachers, well, except Galatea Merrythought given the way she had treated Abraxas Malfoy just because the boy was a half-Veela.

He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. "Whoever it is, he or she is Grindelwald's spy at Hogwarts - clearly to spy on Dumbledore." He shot his brother a dark scowl. "And maybe even to keep an eye on us and report to Grindelwald – who knows? But my point is that they both have spies on each other, so let's just leave it at that."

Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes and remained silent, and Harry could just tell he was up to something.

At last, Tom widely smirked at him, as he intoned smoothly, " 'Leaving it at that' with 'even fields' –all words out of your mouth, if you'll remember- also means that you can't tell anyone about the attack on Czechoslovakia."

Harry gawked at him. "That's a completely different thing!" He shook his head and declared adamantly, "I _am_ going to tell someone. Maybe not Churchill or any other muggle because I don't wanna get expelled, but I could tell…"

He trailed off, frowning musingly. Now that he knew why Dumbledore had behaved that way when hearing Lord Horkos' name, he could understand the wizard. After all, Dumbledore had been right to be suspicious about his brother – Tom _had_ been trying to find out more about that Horcrux thingy. And Dumbledore had wanted to help, to prevent his brother from knowing more.

When Tom had told him about it, it had seemed very silly to Harry. But given Dumbledore's reaction – going to such lengths as taking half the Dark Arts books from the Restricted Section – it was clearly something very bad. And he quite agreed with Dumbledore, then. He didn't want his brother knowing anything about some nasty artifact created by a Dark Lord of the Middle Ages, of all things.

So Dumbledore was forgiven for not letting him speak, and the wizard was right up back on top of his short list of people he could go to.

Harry nodded to himself and glanced back at his brother. "I'll tell Dumbledore."

Tom scoffed scathingly at that, to then arch an eyebrow. "What makes you think he doesn't already know? Julian Erlichmann is his spy, after all."

"Yeah, but hearing it from two different people makes a difference, doesn't it?" snapped Harry impatiently. "Besides, Dumbledore was saying he hadn't received any news from Erlichmann. So he might _not_ know." He shook his head and added firmly, "And if Dumbledore doesn't do anything about it, then I'll write to Charlemagne McLaggen himself – to every wizard and witch in the Ministry of Magic if I need to!"

Tom glowered at him, then he halted and smirked superiorly. "And how do you intend to prove your claims, little brother?" He shot him a snide look. "Do you really think anyone would believe an eleven-year-old?"

Harry scowled at him, before a determined and mulish expression spread on his face. "Then I'll tell them the whole truth – about how I can get into paintings and how I overheard Malfoy, the Blacks, and the others having their little secret meeting."

Tom hissed under his breath, looking furious beyond measure. However, his expression then turned pensive, and Harry could just see the plotting going on in his brother's head.

Smirking vindictively, Tom took two short steps to tower over him, and bore his gaze down into Harry's, as he said silkily, "If you tell anyone about the attack on Czecoslovakia, I'll tell Grindelwald about Julian Erlichmann. _That_ is 'evening the fields' in my book." His voice then lowered into a soft, slow whisper, "So think very carefully, little brother, what will it be? Julian Erlichmann's life or that of the Czechs that _might_ get killed when Grindelwald and his puppet Hitler attack the country with joined forces? Hmm?"

Harry stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes, his mouth hanging open, before he choked out, "You must be joking! I can't decide on something like that!"

"Oh, but you will," intoned Tom loftily. "Because I'm giving you no other choice." His eyes then narrowed to slits. "If I want to inform Grindelwald about Erlichmann, I will, and you can do nothing about it." He shot him a disdainful look. "What could you do – _murder _Lord Horkos? Kill the whole Owlerly?" He scoffed snidely. "You wouldn't have the gumption. And if you took any drastic measure, I would still find a way of communicating with Grindelwald. That I promise. So make your choice, brother."

Harry gritted his teeth, so furious that he was shaking, and he spat, "I'm not going to choose!"

Tom arched an eyebrow at him. "Then I'll just write to Grindelwald."

Harry hatefully glared at his brother, before he bit out, "Why do you want him to succeed!"

"Why do you want him to fail?" hissed out Tom angrily.

"Because he's a bad person!" snapped Harry, jerkily carding his fingers through his hair.

Tom scoffed snidely. "That's the Prewett twins talking."

"No, it's not," gritted out Harry. "I can form my own opinions, thank you very much. He's conquering countries, killing people and dragging muggles into it! Bob Hutchins might end up fighting and dying, because of him! And Alice will be crushed-"

"That's what you care about?" interjected Tom scathingly. "Hutchins and stupid Alice?"

"And everyone who's gonna die, Tom!" shouted Harry at him, beyond exasperation and frustration and any measure of patience or understanding.

"You're pathetic," spat Tom acidly. "You should be caring about yourself – about us!" He yanked the two books from Harry and violently tapped a finger on them. "I know what the Dark Arts can do and light wizards don't stand a chance! So I know Grindelwald will win and thus, we must be on his side-"

"You can't predict the future, Tom," bit out Harry crossly. "He could lose – and besides, we _don't_ have to be on anyone's side-"

"You're a fool!" hissed out Tom. "We're already involved." He shook the two books pointedly. "We've caught the Dark Lord's attention." He instantly brought up a hand. "And no, I don't know how he found out about us or how he knows we're Parselmouths. The point is he does, and he wants to teach us the Dark Arts, to mentor us-"

"Exactly," snapped Harry shortly, "he's after something."

Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"You know perfectly well," bit out Harry, aggravated. "You're the one who always says that nobody does something in exchange for nothing – so what does Grindelwald want from us?"

Tom shot him a long, considering look, until he said calmly, "Yes, he wants something from us, that's clear. I don't know what it could be, but I'm going to milk it for everything it's worth. He wants to teach us – let him! And we'll learn and be prepared."

Harry shook his head, but before he was given a chance to speak, Tom said quietly, "Let me tell you something very important."

Snapping his head up, Harry intently gazed at him, and his brother continued in a hushed tone of voice, "For many years, I've known there was something very suspicious about World Events. How Fascism rose in Spain and Italy, and Nazism in Germany – all almost at the same time. Back then, I came to the conclusion that a group of politicians must've been orchestrating things from behind the scenes. I didn't know about the Wizarding World yet."

Tom paused, before he carried on, "But when we met your little friends-" he shot him a scathing look "- the Prewett twins, on the Hogwarts Express, and they started blabbering about Grindelwald and how he was really a 'Dark Lord' and what being a Dark Lord meant, then it all clicked. I knew that I had been right, only that instead of a 'group of people', it was a wizard, a Dark Lord, moving around the chess pieces."

His brother's voice lowered to a mere murmur, "Of course, I was in awe of him, and that just grew as I learned more about him, as I continued to inform myself, crossing the information I gathered from Alice's newspaper clippings with that reported on the Daily Prophet. And I realized just what a genius and brilliant strategist Grindelwald is."

He pierced Harry with his dark blue eyes, as he added firmly, "So if he wants to 'mentor' us and teach us the Dark Arts, then we'll do it, because we've caught his attention and whether we want it or not, because of that, we'll be involved in the war and whatever happens. And the only thing we can do, is be prepared."

Silent, Harry frowned, before he shot him a disturbed glance. "So what? You want us to be his followers?"

"It would be the wise choice," said Tom coolly. "Just until we know what he's after, just until we had the time to learn as much as we can from him." He superiorly smirked at him. "But not forever, little brother, because I'm not meant to follow but to lead."

Harry eyed him weirdly. "What do you mean?" Perturbed, he gazed at him suspiciously. "What do you want? What are you plotting?"

"That," said Tom airily, waving off a hand dismissively, "is a subject to be discussed some other time." He shot him a smug smirk. "In a few years, perhaps, when I will already have some plans underway."

Letting that go, too tired to attempt to glean more about that from him, Harry let out a deep sigh.

Remaining silent, he deeply mused about all of it, and after long moments, he said slowly, "I agree with you that, maybe, it isn't a bad idea to be 'prepared', as you put it-"

"By that," remarked Tom pointedly, piercing him with his eyes, "I was talking about learning the Dark Arts."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, heaving a deep breath. He shot him a glance, and grumbled reluctantly, "I will learn them if you think it's necessary-"

"It is," interjected Tom swiftly.

Harry nodded, and then said stubbornly, "But it doesn't mean, even if we _have_ to be his followers because Grindelwald doesn't leave us with any other choice, that I want him to win." He glowered at his brother. "I don't. So I'll make sure that the right people know about Czechoslovakia."

"Can't you let that be?" groused Tom with exasperation. He fulminated him with a glance, and added crisply, "What do you think will happen if you do that? I'll tell you what. Grindelwald will find out, and he'll have you killed. He'll see it as a betrayal because he clearly already considers us his pupils. And I don't think he's the forgiving kind, do you?"

Fretfully, Harry bit his lower lip, and he said dubiously, "Maybe he won't find out?"

Tom merely scoffed, before he arched an eyebrow and said coolly, "Perhaps I should rephrase the deal I offered you before. What will you do – tell people about the attack of March, knowing you will become Grindelwald's target and knowing that if you blab, I'll tell him about Julian Erlichman –" he narrowed his eyes to slits, as he hissed out "- or will you keep your trap shut?"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Not that again!"

"Yes, _that _again," bit out Tom sharply. "Your life and Erlichmann's, or that of the Czechs that might die? Choose now and let's be done with it. I'm very serious about this."

Harry shook his head disparagingly, but glancing at his brother, he knew Tom wasn't kidding. His brother _would _tattle-tale on Julian Erlichmann if given the chance. It seemed harsh and cruel that he had to decide on something like that, but really, in the end, Harry knew what his only answer could be.

Julian was a complete stranger to him, yet, having heard so often about the young man and knowing he was a spy, doing his best to bring down Grindelwald, Harry felt admiration and sympathy for him – and a sort of strange connection, as puzzling as that feeling was.

Furthermore, he knew Dumbledore might already know about the attack – at least, he dearly hoped so.

"Julian's life," he finally breathed out. Before he clenched his teeth and gritted out, "You win. I won't say anything about Czechoslovakia."

"_I_ win nothing," pointed out Tom curtly. "I made you choose for your own sake, because I know you're stupid enough to try to save those Czechs when it's really not your responsibility to do anything of the sort!" He shot him a vexed glare, before he added sternly, "And now, to clinch the deal, I'll get a Wizard's Oath from you."

Not liking the sound of that, Harry frowned at him. "A what?"

Tom took his time to explain the spell to him in great length and detail, and the moment he was done, Harry cried out incredulously, "You've gone bonkers! I'm not doing that – if I break my promise, I'll lose all my magic!"

"Precisely," said Tom with much smug satisfaction. "That way, I know you won't be tempted to flap your gums." He arched an eyebrow at him. "You either do the Oath or there's no deal and I'll tell about Erlichmann."

Harry glared at him with all the power of his frustration, until he spat at last, "Fine."

Tom nodded complacently. "I will vow to never reveal to anyone, in any shape or form, written, verbal or magical, about Julian Erlichmann's role as a spy. And you'll promise the same, regarding the attack on Czechoslovakia."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," grumbled Harry darkly. "Let's just get on with it."

They did, and when it was done, Harry moodily sulked, flexing his arms, still feeling the strings of magic that had tightly wrapped themselves around him, to then sink into his flesh, tugging something in his insides.

"Now you can stop pathetically worrying so much," said Tom acerbically. "You've been a little hero and saved a man's life. That should suffice you."

Harry shot him a peeved glower, and his brother -as was usual when he managed to rile up Harry- widely smirked at him.

Looking vastly content, Tom patted him on the shoulder as he started directing Harry towards the exit of the dueling chamber. "And don't forget, you agreed to learn the Dark Arts. We'll meet here, every weekday at nine in the evening." He gave him a wide, pleasant smirk. "I think I'll enjoy casting dark spells on you, little brother."

Harry shot him an alarmed look at that, and was quick to say, "We'll only practice on the dummies!"

His brother just chuckled, which always sounded very disturbing in Harry's opinion.

That night, Harry rolled and rolled in his bed, and got tangled several times in the sheets, his mind buzzing with thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone.

He wondered about who had put the book about Lord Horkos on the floor of Flourish and Blotts, for his brother to see, and who had then taken it, clearly using some spell. He wondered who had taken the copy of that very same book from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. And he mused and speculated about who could be Grindelwald's spy in the castle.

But coming up with no clues, he shelved all those issues in one corner of his mind, for later perusal.

And then, he couldn't stop thinking and wondering about the young man whose life he had saved, as Tom had put it.

What kind of person was Julian Erlichmann that he could be the lover of another man? But more importantly, how could anyone be the lover of a Dark Lord? The very thought made him shudder, even when he was still clueless regarding what it entailed. Did Julian actually love Grindelwald the slightest bit, or just fully hated him? Or was it a mix of both?

Julian, Julian, Julian – Harry wouldn't stop obsessively thinking about him for many years, and many times he would deeply wish for an opportunity to meet him.


	22. Part I: Chapter 21

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all of those who reviewed!

Alas, most of your questions I can't answer because they'll be addressed in future chapters.

So I have little to say in this Author's Note, except that, as always, I hope you enjoy this chappie – another fast update, yay!

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**Part I: Chapter 21**

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November became a very busy month for Harry, full of events.

For starters, he had approached Mr. Tilly Toke about how he wanted to make a map of Hogwarts. Initially, Harry had been a bit worried that his Charms Professor would angrily refuse or get suspicious, demanding to know why he wanted a map of the school.

However, he had been pleasantly surprised when Tilly Toke, with his usual exuberance and boyish excitement, had declared, "What a wonderful idea!" The man had winked at him knowingly. "You'll be putting it to good use for mischievous deeds, no doubt!"

The professor had chortled wistfully. "Oh, to be young again, full of adventurous spirit and a prank-full disposition! Of course I'll help you, Mr. Riddle – I'll teach you all the Charms you might need and we'll add a couple more for sheer fun!" He had patted Harry on the shoulder. "Why, we can make it an extra-credit project for my class and I'll give you full points for it. But you'll have to do all the work yourself."

Harry had readily agreed, and had been going to Professor Tilly Toke's office during the weeks, right after dinner and before he had to meet Tom in the Dueling Chamber.

His teacher had been quick to not only teach him spells to help him make a magical map, but also to give him plenty of books about all sorts of Charms.

"I shouldn't say this," had said Tilly Toke the first day when he had handed over several thick tomes, "but you're my favorite student, Mr. Riddle." He had beamed a wide, pearly white smile at him. "You have a natural talent for Charms and such thing must be nurtured. I see great potential in you."

Flushing with pleasure at the compliment, Harry had grinned back.

Moreover, not only was learning more Charms giving him much enjoyment, but his Dark Arts lessons with his brother quite unexpectedly proved to be his favorite part of the weekdays.

Not due to the spells and curses themselves – some quite fascinating and others just plain disturbing or outright horrifying – but because Tom was always in a very good mood. During all the lessons, his brother was very nice to him, patiently explaining wand movements and how to best pronounce the spell-words.

Indeed, whenever Harry successfully cast a dark spell, Tom would actually smile at him, looking proudly satisfied.

However, some things had made him uneasy. One day, they had been practicing the Slashing Curse.

"Sectum!" Harry said, flicking his wand just as his brother had taught him, aiming straight at the dummy before him.

A wide, gaping wound opened across the chest of the fleshy mannequin, spurting a blood-like liquid in gushing, copious amounts. A moment later, the dummy shimmered and the wound closed itself up and the stains vanished, as if some invisible house-elf had done the deed.

Harry panted as he rubbed his scar. It always happened when he cast Dark Arts spells: his scar would tingle pleasantly, as if it was vastly enjoying the experience.

It couldn't actually be his scar, he had mused, so Harry had ascribed it to his brother's feelings, given that Tom always looked happy when Harry perfectly executed a curse. It seemed that just how he could tell when his brother was angry, through the scar, he could now also feel when Tom was highly content.

Nevertheless, it wasn't that which disturbed him, but the surge of warm, fuzzy delight and sheer pleasure he had felt when casting the spell.

"It feels so good," he finally breathed out. He dazedly shook his head, before he bit his bottom lip fretfully. "Too good, actually."

"Of course it feels good," interjected Tom, lightly smirking at him. "Power is meant to feel good, little brother."

"I suppose," muttered Harry, frowning before he added anxiously, "but it kinda feels… er, addictive." He shot his brother a disquieted glance. "And the Prewetts twins have told me just that, that the Dark Arts _are _addictive and that's why there has been wizards who had delved too deeply in the Dark Arts and bad stuff happened to them, always."

Tom scoffed snidely. "That's a load of rubbish. And we're just learning the basics, for now, so there's nothing to be worried about."

His brother waved a hand dismissively before he approached the dummy. "You did well, but it's best if you aim at one of the upper thighs." He pointed a finger just at the place. "Here, or here. According to Grindelwald's book, that's where the Femoral artery is. And if you cast the Slashing Curse there, your opponent will bleed to death in just a few minutes."

Tom paused before he patted the dummy's throat. "Or aim here – thus."

He took several steps back, his dark blue eyes glinting gleefully, as he intoned, "Sectum!"

Such was the force of the spell that the mannequin's head flew off, leaving a hacked neck gushing out a great fountain of blood-like liquid.

At the spectacle, Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Um, you want me to know how to chop someone's head off?" He quirked an eyebrow at his brother. "Are we _planning_ on decapitating people?"

"We might," said Tom coolly. "If you're dueling against an enemy it's kill or be killed, little brother."

Harry nodded slowly, a bit dubiously. But then he reckoned Tom could be right. His brother seemed quite certain that their involvement with Grindelwald could land them in the middle of a battle. And if not, Tom had said, becoming an excellent dueler was still 'imperative', no matter where life led them.

It wasn't all fun, though. Just the day after that lesson, Tom had found him in their dormitory, when Harry had been on his bed, snacking on an apple whilst he practiced wand movements from one of the books Mr. Toke had given him.

"I've finally received them from Flourish and Blotts," said Tom excitedly. "They cost me a small fortune, but I've already flipped through them and they're worth every galleon."

And with that, he dropped a bunch of thick, glossy books on Harry's bed, and quickly sat down.

"Look," said Tom, as he opened the cover of the first book.

There was a big picture of a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed witch. She graciously smiled at them, as she intoned in a soft, melodious voice, "Welcome to 'Learning German in Three Years: Level One'. Please read the Index to see the full list of Lessons contained in this book. Lesson One: Greetings. Good evening – _Guten Abend_. Repeat after me."

"_Guten Abend_," said Tom effortlessly.

"Correct. Perfect pronunciation," said the picture of the witch, charmingly smiling. "You can proceed to the next page of Lesson One."

Then she went still, and Harry was quick to groan, "Don't tell me you want us to-"

"We're learning German," interrupted Tom swiftly, widely smirking at him.

"Do we have to?" whined Harry piteously.

More work – just what he needed! And he had thought magic school would be fun.

"Yes, we do," retorted Tom curtly. "It's a _German_ Dark Lord who's taking over Europe, so it's _German_ what we must learn."

Harry sighed wearily, before his expression brightened. "Isn't there some spell for that?"

"Some spell," began Tom dryly, "that you can cast on your head and it will just suddenly make you know German?"

Harry quickly nodded at him, very hopeful.

"No, brother, there isn't," said Tom tartly, crushing Harry's optimism.

Shooting the books a disgruntled look, Harry's shoulders slumped.

Wholly ignoring Harry's pouting sulk, Tom began stacking up five books. "They have exercises and even corrects your mistakes and bad pronunciation." He plopped those five books on Harry's lap, as he added, "I bought two copies of each. Those are yours."

Then he stuck his own books into his schoolbag and swiftly rose to his feet. He shot Harry a firm look, as he said sternly, "I'll be testing you myself to make sure you're studying German, so you better stop being lazy."

And with that, he left the bedroom, leaving a grumpy Harry behind.

In the next second, Harry suddenly realized that he could actually take advantage of the situation, and he quickly went to his trunk, grabbing the heavy pouch of galleons that Alphard had saved from his monthly allowance, and the book that Dorea had given him.

He intercepted Tom on the stairs, just before he had stepped into the common room.

"Wait!" Harry panted out. The moment his brother halted and shot him a quizzical glance, he said quickly, "If you want me to learn German, I will, but I want something from you in return."

He pushed the book and pouch into Tom's hands, and his brother frowned as he looked down at them. " 'Obscure Brews to Correct the Senses'? What's this?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he hefted the pouch. "And where did you get this money from?"

"Dorea gave them to me," whispered Harry instantly. "The galleons, to buy the potion ingredients, and the book – for you."

He quickly explained matters to him, obviously leaving Alphard completely out, and not mentioning either that in thirty-five percent of the cases the potion turned the drinker blind. He had already checked, and that warning hadn't been on the book. And he was pretty certain his brother would outright refuse and yell at him if he ever found out about that tidbit.

Thus, he finally ended with, "It takes six months to brew, but it's not difficult, according to Dorea. Only that the ingredients are very pricey but with those galleons it should be enough."

Tom shot him a calculating glance, before he drawled slowly, "It's a big favor you're asking-"

"What," groused out Harry crabbily, "and learning German during three full years isn't?"

He crossed his arms over his small chest and huffed. He wasn't going to yield. It was just perfect that he could ask Tom to brew the potion in exchange for him learning German. After all, he was owed another favor for searching for the Chamber of Secrets – but he wanted to keep that one for future use.

"Very well," finally said Tom grudgingly. "I'll see to it, and I'll start brewing after the holidays." He shot him a snide look. "At least, I'll never have to see those ridiculous, ugly eyeglasses of yours again."

Aspersions on his beloved glasses not bothering him one bit –he was still keeping them, afterwards- Harry toothily grinned at him, vastly satisfied.

From then onwards, Harry barely had a spare moment. Between learning Charms and going to Tilly Toke's office as he slowly constructed the magical map, studying German, going every day to the Dueling Chamber, having secret Quidditch practice on Sundays, and then also carrying his tasks of looking for the Grey Lady and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, he had his hands full.

Furthermore, Harry had the sensation he was being followed.

It had happened several times when he had been meandering about the castle, examining classrooms for any indication of some secret entrance, whilst glancing around, hoping to see a ghostly figure. He had felt the heavy weight of a pair of eyes on the back of his head.

At first, he had spun around hopefully, thinking that perhaps that 'Santi' person had decided to make an appearance, as he had promised. But it wasn't. Once, for a very brief second, he had caught sight of a hem of robes vanishing around the corner, as whomever it was broke into a sprint.

Determined and peeved, Harry had instantly followed, running as fast as he could. But when he reached the corridor, the person was gone. For a moment, Harry thought it could have been Dumbledore.

After all, ever since his encounter with the wizard and the whole Lord Horkos' issue, the Transfiguration Professor had been keeping a close watch on him and Tom. Furthermore, sometimes, during class or from the wizard's seat at the staff's table of the Great Hall, Dumbledore would shoot him brief, concerned looks.

As much as Harry had decided that the wizard meant well, he was grateful that Dumbledore hadn't approached him and pressed the matter.

However, Dumbledore always wore very wacky robes, either of some bright, blinding color or with animated figures like stars, suns, or ginger-bread men, winking, waving or bouncing around along collar and hems. With that wardrobe, Dumbledore would certainly make a terrible spy.

And the robes he had seen had been black – like a student's. But with no other clues to go on with, Harry had been stumped.

It soon vanished from his mind as two events transpired in Slytherin House.

On the Saturday that he had been exhausted from all his activities and had decided to skip breakfast and sleep in, he had finally dragged himself up to the common room an hour later.

There, he had seen that the whole House was in a full-blown celebration. Many were waving embossed, glossed letters, which they all seemed to have received by owl during breakfast.

With glasses of butterbeer in their hands –clearly smuggled from Hogsmeade by some older Slytherin- they were raising them in the air and toasting.

His yearmate, Druella Rosier, was in the very middle, beaming with pleasure.

For once -given that whenever he saw her she would nastily glare at him with a scrunched up face- she looked very beautiful. All golden hair, blue eyes, and delicate, breath-taking features – funnily enough, looking very much like that woman Harry had now began seeing in his dreams, when he felt as if he was being lovingly cradled while a soft voice sung Alice's lullaby.

But between that, and his childhood's nightmare about red eyes and a flash of green that still sometimes crept on him in his sleep, Harry had long since stopped paying attention to his weird dreams.

Just then, Algernon Wilkes had hushed all the rest, before he said exultantly, "Cheers – to the new Rosier Heir!" He shot a glance at Druella, as he asked quietly, "What's his name again?"

"Evan," replied Druella, glowing with pride. "Evan Rowan Rosier."

Algernon nodded, before he cried out, "To Evan Rosier!"

"To Evan Rosier!" chimed all the rest.

A bit bemused by the whole scene, Harry would only find out later in that evening what had happened.

He had met Alphard in the kitchens, as usual, to work on their Herbology homework, and he was quick to inquire.

"Oh, that was because Druella's mother finally had a baby boy," said Alphard as he munched down one of the cream pastries the house-elves had baked for them. "The Rosiers are in their eighties, and they've been trying for ages. So now, Druella finally has a sibling."

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline, as he thought about the whole joyous spectacle he had seen. "Is it always a big deal?"

Alphard gave him an incredulous look. "Of course! Because the baby is a male, so the Rosiers now have an heir, at last, and because…" He trailed off, eyeing him strangely. "You don't know? No one has told you, huh?"

"Told me what?" said Harry curiously, pausing in mid sip of his cup of hot chocolate.

"Well," began Alphard slowly, "all wizarding families have trouble having children. There's always plenty of stillbirths and miscarriages." He shot him a pointed glance. "Haven't you noticed that most pureblood students are only child?"

Perplexed, Harry stared at him, before he frowned. "But your family is very large."

Alphard shook his head. "That's only because it's a Black tradition to try as many times as it takes to have at least two or three children, because loads of Blacks have died young. There must be spare children so that there's always at least one surviving heir." His expression turned sad, as he added, "But we still have had plenty of stillborns or squibs in the family line. My mother lost three babies."

Puzzled, Harry pointed out, "But then, why did the Malfoys kill their female children in the past? The Prewett twins told me that."

"They told you, eh?" said Alphard wistfully.

At that, Harry shot him a cautious look.

Soon after they had become friends, Alphard had asked him hopefully, "Do Felicity and Felix ever speak about me? We were friends, you know, when we were younger."

Harry hadn't known quite what to say, because except that day when the twins had told him about Abraxas Malfoy being a half-Veela, they had never mentioned much their other former childhood friends.

He reckoned they would have said something about Alphard, if they knew he was his friend. That, exactly, had been his reply to him, though Alphard hadn't looked much heartened by it.

Furthermore, after the Gryffindor's Halloween party was long passed and gone, and the Prewetts had stopped being so awkward around him due to it, he had gone back to spending much of his free time with them. And Harry was well aware that Alphard suffered a bit because of it.

Just the other week, when he had been playing on the grounds with the twins, engaged in a fun snowball war, he had seen Alphard in the distance, standing by the entrance of the castle, gazing at them with a mournful, longing look.

Alphard sighed softly, before he glanced back at Harry and waved a hand. "That's just because the Malfoys didn't want to have their estates and fortune divided among several descendants. So they always had as many children as it took until a boy was born, and then they discarded the rest. But it still wasn't easy for them." A musing expression spread on his face, as he added, "There are some few exceptions, of course. Like the Prewett line, that has the luck to bear twins now and then. And like the Weasleys, who have no trouble and always have loads of children."

He paused, before he continued adamantly, "But that's just it. In the Old Days, all wizarding families were like the Weasleys. They had bunches of children - eight, ten, twelve!" He snapped his fingers. "Like that! Very easily and without any problems."

Cocking his head to a side, Harry asked intrigued, "So what changed?"

"No one really knows," said Alphard, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, my kind has always believed it's because of the muggleborns-" He broke off, his grey eyes going wide, and he shot him a quick, apologetic look.

Harry shook his head in amusement. "It doesn't bother me, Al. You don't hafta tip-toe around me because of that."

"Alright," said Alphard a bit hesitantly, before he regained force. "Well, you know about the whole Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin thing, right?"

After taking a long sip from his hot chocolate, Harry nodded. "Yup. Slytherin didn't want muggleborns in Hogwarts and they fought about it."

"Exactly," piped in Alphard. "Father told me long ago that Slytherin had several valid reasons. Like not wanting wizarding culture to be corrupted by the muggle one and things like that, but also because Slytherin had been the first to realize what was happening."

The boy paused as he selected another pastry to pop into his mouth, and after he had swallowed it down with a blissful look on his face, he continued, "By then, all these problems in having children –the squibs, the stillborns, the miscarriages, and such- had been going on for some centuries. And Slytherin thought it was because wizarding kind had been marrying muggles and muggleborns, and passing along some deficiency to their descendants which made them have trouble with fertility-"

"Oh!" interjected Harry in sudden realization. "So that's why Slytherin was the first to create Fertility Potions, then? The twins told me that too, though they didn't tell me the reason."

"Yes," said Alphard, gravely nodding at him. "But it was also more than that. Slytherin believed that even if a wizarding family remained pureblooded, without mixing with any muggles and muggleborns, they were still being affected." He scrunched his face up, looking as if he was racking his brain. "Father told me it was something like… like as if the muggles and their muggleborns have some sort of flu, or something in their bodies, that wizards caught when they were around them."

Bewildered, Harry stared at him with wide eyes, before he shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

Alphard sighed. "Well, I don't really know that much about it." He frowned, looking as if he was thinking hard again, and he began slowly, "Slytherin believed that they carried some disease, something that wasn't a disease for them, but that it was for wizards and witches, and that it was this that affected us and made us have problems with having children."

Harry frowned deeply, but suddenly a spark of a memory lighted in his mind, as he remembered one of Alice's history lessons about the Conquest of America.

In the next moment, he breathed out, "Oh, like the Indians!" Alphard shot him a nonplussed look at that, and Harry quickly explained, "When the muggles from Europe went to America, loads of Indians died because the Europeans had some bug or something that was bad for the Indians."

Still looking confused, Alphard said hesitantly, "Um, yes, maybe it's something like that."

"But is it true?" pressed on Harry, a mite disturbed. "In the case of muggle and muggleborns with wizards – is there really something that's being passed on by just being around each other?"

"No one really knows for certain," said Alphard with a heavy sigh. "Even now, from what I've heard, plenty of Healers have looked into it and they can't agree. They bicker and argue, but none of them have come up with any solid evidence." He shot him a brief glance, as he added quietly, "But most dark purebloods firmly believe that Slytherin was right, about that and how mixing with muggles and muggleborns make descendants be weak in magical power."

Harry stared at him, a bit astonished, then he shook his head. "But then, did Slytherin's Fertility Potions work in the end?" He frowned musingly, as he added in the next second, "Though from what you've told me, it doesn't seem so-"

"That's just it," piped in Alphard brightly, "they helped a bit but not enough. So, according to Father, Slytherin came up with more solutions. He made Breeder Potions."

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously as he picked up his cup of hot chocolate.

"Well, there're two kinds that I've heard of," said Alphard smiling at him, looking proud of himself, as if he was vastly enjoying sharing his knowledge. "Apparently, Slytherin came to the conclusion that one way to stop wizards from mixing with muggles and muggleborns was to give them another alternative and help them along with it. That is, for wizards and witches to choose magical creatures instead. So the first type of Breeder Potions he created was for that."

He waved off a hand as he added quickly, "Because of course we're different from them. The only magical creatures that are completely compatible with us are Veelas. To have children with them, wizards and witches don't need potions, but for all the rest, they do." Alphard grinned at him, looking as if he found it vastly funny. "There're for all sorts!"

"Really?" muttered Harry bemusedly. Well, given how Tom had looked all disgusted when he had said that 'wizards even rutted with magical creatures', it seemed that there was one point in which his brother didn't agree with their ancestor.

Alphard adamantly nodded at him. "Slytherin apparently thought it was very important because, by mixing with magical creatures, new powerful magical blood was injected in wizarding lines. Of course, since not all wizards and witches liked mixing with non-humans or halfbreeds, Slytherin came up with another type of Breeder Potions. This one for purebloods, for Ganymede wizards and Sappho witches."

"The what and what?" Harry blinked at him, before he brought his cup to his lips as he waited for clarification.

His friend gave him an incredulous look. "You know, wizards and witches that like their own gender. That second type of Breeder Potions was for those kind of couples to be able to have children."

Unfortunately, Harry was caught in mid sip. His hot chocolate went up the wrong way and came out to be splattered all across the table, as he choked out a strangled, "W-what?"

In the bat of an eyelash, a house-elf popped into existence and cleaned the mess with a snap of his fingers. Though Harry was still so stunned by what Alphard had said, that he didn't even thank the little creature.

First, Tom had told him that boys could do the sex thing with other boys, and he still hadn't figured that one out. And now Alphard was telling him that - that-

Paling, Harry stared at the other boy with a horrified look on his face, as he gestured frantically with his hands, finally putting them before him as if encompassing a huge belly, as he stammered, "You mean – you mean that wizards take that potion to get preggers?"

"Mordred save us!" exclaimed Alphard, blanching just as much as Harry. "Not nowadays!" His nose scrunched up. "What wizard would want that? To waddle around and be all fat and moody all the time…"

The boy shook his head, and pointed out with a wizened air, "Pregnant people get very nasty, you know? My brother told me that when Mother was carrying me, she was unbearable and would yell at every little thing." He shuddered. "And she's already bad enough when she's normal."

Harry stared at him, before he bit out testily, "But you just told me that that potion was for-"

"I was speaking about centuries ago!" interjected Alphard quickly. "Those kind of potions haven't been used in ages. At least I hope not!" He shivered. "Nowadays Ganymede wizards and Sappho witches have all sorts of other things they can use, like Surrogacy Rituals, Inheritance or Blood Fusing Rites, and that sort of thing."

At that, Harry didn't even want to ask. He truly didn't want to know. The Wizarding World was honestly a very bizarre place.

Inevitably, though, his thoughts turned to Julian Erlichmann, as constantly kept happening to him lately.

Tilting his head to a side, Harry asked musingly, "Is it a common thing in the Wizarding World for people to fancy their own gender?"

"Common?" Alphard blinked at him. "What a strange question. Um, I don't know. It's not common or uncommon. It just is, isn't it?" He shot Harry a puzzled glance then. "Isn't it the same in the Muggle World?"

"No!" said Harry, shuddering as he remembered what Tom had revealed about poor Terry of their neighborhood. Then he frowned. "Well, I don't know either if it's common. It happens, apparently, but muggles don't like it."

Alphard's eyebrows hitched upwards. "Muggles are so weird." He shook his head, before he added pensively, "I suppose it's because their sort in the Muggle World have no way of having children. I mean, if Ganymede or Sappho couples didn't have children, then other wizards would mutter angrily about it." He waved a hand dismissively. "It's always all about passing on our magical blood. So as long as they do it, no one really cares about anything else."

Dazed, Harry merely shook his head slowly.

Just a week after that conversation, Harry witnessed a scene quite by accident.

Returning from having spent some time with the Prewett twins, playing Exploding Snaps with Felicity while Felix negotiated and traded Chocolate Frog cards with Algie Longbottom, he had come upon Dorea Black and Abraxas Malfoy in the middle of a heated argument. At such late hour, they had been alone in the common room, and didn't even become aware of his presence.

"…the girl is cut out from the same cloth as her Russian mother, I've heard," Dorea Black was saying bitingly. "A nasty piece of work, no doubt. And two years your elder and schooled at Durmstrang, no less. I wonder how you'll manage." She shot Abraxas a mocking, taunting look, before her voice turned stern, "But then, you don't seem to think you have much choice - you either marry the Von Krauss girl or convince Old Maxy to let you have Walburga. Against that, perhaps I'd also be choosing the German chit, but my point is that you don't have to-"

"It has nothing to do with you. Just stay out of my business," interrupted Abraxas Malfoy in a chilly tone of voice, his silvery eyes flashing. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I stick my nose where it's not wanted because I care about you," snapped Dorea impatiently. "You've been a friend of my nephews since the cradle, and for years I've been waiting for you to grow a backbone and stop allowing your grandfather to pull all your strings. _That_ will be the day when I'll respect you and stay out of your business, Abraxas. And I do hope it happens soon, for your sake, because if you let Old Maxy betroth you to Kasimira Von Krauss, you'll be miserable for the rest of your life. That's for sure."

Abraxas Malfoy's eyes turned as frosty as a wintry lake, before he simply turned around and swiftly took the stairs down to the dormitories, leaving Dorea in the dust, looking angered and impotent with worry at the same time.

As much as it had intrigued Harry at the time, he soon forgot it when Slytherin House had another reason for celebration, which Harry would have dearly liked to know about beforehand. However, he didn't, because Alphard hadn't breathed a word to him that it was his birthday.

Thus, when he got back to the common room on that day, after a long session of working on his map in Professor Toke's office, he found all the Slytherins gathered there, once again with smuggled butterbeer.

Alphard was surrounded by stacks of presents and his siblings, cousins, and aunt.

As much as Harry would have liked, he couldn't openly show himself friendly with Alphard, so all he could do was sit to a side, well apart from all the rest, as he quickly mused about what he could give to his best friend in the school.

After all, he owed Alphard for lending him the Comet 180, for the pouch of galleons to buy potion ingredients, and for his treasured book of 'The Most Extraordinary Chaser Tactics and Maneuvers of the Century!' – even though his current copy was the one bought by Tom, since his brother had burned Alphard's to cinders.

However, there was a huge obstacle: he didn't have a single knut. And he knew that asking Tom for one of his innumerable pouches of galleons would be a waste of breath, not to mention that he didn't have the time or opportunity to buy anything.

Suddenly, an idea struck him like beam of sunlight, and Harry squirmed on his seat excitedly.

It took him great patience to wait until the party started to dwindle in order to shoot Alphard a surreptitious look, as he subtly gestured at the boy to meet him outside.

Harry just had to wait for a brief moment in the corridor before Alphard came stumbling out.

"Prat, you should've told me," chided Harry instantly. He widely smiled at him in the next second. "Happy Birthday! I have a present of sorts for you. We're going exploring."

At that, Alphard's big grey eyes sparkled as he breathed out joyfully, "An adventure! Really?"

"Yup," said Harry, impishly grinning at him. "At least, I hope it will be. But it's already way pass curfew so we'll need Potter's Invisibility Cloak. Could you ask him to lend it to you for this night?"

"Sure!" piped in Alphard. "He won't refuse, I've turned twelve today! Wait for me here."

He was gone so fast that it almost looked as if the boy had done that Apparition thing Tom had told him about.

Twenty minutes later, Alphard returned, running, heaving and panting, but with a wide, triumphant grin on his face as he pulled out the Invisibility Cloak from one bulging pocket of his robes.

"Here," he gasped out, recovering his breath. "Take it."

Unwittingly, Harry had grabbed it just so, that his fingers had brushed one of its corners. Feeling a weird tingle, he stared down at that bit of cloth, seeing again the strange symbol he had briefly caught sight of before, when Charlus Potter had been under the Cloak.

Blinking, he touched it again, feeling once more the prickling sensation on the pads of his fingers, and he gazed at the symbol with puzzlement.

He couldn't really tell what it was, exactly. It wasn't embroidered, but rather just thin threads of glowing silver magic that formed a small triangle, with a circle and perpendicular line inscribed within it.

"Pull the Cloak over us both," urged Alphard, abruptly pulling Harry from his inspection.

Harry did so, quickly, and he saw that the Invisibility Cloak was so large that it more than covered them.

As they started making their way out of the dungeons, Alphard asked eagerly, "Where are we going?"

"Shh," whispered Harry, "we can still be heard." He then shot him a wide grin. "And you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

After climbing several floors and making a wholly unnecessary round because Hogwarts had just then decided to shift her moving stairs on them, and after they had had to plaster themselves against a wall and slowly edge along it for a bit when they had crossed paths with Professor Galatea Merrythought, they finally reached the statue.

Harry glanced around, making sure no one was in sight, and at last pulled off the Cloak, as he declared proudly, "Here we are."

Alphard blinked, stared at the statue of the one-eyed, humpbacked witch, and then said with a hint of disappointment, "Gunhilda of Gorsemoor's statue? I've already seen it before."

"That's her name?" said Harry distractedly as he got on his tiptoes and pressed down on the hump that glowed red and gold to his eyes.

Grating against the stone floors, the statue immediately shifted to a side to reveal a dark, narrow tunnel.

Glancing at his friend and seeing his gobsmacked expression, Harry smirked smugly, not knowing how much it looked like one of Tom's.

"A secret passage!" finally gasped out Alphard, astounded. "How did you discover this?"

"By accident," replied Harry vaguely.

"Where does it lead?" breathed out Alphard with wide, bright eyes.

Harry toothily grinned at him. "No idea. That's the adventure. Are you up to it?"

Alphard's reply was an enthusiastic smile that shone like a thousand suns.

Thus, with Lumos spells on their wands, they started making their way. And it was a very long way, quite unexpectedly. Harry had simply thought that it would take them to some abandoned part of the castle, but as minutes ticked by and began to blur together, it became evident that he had been mistaken.

"Tempus!" cast Alphard at one point, whilst Harry maintained the Lumos spell on his wand for them. "It's been forty five minutes already." The boy shot him a disconcerted look. "Where could it be taking us?"

"Haven't the foggiest," replied Harry excitedly. He then shot him a careful look. "Erm, but if you want to turn around and go back-"

"No," said Alphard instantly, before he widely smiled. "I'm sure it will pay off. Besides, it's your gift to me! Let's continue."

Grinning gratefully, Harry nodded.

Just about ten minutes later they reached the end of the secret passageway. They halted and stood before a few steps made of earth that led to a trap door on the ceiling of the tunnel.

The boys glanced at each other excitedly and then rushed forwards at the same time, pushing up against the trap door with all their might. It gave way, and panting with giddiness, they climbed out to be surrounded by darkness and a dead silence.

"Lumos!" they both cast at the same time.

The place was washed with the light coming from the tip of their wands and they glanced around. They seemed to be in some kind of cellar. The room was filled with shelves, stacked with boxes of all colors, amidst wooden crates.

Harry approached a shelf and gazed down at one of the boxes, seeing a label on its top.

"Honeydukes," he read out loud, thinking that it rang a faint bell in his mind. He had heard that name somewhere before, but he couldn't quite remember. He shot his friend a quizzical glance. "Does it mean anything to you, Al?"

"Honeydukes!" breathed out Alphard, instantly appearing at Harry's side to peer down at the box. "It really is! We've found the Leprechaun's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!"

"Huh?" Harry blinked nonplussed.

Alphard grinned at him widely, looking extremely joyful. "We're in Hogsmeade!" He shook his head, as if he could hardly believe it. "Honeydukes is _the_ sweetshop." He then added in a dark grumble, "Cygnus is always rubbing it in, how he has loads of fun with his friends when they come to Hogsmeade and how I have to wait until I'm in my third year - and he always brings whole bunches of candies but doesn't share with me!"

"Oh, right!" said Harry, suddenly remembering. "For their Halloween party, the Gryffindors bought their candies from here." He glanced around, finding a door at the very end, and then piped in enthusiastically, "Let's go to the store, then!"

Beaming at him, Alphard quickly followed.

As they stepped into the front of the shop, Harry whispered urgently, "Let's make our lights fainter. We don't want to be seen."

After doing so, they each explored the store, breathless with wonder, awe, and giddiness at everything they saw: cauldron pastries, acid pops, chocolate fudge, canary creams, blood-flavored lollipops, cockroach clusters, chocoballs, Drooble's best blowing gum, exploding bon-bons, fizzing whizbees, jelly slugs, ice mice, licorice wands, pepper imps, fudge flies, sugar quills, peppermint toads, and all other of assorted sweets.

"It's too bad that I can't boast to Cygnus about this," commented Alphard distractedly as he inspected a box of sugar quills.

At that, Harry turned around and stared at the boy's back, a warm, affectionate smile soon spreading on his face.

It was just like Alphard to simply realize things without needing to be told, to just know Harry's mind and his wishes. The boy seemed to have a knack for it. Just like now, when his friend implicitly knew that Harry wanted to keep the tunnel a secret from all others.

With a fond smile still on his face, Harry went back to his explorations. It was truly paradise, and without a second thought, he happily began pocketing some Chocolate Frogs.

"What are you doing?" said Alphard, starting at him.

"Taking some," replied Harry absentmindedly. "They're delicious. I had them in the Hogwarts Express-"

"But that's stealing, isn't it?" interjected Alphard in a hushed voice.

Abruptly halting, Harry blinked at him. It hadn't even crossed his mind.

He was so used to nicking stuff with Tom when Alice took them into commercial London that he had stopped wondering long ago if it was wrong or not. And his brother had always said that they were entitled to take things that weren't being looked after. Tom opined that it was the shopkeepers' own fault for not keeping a better eye on their wares.

Harry cast a longing glance at the Chocolate Frog in his hand, as he mumbled softly, "But they taste so good… I love chocolate…"

"Um," said Alphard, for a moment looking a tad conflicted. Then he brightened and gestured at the ancient cash register on top of the counter. "Take them. Next time we come here, I'll leave some galleons there to pay for our stuff. But don't take too many, or they'll notice."

Shooting him a grateful look, Harry pocketed the last of his Chocolate Frogs while Alphard grabbed three sugar quills.

Then the boy gazed out through the window of the shop and shot Harry a yearning look. "Do you think we could perhaps see Hogsmeade?"

"Of course," said Harry warmly. "It's your birthday. We can do whatever you wish." He widely grinned at him. "Let's go exploring then."

He threw the Invisibility Cloak over them and Alphard was quick to stick a hand under the hem to turn the knob of the front door. It didn't give way, and the boy shot Harry a crushed look. "It's locked."

"Oh, I know a Charm that might work," whispered Harry swiftly. "Lemme try." Sticking out his wand, he muttered quietly, "Alohamora!"

A click, and the door slightly parted open. Harry shot Alphard a triumphant grin, while his friend stared at him with big grey eyes and breathed out, "That's a third-year spell!"

"Professor Toke has been teaching me some stuff," said Harry dismissively, then he added excitedly, "Let's go!"

They scurried out of the shop and Harry just halted for a brief moment to cast a locking charm on the front door of Honeydukes.

As they started meandering along the main road, they saw that Hogsmeade was a very charming and picturesque little village, with quaint thatched cottages and pretty stone houses with flowers and small gardens, all covered in snow.

"It's one of the few fully-wizarding towns left," whispered Alphard to him as they walked. "It was founded by Hengist Woodcroft, over a thousand years ago, around the same time that the Founders finished building Hogwarts, I've read."

Suddenly, they both halted as they heard loud noises coming from a pub a few feet away from them. According to its sign, it was 'The Three Broomsticks', and the whole village seemed to be gathered there.

Through the windows of the pub, they saw a crowd of witches and wizards, with pints in their hands, as they surrounded someone who seemed to be making some grand speech. There were also journalists there; some taking pictures with photograph cameras that puffed smoke, others with flying quills that skidded across floating parchments.

"What do you think is going on?" murmured Harry curiously as they crept closer.

It was then when he caught sight of the face of the wizard who had his audience avidly listening to him. A man wearing rich, dark blue robes, gesticulating grandiosely, with funny, thin moustaches that curled into spirals at its tips.

Instantly recognizing him from pictures, Harry said dumbfounded, "That's the granddad of that stuck-up Ravenclaw git, Tiberius. Charlemagne McLaggen. What's the Minister of Magic doing here?"

"Ah, I think I know!" whispered Alphard animatedly. "Just a week ago, The Daily Prophet said that McLaggen had started touring the country. Because he had already vetoed Dumbledore's Law three times, but Dumbledore's faction in the Wizengamot still had the majority. And since the Minister doesn't have the power to veto more than thrice, it seems he chose his only other measure left. He announced there would be a plebiscite."

Harry shot him a pensive frown, racking his brain. "Plebiscite? You mean that thing when people get to vote for or against a law?"

"Exactly," piped in Alphard, nodding. "So McLaggen began his campaign, visiting all wizarding towns and giving big speeches about the evils of Dumbledore's Law and the bad consequences that there would be for us if it was approved." The boy shot the crowd in the pub a musing look. "Hogsmeade must be McLaggen's last stop."

"Oh." Harry glanced again at the wizard and then caught sight of someone right beside him: a curly blonde witch, who looked vaguely familiar to him.

"Who's that standing next to McLaggen?" he murmured, puzzled.

"She's Edgar's mom - that Hufflepuff in our year. Remember him, from Charms?" said Alphard in a hushed voice. "She's Aurora Bones, the Minister's Undersecretary."

Frowning, Harry glanced back at her, intently studying her features, and it suddenly clicked. His mouth hung open. She was the witch whose head he had seen in Dumbledore's glass sphere thing! A spy on McLaggen, then! Well, Dumbledore certainly was a crafty, resourceful wizard.

Not that it bothered him one bit. Actually, he was quite happy with the discovery. After the things Tom had told him about the Minister, with the man not wanting to help muggles in case of war, he didn't think he liked Charlemagne McLaggen much.

Soon after that, they continued meandering along the village's main street, beginning to reach its outskirts.

Abruptly, they nearly jumped in startlement when a door was banged open, and two wizards came out from a dusty, dirty-looking pub that seemed to have a couple of dodgy characters inside.

"I don't want ye to come to my pub again," one of the wizards spat harshly. He was tall and burly, with a mane of long, tangled hair and a scraggly beard, wearing stained, greyish robes that looked to have seen better times.

The man was aggressively holding the other wizard by the arm, as if he had forcefully pulled him out of the pub. But it was this other wizard who was very familiar to the two boys, and thus, several feet away from them, Harry and Alphard froze in their tracks at the same time.

"No matter how many times ye come and sit at one of my tables," said the scruffy-looking wizard, apparently the pub-owner, "it won't make me speak to ye."

Albus Dumbledore gazed at the other wizard with a weary, beaten expression on his face, as if he was carrying a crushing weight. Harry had never seen the wizard like that: with slumped shoulders, slightly hunched forwards, as if wanting to protect himself from hurtful words being volleyed at him.

"I need for us to speak to each other, Aberforth," said Albus Dumbledore quietly. "I believed you desired the same."

Under the Invisibility Cloak, Alphard let out a shocked exhalation of breath, before he whispered quickly to Harry, "Aberforth! He's Albus Dumbledore's brother! I heard about him from Dorea, who has a friend in Beauxabatons. He was their Professor of Care of Magical Creatures for many years. And suddenly, a year or so ago, he just packed up and left. So, he came here to open a pub? That's strange, isn't it-"

"Hush!" whispered Harry in alarm, worrying they might be heard. But given that they were some distance away from the two wizards, it didn't seem as if they had been.

"I believed," continued Albus Dumbledore, "that you had come here to be close to me. To attempt-"

"Ye know very well why I came to Hogsmeade," interrupted the other man sharply, piercing Dumbledore with a hard gaze. "I didn't come here to rekindle our acquaintance, but to keep an eye on ye. To make sure ye don't make the same mistake twice."

"I'm trying to mend our relationship," said Albus Dumbledore softly, a heart-wrenching plea in his voice. "If you would just allow me-"

"The only way ye will ever make it up to me is if ye avenge our sister's death. Kill Grindelwald, and then, I'll forgive ya."

With stunned, bewildered, huge wide eyes, Harry and Alphard glanced at each other.

Aberforth Dumbledore was answered with silence, and the wizard let out a dry, acerbic laugh. "But ye won't, will ya, Albus?" His face became like hard stone. "Not even for Ariana or me, do ye have the strength to kill her murderer." He took a step closer to Albus Dumbledore, hissing out, "Don't have the guts to kill yer past lover, do ya?"

Harry's jaw dropped, Alphard blinked thrice.

"I'm not… I…." Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to find his words. The wizard shook his head slowly, sadly, mournfully, casting his brother an entreating glance, before he seemed to shake slightly, a ripple going through his body, as he forced words out of his mouth, breathing them out, "I fear to see him face to face." He closed his eyes, heaving a deep breath. "Even after so long, I fear what he might say, what he might offer." He slowly opened his eyes again, to gaze at his brother with frightening intensity through his half-moon spectacles, as he added in a thread of a murmur, "Because he can offer a way of having Ariana back, and I would be tempted."

Both wizards seemed to still in the dead silence that reigned after those uttered words, staring at each other.

It was Aberforth who at last spoke, his shoulders stiff, his expression angered, as he bit out, "I know what ye're speaking about. I was there when ye two talked about 'em, when ye plotted how ye would find 'em and use 'em." He skewered his brother with a piercing gaze, as he spat furiously, "Never bring Ariana back with the Stone. I'll kill ya if ye do."

"He doesn't have it," murmured Albus Dumbledore quietly. "But I believe he might have some clues about it's location-"

"Never use it!" bellowed Aberforth irately at him, his big hands clenching into fists, trembling, before he shook his head violently and spat, "That's not the way to make it up to me. I told ye what I wanted already. Kill him! Until then, don't come to my pub, don't speak to me!"

And without a second glance, he swirled around and went into his pub, slamming the door shut with shattering force.

Aberforth's last words seemed to leave Albus Dumbledore devastated, as if someone had ripped his heart out and torn it to pieces. The wizard was staring with unseeing eyes into vacant space, looking smaller, diminished.

Harry's mind was swirling with a mesh of loud, flabbergasted thoughts, a mess of them that seemed to be thundering against his very skull, hardly knowing what to make of everything he had heard. He didn't know where to begin.

Though, he didn't have the chance to even muse for a second, because suddenly, several things happened very quickly, one after the other.

Abruptly, Albus Dumbledore stiffened, and he spun around, a frown on his face, before his spectacled gaze landed on the boys, looking straight at them.

"He sees us," breathed out Harry, his green eyes going wide, half gobsmacked and baffled, half frantic with alarm.

"Let's go before he catches us," whispered Alphard urgently, looking wildly scared and worried, as he tugged on Harry's arm. "Charlus will never forgive me if his Cloak is taken-"

Bang! A door was thrown open noisily, and a cacophony of discordant sounds and voices rang loudly from halfway of the other end of the street. The crowd of The Three Broomsticks were leaving the place, many starting their way back to their homes, whilst Charlemagne McLaggen was posing for the cameras one last time, giving wide smiles as the light bulbs flashed.

Then, from across the distance, the Minister of Magic seemed to suddenly catch sight of Dumbledore, and his smile froze on his face. It became forced then, as the wizard took several steps to one side, clearly obstructing any journalist from seeing and becoming aware of Albus Dumbledore's presence.

In a few moments, the Minister was done giving some more words for the reporters, and the journalists disappeared with cracking sounds.

Harry had the inkling that if they had seen Albus Dumbledore at the other end of the street, they would have remained behind, like wolves scenting blood, because right then, the Minister of Magic began to stride straight towards Dumbledore, a hard expression on his face.

A sound of feet crushing old, fallen tree leaves made Harry snap his head around and he saw Dumbledore coming towards them. The wizard didn't look at all pleased.

With a hitch of breath sticking in his throat, Harry was quick to grasp Alphard by the arm, pulling him along, backwards, with every step Dumbledore took forwards.

"Albus!"

Harry and Alphard froze when the Minister of Magic reached Dumbledore.

"I would like a word with you," said Charlemagne McLaggen sternly. "I've heard some very disquieting rumors about how you're leading a subversive, vigilante group - The Order of something-"

"I do not think this is the proper place to sustain such conversation," interrupted Dumbledore quietly, a glance landing briefly on the boys, before he gazed back at the other wizard, and added courteously, "Perhaps we could go into-"

"Here is just fine," snapped the Minister of Magic irritably. "There's no one around."

"I do believe we should best-"

"Stop dillydallying!" interrupted McLaggen angrily. "I demand to know what you think you're doing with this Order of yours."

The boys were pierced by Dumbledore's glance once more. And for a moment, it seemed the wizard was going to reach for his wand, surely to cast a spell that would prevent them from listening in, but then a pensive expression crossed the man's face for a split second, and the motion was aborted.

Harry and Alphard blinked, to then glance at each other with equally quizzical, wondering, and puzzled expressions on their faces.

"The Order of the Phoenix is no subversive, secret organization," said Dumbledore calmly. "Any witch or wizard willing to aid the cause of preventing the Dark Lord from gaining more power is welcomed to become a member. Of course, once they become members, we do grant them anonymity, if so they wish."

"It's nothing but a group of crackpots attempting to undermine the foundations of my Ministry! To unseat me from my position!" snarled McLaggen, before he pulled himself up to his full height and added in a very low, ominous tone of voice, "I could have you all brought up on charges of mutiny and rebellion against the established authority."

Dumbledore peered at the Minister from the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I was not aware that forming political groups had become illegal, Charlemagne."

The Minister of Magic's nostrils flared. "I want you to disband it."

"I have no reason to do so," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

McLaggen puffed up like an angered peacock. "Look here, Dumbledore, I've been more than patient with you-"

"As have I with you," interjected Dumbledore in a quiet yet hard tone of voice. He then arched an expectant eyebrow at the wizard. "Have you accepted the Czechoslovakian envoys' treaty?"

The Minister of Magic froze, before his eyes narrowed, as he hissed out, "How do you know? I took every measure to ensure their visit remained a secret. You have someone in my Ministry working for you!" His eyes became mere slits, as he added angrily, "Perhaps it's my own Head of International Magical Cooperation. Don't think I haven't noticed that Faustus Prewett has become one of your more fervent supporters in the Wizengamot, Albus! It's him, isn't it? You've turned him against me – I'll have him sacked!"

"Faustus Prewett does not 'work' for me," interjected Dumbledore calmly. "He is his own man, with his own opinions and convictions. A more loyal wizard to the Ministry of Magic you will not find. Your accusations are utterly unfounded."

McLaggen piercingly stared at him, before he muttered, "We'll see. I'll certainly be looking into his actions." He squared his shoulders as he demanded sharply, "If he's not your spy in the Ministry, then explain to me how you knew about the Czechs' visit."

"Why, last weekend I visited some friends I have in that marvelous country," said Dumbledore placidly, "and since I had some spare time, I decided to pop into the Ministry. Jerabek, the Minister, happens to be an old acquaintance of mine, and it would have been very discourteous of me to not pay him a visit whilst I was in his country."

"Ah! Now I understand why I had the envoys badgering me with their nonsense," spat McLaggen furiously. "You filled their minds with your ridiculous ideas regarding the German Minister of Magic-"

"Grindelwald's official title nowadays is the_ Austro_-German Minister of Magic," remarked Dumbledore pointedly, intently staring at McLaggen from the top of his half-moon spectacles. "That alone, should tell you much."

Looking irked and irritated beyond measure, McLaggen briskly waved a hand. "He was elected by Austrian wizards and witches. I'll hear no more about your baseless accusations regarding that he was the one who killed the former Austrian Minister-"

"Quite right, I see no point in rehashing the discussion we maintained in Dionysius' Abode," interjected Dumbledore firmly. "You know my views on the matter. They haven't changed. However, I still urge you to heed them."

"Produce these so-called 'sources' of yours, and I might consider it," bit out Charlemagne McLaggen. "Who do you have spying on Grindelwald?"

It was that, out of the whole conversation thus far, which suddenly made Harry's chest constrict with a piercing, frenzied worry. Julian! It had to be Julian Erlichmann. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't-

"The identity of my informants must, above all other things, remain undisclosed," said Dumbledore unyieldingly, his expression stony.

If he could have exhaled with profound relief, Harry would have. Instead, he gazed at Dumbledore with big, grateful eyes. He would even hug the wizard if he could. One thing he did, though, was to admire him greatly.

By seeing him in this new light, in this new role, as Dumbledore crossed swords with the Minister of Magic, Harry realized that -despite his earlier misgivings about the wizard, given Dumbledore's reactions when they had met in the orphanage- he had greatly misjudged him, unfairly, subjectively. Now, here was a wizard he could like and respect, a wizard he could even want to follow and support, if he one day had the freedom to do so.

"Then we're at a standstill, yet again," groused out McLaggen bitterly.

"Only because you refuse to pay credence to my assertions, Charlemagne," said Dumbledore, his voice low and gentle. "You do not trust my word, and it saddens me greatly."

McLaggen bristled at that, but remained silent.

Letting out a weary sigh, Dumbledore then inquired softly, "I would like to know how your meeting with the Czechoslovakian envoys proceeded-"

"I sent them packing!" snapped McLaggen impatiently. "What else could I do? They had the gall to ask for an allegiance – for me to send my Aurors if they were invaded by Grindelwald! They're mad! Nothing of the sort is going to happen."

Dumbledore shook his head, looking mournful. "Grindelwald will attack them on March the fifteenth."

Harry stared at him, feeling his body was about to sag in sudden relaxation. Dumbledore _knew_. Julian Erlichmann must have told him in the end. It didn't come as such a great surprise, but it did lift from his shoulders a heavy burden that he hadn't been aware he had still been carrying.

"Ludicrous!" cried out Charlemagne McLaggen. "Grindelwald is a Minister of Magic, he's not going to _invade_ anyone!"

"He is."

Both wizards gazed at each other in tense, poignant silence, and Harry took that as his cue to leave.

The conversation seemed to be nearly over and given McLaggen's fed up expression, it didn't look as if the wizard was going to remain there for much longer. And he certainly wanted to be long gone by the time Dumbledore was alone again, with a chance to catch them.

Thus, he gripped Alphard's arm and slowly began to pull him away, with careful steps, as to not make a sound. His friend seemed to be of a same mind, because he kept pace with Harry, without uttering a word, the Cloak securely fastened over them.

By the time they reached Honeydukes, Harry was fast to cast a spell to open the door and then swiftly lock it back, before he quickly pulled Alphard into the store's cellar.

It was only when they were deep inside the secret passageway, that they finally pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and halted, to stare at each other.

"Dumbledore decided to let us hear them," said Alphard, breathless with puzzlement. "He wanted us to know about all that stuff they discussed. Why could it be?"

Harry didn't know. He truly didn't. But he didn't waste time wondering about it. He would simply accept it.

Thus, he merely shrugged his shoulders.

In the next second, he skewered his friend with a gaze, and said urgently, his tone adamant and firm, "We cannot tell anyone – about any of the things we heard."

Alphard blinked at him, bemused. "Who would I tell?"

'Your father', would have said Harry, highly worried. Apparently, though, Alphard wasn't even considering that possibility. And Harry was very grateful for that.

So he simply nodded and turned to continue their return back to Hogwarts.

In the days that followed, as November came to an end, Harry was a bit jumpy, with the expectation that Dumbledore would approach him, wanting a word with him –about the things they had heard in the man's conversation with his brother, the many others from the chat with the Minister of Magic, and about the fact that Harry and Alphard had been breaking all sorts of school rules by being in Hogsmeade, compounded to that, their use of an Invisibility Cloak.

However, Dumbledore never did. The wizard had even stopped casting him those concerned looks of before, after the Lord Horkos issue. It was as though nothing had ever happened.

It highly perplexed Harry, but he could hardly complain. In the end, he decided he quite preferred the current situation of utter silence.

His days of peace of mind, though, wouldn't last very long, since December would prove to be a month of revelations and stunning discoveries.


	23. Part I: Chapter 22

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This chapter and the next are a small interlude: entirely about an OC. But he's very important to the plot, so I hope you have the patience to read it.

All languages that are not English will be in italics. Mostly German in this chapter.

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 22**

* * *

Julian Erlichmann stood before a wide table in the Dark Lord's study, his sky blue eyes analyzing the battle plans spread before him. He carded his fingers through his curls of short, auburn hair as he forced his handsome features to remain placid instead troubled.

He was a young man in his early twenties, but he had discovered that the feeling of youth vanished before the certainty of death in the near future.

He had always known he would die young. His one constant friend and companion all throughout his life had candidly forewarned him of the fact a long time ago.

He glanced around the room, half hopeful whilst he chided himself for it. By nay, he didn't see Santi.

He dryly chuckled under his breath at that. For as long as he remembered, Santi had always been a constant presence in his life.

When he was a toddler, his mother had believed he played with an imaginary friend. Santi was that, for much of his childhood, until Julian came to understand that the man -who played with him when his parents were constantly occupied with their social ambitions, who cheered him every time he waved his faux child's wand, who clapped at his small accomplishments, who cherished him and tussled his hair with fondness and affection, who made himself glow beautifully in golden light when Julian wanted to see something 'pretty' or made himself solid when a little Julian wanted a hug- was very much real, but only showed himself to him.

"_Why to me and not others?_" he had once asked, yawning as Santi tucked him into bed, when he had been eight years old.

"_Because you're special, you're worthy_," Santi had said softly, tenderly sweeping one of Julian's auburn curls to one side. "_Because you remind me of him._"

"_The boy with the green eyes and the lightning bolt scar?_" little Julian had asked excitedly, his blue eyes shining.

"_Yes._"

"_When will I meet him?_" Julian asked quickly, before his small face scrunched slightly, fretfully. "_Will he like me? Will he be my friend?_"

"_I wish he could_," Santi said quietly, eyeing him sadly. "_But he won't, Julian. You'll be older than him and you'll never meet. But you will see him, just twice._"

Julian had felt devastated at that. He had always listened when Santi told him about the green-eyed boy called simply 'Harry', how Santi was waiting for him, how the boy was very special. And he had never failed to detect the yearning in Santi's voice, wanting to have that boy finally there, with him.

Nevertheless, Santi had been a brother, a father, a friend, a mentor, and a guide. It had been thanks to Santi that he had gathered the courage to stand up to his father when he had been ten years old.

Julian had always loved the Arts: Painting, Architecture, Sculpturing, but above all, Music. Of course, such interests were not valued in an heir of the powerful and ancient bloodline of the Erlichmanns, purebloods in Magic but also in German ancestry.

Santi, with his usual honesty, which could sometimes be brutal, had made matters very clear to him.

"_Durmstrang is not the place for you. If you don't fight to go to Beauxbatons, you'll be miserable_." He had carefully taken Julian's chin, raising it to look into his eyes, as he added quietly, "_You have to grasp the chances you have to attain things that will give you joy, because they will be slim and few, and you don't have many years left._"

The ten-year-old Julian hadn't understood it at the time, but it had been his first forewarning of how short his life would be.

However, he had hatched a plan, and after months of negotiations, his parents and he had come to an agreement: he would go to Beauxbatons as long as he continued studying the Dark Arts in private; he was forbidden from interacting with mudbloods; and during the summers when he went back home, he would be tested by a tutor of Dark Arts, and if he failed, he would be sent to Durmstrang. Needless to say, if his parents even heard a whisper of a rumor that he had befriended a mudblood or even a halfblood, he would be shipped post-haste to Durmstrang as well.

And so, he had entered Beauxbatons Academy and a whole world of beauty and splendor had opened before his eyes. He had seen the Wizarding World from a vastly different perspective than the one taught to him by his parents.

Indeed, ideas of blood purity seemed to matter little to the many students of the school, even those who were purebloods themselves and came from highly respected families. Among those, Laurent Didier, above all, had showed him a whole other side of things.

He had met Laurent in his first day of class, and all throughout their stay, they had taken the same elective classes of Magical Songcrafting, Wizardry Painting, and Magical Instruments. They shared the same passion, though whilst Julian leaned towards Music, Laurent was a truly gifted painter. And while Laurent's family happily and proudly encouraged him, Julian was always very careful his parents never found out about his electives.

With that, he had help from Santi, who had appeared often during his Beauxbatons years, to be a friend and confidant, but also to teach him the Dark Arts, as Santi had promised he would, so that Julian never failed his summer tests.

As much as Julian disliked it, it had soon become clear to them both that he had an affinity for the Dark Arts and a natural, instinctual grasp of them. His parents, too, were quick to pick up on that, as he proved his curse-casting abilities and awed them, and their concerns dwindled, granting him greater freedom.

It was thus that he was allowed to spend several holidays with his best friend's family. If his parents would have ever found out what would come of that, Julian knew he would have never been given permission.

Julian had been in awe of the warmth and love that pervaded in Laurent's family, he had basked in their joy of his music and songs, he had had teary eyes when Laurent had gifted him with a beautiful magical silver flute that became his favorite instrument, which he came to play like a master, earning moved tears from Laurent's family or delighted sighs of musical pleasure.

The Didiers had encouraged his passion by taking him to the see the most famed Songmasters in the Grand Conservatory of Magical Music of wizarding Vienna, they had even offered to take him in and finance his career in Music after Beauxbatons.

He had been tempted, but love for his parents, however little they understood him, had kept him from accepting.

However, love of another sort had then struck him. When Julian had been fourteen, he had hoped his life-long companion could be a lover too, his first.

After Julian made his stammering declaration, shy, nervous and flushing, Santi had indulgently smiled at him. "_It's not me you love, but your friend._"

Julian had blinked, stared down at the magical flute in his hand, and had suddenly realized the truth of those words. And indeed, soon after, with Laurent Didier he had known a love as none other.

But things had slowly started to change, the summer when he had turned fifteen and his father had demanded he returned home for the holidays. He had a 'special visit of great educational value' prepared for Julian.

That summer, Julian had been taken to Nurmengard Tower. The Dark Lord's higher ranks were holding a vast meeting amongst themselves, and they had brought their children along, so they could mingle together, turning the occasion into a social gathering for the younger generations.

Julian had not enjoyed the 'opportunity' of making useful connections, as his father had put it. But it turned interesting when Santi, who had accompanied him -remaining invisible and unheard to all but him, as always- had urged him to follow him into the dungeons. "_There's someone I want you to see._"

Curious and intrigued, Julian had complied. Doing his best to ignore all other prisoners, he had finally reached a secluded cell, at the very end of the last subfloor of the dungeons, well apart from all the others.

There, he had seen a woman with strong features, the signs of torture, rape, and starvation clear on her body and tattered clothes. She had been lying haphazardly against a wall, her eyes closed.

"_Meet Sybilla Spyros,_" Santi said to him, his gaze pinned on the woman.

Julian shot him a quizzical glance. "_Who is she?_"

"_A true Seer, of Cassandra's line._"

"_Impossible!_" burst out Julian disbelievingly. "_There are none left of that line. Haven't been for ages._"

"_They remained hidden_," Santi said patiently, before he gestured coolly at the woman. "_She is Cassandra's last true descendant. And I mean 'true' because she's the last with Cassandra's Curse. Her son doesn't suffer the full effect, and her granddaughter will have scant of it_."

Julian didn't doubt his words for a second. By then, he had already known that Santi knew things that had not happened yet, just as he had known that Santi was able to do things that weren't possible. The man had proved both in several occasions. Julian had thought him to be a very powerful wizard and Seer, who preferred anonymity.

"_What is she doing here?_" Julian asked bewildered. Then a thought entered his mind, and he turned to fully face Santi, as he breathed out, "_You want us to save her?_"

"_Save her?_" Santi chortled, looking vastly amused, before he shook his head. "_She doesn't want saving-_"

"_Listening to you, I would think you were speaking to yourself, boy_," suddenly said a hoarse, sharp voice, her German heavy with a Greek accent.

Julian spun around to see the Seer gazing at him with heavy-lidded dark eyes, and he suddenly felt a shudder creeping down his spine. He had never seen such deep hatred in anyone's eyes before, even though it didn't seem to be directed at him but at the whole world in general.

The witch chuckled dryly, sounding like stones grinding against stones. "_But you aren't alone, are you, boy?_" Her eyes flickered around. "_I knew you would come to see me. My Inner Eye Saw. Are you going to remain cloaked from my sight, creature?_"

Julian saw how Santi did something then: he shimmered for a brief moment and then stood there, looking as solid and real as Julian had scarcely seen before.

"_I finally lay eyes on you,_" said the witch hoarsely, her dark eyes narrowed and skewering. "_For the first and last time, eh?_"

Julian shot Santi a baffled glance at that, and his life-long companion grinned without any mirth, as he intoned, "_Sybilla here is going to be killed tomorrow, by the Dark Lord._" At Julian's look of alarm, Santi was quick to add, "_Oh, fret not. She already knows. She wants it to happen. After all, she allowed herself to be captured. You see, she has great plans of vengeance. Her hatred for all wizarding and muggle kind is so vast, that she cares little of the cost to her_."

"_Vengeance for what?_" murmured Julian bewildered.

"_For her suffering, and the suffering of her long line of ancestors which she has always felt as her own, through her Inner Eye. Suffering brought upon by wizards and muggles alike_," said Santi calmly, before he turned to the Seer and arched an eyebrow. "_I suppose I would be wasting my breath if I asked you to reconsider your plans?_"

"_You dare presume tell me what I should do?_" the witch bit out sharply, her fury and disgust clear on her ravaged features. "_You, who are an atrocious accident of nature, a freak, a mutation, an abomination!_"

"_Is that what I am?_" Santi chortled loudly. "_Why, the Centaurs see the trail that my existence leaves when they read the Stars and call me 'The Fates'. I rather prefer that poetic connotation to my being._" He grinned widely. "_It has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you say?_"

"_Centaurs!_" shrieked the witch contemptuously. "_That just shows how little they know!_" She pinned Santi with dark eyes narrowed to slits, as she spat out, "_If you had any sense and any feeling of responsibility, you would have killed yourself millennia ago, abomination!_"

Santi shook his head slowly. "_Don't think I didn't consider that alternative a long time ago, Sybilla. But I came to the rather accurate conclusion that ceasing my existence, such as it is, would cause more harm than remaining alive._"

The Seer shot him a repulsed look, before she hissed out, "_It matters not. You can't do anything to thwart my plans._" Her dark eyes shone brightly, as she added gleefully, "_The boy is already here, in this present, in this line. Has been for some years. He's in London, in the orphanage._" She shot him a mocking look. "_But you don't dare find him now, do you? Too soon, and it will end in catastrophe._"

Santi remained silent, merely gazing back at her impassively.

She chuckled acidly, before her gaunt features morphed into a triumphant expression, as she breathed out exultantly, "_He's here because of the Truth I will speak to that wizard who calls himself a Dark Lord, and because of the memories I will allow him to take. I've Seen the boy's past, present, and future. And I've Seen how the plans I've already put into motion will make him my catalyst, my tool-_"

"_He is the catalyst_," interjected Santi shortly, "_but the 'tool' for your revenge, that he will not be, Sybilla._"

The witch stilled, before her dark eyes narrowed, as she hissed out, "_I don't believe you. I Saw!_" She pointed a finger straight at Julian. "_He will be the Helper. And the other boy with be the Finder and the Key. My Inner Eye has Seen._"

Julian stared at her, utterly baffled and nonplussed at those words.

"_It pleases me to tell you, that even though you're the most powerful Seer in ages, your Inner Eye does not always See everything,_" quipped Santi nonchalantly, widely grinning at her. "_Indeed, compared to my own ways of knowing, it's sadly lacking._" He took a step forward to be inches away from her through the bars of her cell, as he added coolly, "_Part of your plots will bear fruits. But the end result will not be entirely what you expect and desire_."

The Seer's eyes narrowed further, now merely slits, as she shook her head and spat, "_I don't believe you._"

"_Good_," said Santi shortly, beaming a gorgeous, pleased smile at her. "_I rather prefer you don't._" Abruptly, the smile vanished from his handsome face, and he crouched to the floor, to be at eye-level with the Seer, and he said softly, "_I tried to make Helena help you and yours, that you must believe._"

"_Helena!_" the witch spat with violent, seething hatred and contempt. "_She's the cause of all our misery – I have never wanted her 'help'!_"

Santi remained silent for a long moment, before he nodded acceptingly. Then he swiftly stood up and turned to Julian. "_Come, we're done here_."

And without a parting glance towards the Seer, Santi shimmered into a translucent state and led the way.

"_I didn't understand much_," admitted Julian in a whisper as they began climbing stairs.

"_I know._"

Julian shot him a puzzled glance. "_Then why did you want me to see her and hear all those things?_"

"_For several reasons,_" said Santi slowly. "_Firstly, I wanted you to meet the Seer whose actions began the change. She was supposed to flee with her husband and son. She knew it. But instead, she remained behind, waiting for Grindelwald's followers. That shifted things. Secondly, that 'plan' she spoke about, the one she already put in motion, she did that some years ago, contacting a certain group of people, revealing herself as a Seer and speaking some selected Truths to them._" He shot Julian a glance, his voice turning softer, "_It will have a direct impact on you, some years from now_."

Julian shook his head. "_I don't understand_."

Santi warmly smiled at him. "_I know. But you will remember everything that was said here today, and when the time comes, you will comprehend everything. You will understand what your role will be in the great scope of things_."

He paused for a moment, before they entered the vast chamber where the children of the Dark Lord's followers were mingling together, and intensely bore his gaze into Julian's, as he said pointedly, "_But for the next few years, I don't want you to worry about any of this. I want you to do what I've always suggested_."

Julian tilted his head to a side. "_Grasp any opportunity for joy with both hands?_" He grinned widely in understanding. "_Laurent._"

Santi nodded, smiling fondly as he tussled the fifteen-year-old boy's hair.

Julian had done exactly that, from that day onwards, and by the time Laurent and he were in their last year of school, they had made great plans for their future together: they would spend a couple of years in Italy, so that Laurent could apprentice under the great wizarding painters of the land, then they would go to Austria, for Julian to attain his Songmastership in the Vienna Conservatory.

However, all those secret plans had been crushed when, a few months before their graduation from Beauxbatons, the European Dueling Championship had been declared. Julian's parents had registered him instantly and were most stern and firm about the matter.

"_I know just how much you excel in the Dark Arts and dueling_," his father had told him sharply in a floo-call. "_You will win this Championship and bring honor to our name. A bright, glorious future awaits you if you succeed in this, Julian_."

If he had known beforehand what his father had been referring to, he would have taken Laurent and fled.

Santi had known and warned him, though. With a heavy expression on his face, he had said quietly, "_I cannot prevent this. Whether you participate in the Championship or not, your father will succeed in his plans for you. And if you escape with Laurent, it will not end well._"

Julian had gazed at his lifelong companion, and asked softly, "_What does my father want from me?_"

"_He wants you for Grindelwald_."

All color had vanished from Julian's handsome face, his sky blue eyes wide with horror. "_As a lover… For power? For social standing for the family? To climb up the ranks?_" Santi didn't answer, but it wasn't required. Julian knew. He had shaken his head. "_Why does my father think I can entice the Dark Lord! I've heard about the string of lovers he's had-_"

"_Because your father has made a recent discovery,_" Santi had cut in. "_Some rumors he's heard and given credence to – and they're true._"

It was then when Julian was told the story of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindewald, and he could hardly believe his ears.

"_They were lovers when they were teenagers?_" gasped out Julian incredulously. "_The Albus Dumbledore? The famed English wizard, member of his country's Wizengamot, Professor of Hogwarts-_"

"_Yes._"

Julian shook his head, trying to grasp the notion. "_But what does that have to do with me?_"

"_You possess an uncanny resemblance to him, when he was young, when he met Grindelwald,_" Santi said candidly. "_Now, your father is aware of this, and he knows it will snag Grindelwald's attention, that it will appeal to him. The Dark Lord will want you._"

"_But I have Laurent and I only want him!_" said Julian desperately.

Santi shot him a sorrowful look. "_I already told you. If you flee with him, your father will find you, and –_"

"_And Laurent will be killed_," concluded Julian on his own. He shot him a frantic look. "_Are you _sure_? Laurent is a Didier, they are an important family in France, with many connections. My father might not dare kill him because of that-_"

"_He will_," Santi said simply. "_He will make it look like an accident, and he'll take you away to Germany, and no one will be the wiser_." His expression softened, as he added, "_If I could save you from what's to come, I would_."

"_You can do anything, Santi_," interjected Julian sharply. "_I've known that for a long time, even though I don't understand it. Is it that you _can't_ 'save me', or that you _won't_?_"

"_I can but I won't_," replied Santi, looking as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, his expression wretched but at the same time decisive. "_You must understand, the cost for everyone involved of me sparing you what's to come is much greater than the benefit of saving you from it._"

That very precise moment was the first and only time in Julian's life when he felt a powerful surge of fury, deep hurt, and hatred for Santi, and he had yelled, half sobbing, half chocking his words out in a shout, "_I see, so it's all For the Greater Good – as the Dark Lord's motto goes! My happiness, my life, is to be sacrificed for the common good of all the rest?_"

"_Yes. It's hard, but true. I'm deeply sorry,_" muttered Santi quietly. "_Given what I am, I can't act according to anything else._"

Julian let out a bitter laugh. "_And if I do what my father wants – where does that path lead to? This path you want me to follow! Oh, but I already know, don't I? That 'role in the greater scope of things' you mentioned a few years ago, this is where it begins, isn't it? My time for 'joy' has ended_."

"_Yes,_" said Santi quietly, before he grabbed Julian by the shoulders and embraced him tightly.

Julian could feel the warmth of him, the affection, and also the heart-felt sorrow, as Santi murmured softly into his ear, "_It's also the best path for you, Julian. I've never lied to you, and I'm not lying about this. Do you think you would be happy if you lived for some years longer but Laurent died? Because that's the trade. In all the possibilities that can be, born from the decisions you can make, you always die young, Julian. You never escape your father's grasp, nor the one the Dark Lord will have on you. The only significant difference between all the paths, the only difference that will matter to you, is Laurent's future._"

Julian, who had remained stiff until then, felt his body go limp as he leaned into the embrace and whispered, "_What am I buying for him, then?_"

"_Decades of life. Laurent will live until an old age. And he will be content with his spouse. Not happy, as he was with you, but it will suffice him_."

After that, there was only one possible course of action for him, the one Santi had desired and had known he would take. Julian's bitterness and anger towards his life-long companion, who had been a brother, a father, a friend, a confidant and a mentor, had melted away then, because he had made his choice, willingly, with knowledge of the consequences. For that, he was grateful to Santi. He entered the new path of his life without a blind over his eyes.

And it was thus, and with steely determination, that in the weeks preceding the Championship he trained arduously, and when the tournament commenced, he performed brilliantly.

He won, becoming the youngest European Dueling Champion in several centuries, and the only satisfaction he got wasn't born from his sudden fame throughout the wizarding newspapers of Europe, or from his parents' praises, congratulations and evident pride in him, but from knowing he was embarking on the best possible path, not for 'everyone involved', not for 'the greater good', but for Laurent.

The two months after the Championship and before their graduation from Beauxbatons, he lived them to the fullest with his lover, with unrestrained passion, with exultant freedom and joy for life, becoming so wrapped up in Laurent's warmth, devotion, and love, that Julian felt he would carry it with him when he was gone.

Though, he didn't breathe a word of his plans to Laurent. How could he explain, when he couldn't tell about Santi? And how would his lover understand without that explanation? So he preferred to leave Laurent in the dark, knowing that it was for the best.

His parents didn't attend his graduation ceremony, his father being too occupied with family business and with tasks for the Dark Lord, his mother with social obligations that would further their family's clout and connections much more than being present in her son's celebration of the end of a school career.

"_Have pictures taken for the newspapers_," was the only thing required of him. He had understood, but furthermore, he hadn't felt their lack of presence.

Laurent's whole family had attended and he had always felt part of them, so welcoming they were. Even Aurora Bones – Laurent's mother's sister – and her family had portkeyed in, especially for the occasion.

Julian had met the curly blonde witch several times before, when she had been visiting the Didiers at the same time that Julian spent one of the holidays with them. He had always liked her -friendly and kind as she was- even when he was aware of her position in the English wizarding government, as Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic.

Furthermore, Beauxbatons had been graced with the presence of an honored guest. Though seeing Albus Dumbledore around the school was not something very surprising. Gossip about the many times Dumbledore visited the school, and the reason for it, had become stuff of legend. Many students had witnessed it in different years, and Julian himself had seen it with his own eyes.

Once, when he had been walking down a corridor near the teachers' quarters, he had caught sight of Albus Dumbledore knocking on the door of their Care of Magical Creatures Professor. The door was yanked open, and in the second that it took for Professor Aberforth Dumbledore to see who it was on the other side, the door was already being slammed shut on the older brother's face, without a word spoken.

After Santi's revelation pertaining to Albus Dumbledore's past, the scene had made much sense, and Julian had felt a surge of pity and compassion for the man, standing there, unwanted and unforgiven by his own brother. It couldn't be an easy thing, to lose a sister because of a lover and one's own mistake.

As much as he felt certain empathy towards the wizard, however, he hadn't expected what would come from that day.

After the ceremony, he had been celebrating on the splendorous gardens of Beauxbatons, with his school friends and Laurent's extended family.

His lover was good-naturedly teasing him, which always seemed to be Laurent's version of the beginning of publicly acceptable foreplay.

"_Oh, look at you, mon cher_," Laurent was whispering into his ear in a silky French, "_so dashing in your primp formal pureblood robes, looking so proper – the good little Erlichmann Heir_." He let out a soft rumble of a chuckle. "_I want to devour you and mess you up, Julién – so tempting._" And with that, he playfully bit into the crook of Julian's neck, swirling a tongue along for full measure.

Julian could only chuckle and tilt his neck to a side to grant more access. He saw the scandalized looks they were gathering from parents and grandparents of some of the students, and it only made it all the more enjoyable.

In complete contrast with Julian, Laurent's style was eclectic, which was all the rage in Beauxbaton's subculture of the tight-knit group of students who called themselves the 'liberal thinkers', which Laurent belonged to and exemplified with utter disorderly perfection: his clothes a mesh of colorful gypsy drabs, accented with wizarding fashion here and there, his fingers, and even cheeks most of times, displaying small splats of paint, and with a muggle cigarette hanging from his lips or between his fingers, which had become very avant-garde and a symbol and statement against the 'stuck-up' generation of their parents and forefathers and their pureblood ideals.

With his broad shoulders, tall frame, sun-tanned skin, hazel eyes and shoulder-length wavy dark blonde hair, which he wore tied by the nape, Laurent was a pleasure to behold. Even his atrocious German and heavily accented English made Laurent charming, in Julian's view, and it always made him smile, besotted.

After Laurent had nibbled his way from the base of Julian's neck to his ear, lingering for some time on the lobe, he snapped his head away, looking thoroughly satisfied, and then called out to a passing by house-elf carrying a tray filled with hors d'oeuvres and flutes of French champagne. He took charge of distributing the flutes among the members of his family, to then raise his into the air.

"_A salut! To my lover, Julién, the top student of our year, the youngest European Dueling Champion in so and so many centuries, and the winner of Beauxbaton's Award of Magical Excellence, and etcetera, etcetera, because I lost count of all his awards during the ceremony_!" Laurent winked at Julian and rakishly grinned. "_How many were there, mon cher?_"

Julian smiled at him, as he shrugged. "_I didn't count them either – just gave them to a house-elf with orders to stuff them in my trunk_."

"_That's the spirit!_" chortled Laurent, bobbing his flute high in the air. "_To Julién - Salut!_"

"_Salut!_" cheered the Didiers and extended family, before they all bent elbow and drunk their champagne in one fell swoop.

Julian was then pulled into an tight embrace as Laurent kissed him smack on the lips, which grew into a full-blown sensual experience with caressing tongues, the lingering taste of Laurent's muggle cigarettes which Julian had come to love, and the shared slight sweetness of French champagne.

Given the strict German upbringing of his childhood, it had taken Julian some time to get used to his lover's exuberance and utter flaunting disregard of all rules of propriety. But it had been precisely that freedom of spirit that had first drawn him to his best friend-turned-lover.

When Laurent had been satisfied, the French wizard had slightly pulled apart to whisper softly in Julian's ear, "_Je t'adore, mon coeur_." And then he had proceeded to pass him along his family and relatives, who congratulated Julian, kissed him on both cheeks and gave him little tokens and gifts, making him feel deeply touched.

The last one was Aurora Bones, who stuck to a traditional English greeting and skipped the kissing on the cheeks, though she did give him a loose hug before patting him on the back.

She didn't release him immediately, however. Instead she leaned forward and murmured, "I would like to speak to you in private, Julian." Then she snapped her head up and waved someone over. "Oh, there he comes."

Julian caught sight of bright magenta robes and saw Albus Dumbledore making his way towards them, briefly pausing here and there to amiably greet acquaintances.

"I have heard much about you, Mr. Erlichmann," said Dumbledore the moment he finally reached them. "It's a true pleasure to finally meet you."

Julian shook the wizard's hand, as he shot the pair a speculative glance. "It's my pleasure too, Mr. Dumbledore."

They exchanged so more polite pleasantries, giving each other leave to be addressed by their first names, before Dumbledore said quietly, "Perhaps we should carry any further conversation to a more private setting. If you will, Julian?"

Casting him a quizzical glance, Julian nodded and started following the pair back to the Palace of Beauxbatons.

They were suddenly waylaid by Laurent, who seemed to have popped from thin air to scowl at his aunt, as he said in a heavily accented English, "And w'ere meeght you be going?"

"We would like to discuss certain things with Julian," retorted Aurora Bones firmly, "in private."

"Wiz Julién, and wizout me? I zink not," said Laurent sharply, instantly looping an arm over Julian's shoulders, as some sort of pointed statement.

Julian felt an undercurrent of tension between nephew and aunt that he couldn't quite decipher, as his gaze turned from one to the other.

"You're most welcome to join us, Mr. Didier," said Dumbledore diplomatically.

"A very wize concezzion from your part, Mr. Dumbledoor," quipped Laurent curtly.

And so the four of them entered Beauxbatons and chose an empty classroom for their impromptu meeting.

Julian was not all that surprised to see Santi already there, having known what would happen and where they would be. He was silent, shimmering as he leaned against a wall, his milky eyes flickering between Julian and Dumbledore.

"I 'ope zis is not what I'm theenking, Aunt," remarked Laurent sternly as he pulled a chair out for Julian and then perched himself on one of the armrests, like some imposing and protective shield-wall. "I told you I didn't vant you to recrute 'im."

Julian arched an eyebrow at that. "Recruit me?"

"Oui!" said Laurent crisply. "Last yeer Aunt Au'o'a started askeeng me very probing questions about you and your fameely, Julién. Of courze, I told her nozing!" He then pointed an accusing finger at his aunt. "I knew vhat she waz sniffing after, and I told 'er in no unzertain terms to back off!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat as he steepled his fingers over the table. "Mr. Didier, we mean no harm to your friend-"

"My lover!" snapped Laurent, glowering at the wizard. "Julién iz my lover, not just my freend. And you do mean 'im 'arm." He gestured at Aurora Bones and Dumbledore, as he turned around to gaze at Julian. "Zey want to recrute you for zis Order of ze Phoenix zey 'ave back in England." He let out a mocking scoff. "Zey're a bunch of Brits zat believe ze new German Minister of Magic iz a Dark Lord!"

Julian stared back at his lover at that, and Laurent's piercing hazel gaze spoke volumes to him. Of course, Laurent was well aware of the truth that the rest of Europe refused to even entertain. He had told him about his family and their involvement with Grindelwald. Laurent knew that the wizard was indeed a Dark Lord, though evidently, his lover didn't want him to admit that before Dumbledore and Aurora Bones.

Shaking his head at Laurent, Julian glanced back at Dumbledore, and said quietly, "I see. Let's not beat around the bush, then. You know my father is one of the Dark Lord's Haupte Kommandaten."

"We do," said Dumbledore, before his expression turned grave. "We had a spy in Grindelwald's middle ranks. He was found out and killed. However, just before it, he was able to send a brief communiqué to me, where he divulged your father's plans for you."

"Wat plans?" demanded Laurent sharply.

Ignoring his lover's outburst, Julian stared fixedly at Dumbledore, as he intoned carefully, "Are you aware of all that it entails?"

"I am," replied Dumbledore softly.

Julian knew it exactly at that moment, when Aurora Bones shot Dumbledore a quizzical glance, while Dumbledore's bespectacled gaze was studying his features closely, a strange expression on the wizard's face - recognition, sadness, pain, but also a firm determination.

Julian exhaled slowly. Yes, Dumbledore knew that they looked alike, and that it was precisely this fact that his own father wanted to exploit, hoping that Grindelwald would fall for it and desire him as a lover. And apparently, given Mrs. Bones' nonplussed expression at that very moment, Dumbledore was keeping that little tidbit for himself.

Of course, neither he or Dumbledore were about to say it openly, so Julian merely nodded, as he said smoothly, "Yes, my father wants me to become Grindelwald's follower."

Laurent's head snapped around so fast that Julian was certain it must have hurt.

"I beg your pa'don?" said Laurent, bristling as he skewered his lover with an angered gaze. "And you refuzed, non?"

"I accepted," said Julian quietly.

"Wat?" snapped Laurent as he stood up to his feet, looking furious. "Wat about Italy? Wat about our plans? Wat about Florenze and Vienna? We've been planneeng it for ages!"

Julian couldn't look at him, so he merely shook his head.

At that, Laurent was quick to swirl around, glaring and pointing an accusing finger at his aunt and Dumbledore. "Zis is all your fault! Au'o'a, I told you neve' to approach 'im-"

"You want me to become your spy, yes?" interrupted Julian, staring straight at Dumbledore.

The wizard slowly nodded at him. "We greatly require your help. As an Erlichmann, you will not be suspected and will have access to Grindelwald himself and his plans." Dumbledore peered at him from the top of his half-moon spectacles. "If you agree to become our spy, we will prepare you for your role, and give you assistance and protection-"

"I must think about this, for a moment," interjected Julian as he rose to his feet, briefly shooting Santi a pointed glance.

The moment Laurent instantly came to his side, with every intention to follow, Julian was quick to say gently, "Alone. I will not be long."

And with that, he left his lover behind, soon hearing Laurent's voice rising and speaking in a furious, fast French as he railed at Dumbledore and his aunt.

Chuckling with fondness under his breath, Julian walked along a corridor, with a silent Santi floating by his side, until he reached the nearest bathroom.

His warm smile faded then, as he opened a faucet and splashed water on his face, to then stare at his own image in the mirror before him.

'Boyishly handsome' is what people had always said about his looks, with his big sky blue eyes and short auburn hair that curled charmingly at the ends. But he saw it clearly: even without the signs of slight age, the crooked, broken nose, and the long hair and beard of Dumbledore, he did look uncannily like the wizard - a young, fresh, new version.

Julian closed his eyes for a brief moment, sighing wearily, before he glanced at Santi, who was silently observing him.

"_You knew this would happen_," whispered Julian, gazing at him intently. "_You didn't tell me the whole truth about what my 'role in the greater scope of things' would be. Not only Grindelwald's lover, but also a spy for Dumbledore and thus a traitor to my own family._" His blue eyes narrowed, as he demanded sharply, "_What is it that I'm buying now?_"

Santi shot him a quizzical glance at that, and Julian gritted out impatiently, "_By following my father's wishes and becoming the Dark Lord's lover, you said I would be saving Laurent. So by becoming Dumbledore's spy, what will I be winning?_"

"_You'll save lives-_" began Santi softly.

"_Lives of strangers, no doubt!_" bit out Julian irritably. "_I'm not altruistic – that's not enough for me!_"

Santi stared at him fixedly, before he said in a murmur, "_You will help Harry._"

"_Harry_," Julian breathed out, startled, before he chuckled wryly under his breath. "_Of course. Your 'Harry', my 'Harry'. My actions as a spy will help him, then._" He shook his head, rubbing his face before he exhaled softly. "_Isn't it strange? All my life I've been hearing about him from you, yet you've never told me anything that is relevant about 'Harry'. Who is he, really, why is he so important, I've asked you, and you've never said._"

He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as he murmured, "_I've never seen him, never met him, and yet, I feel close to him. It is as if we were strangely connected – I feel it, somehow._" He shook his head slowly, before he opened his eyes and skewered Santi with his gaze. "_I _want_ to know him, to be in his life, to be his 'friend', as I wished when I was a child, to aid him, to know he's safe, to know he's happy, to know he'll have a good life and I'll be in it. And yet, you told me long ago, that I wouldn't be in his life. So why do I care for him?_"

He arched an eyebrow at Santi, before he asked poignantly, "_That was your reason for filling my mind with thoughts of him since I was a toddler, was it not?_" He gestured jerkily at his chest, at his head. "_To create this 'connection' to him, that I feel._"

"_Connection?_" muttered Santi, eyeing him weirdly, before he shook his head and added quietly, "_I have done nothing to create this connection you speak of_." An expression of pensive wonder spread on his shimmering face, as he said slowly, "_But I think I might know what it could be. Through Time, sometimes I've observed how two people, whose actions greatly impact each others' lives, become bonded in a way, in a relation of cause and effect, no matter the distance, no matter if they're acquainted or not-_"

"_I've heard about that before_," interjected Julian, frowning. "_Theories about the interlinkage among souls, of wizards and witches and magical beings. Do you believe it?_"

"_Perhaps,_" said Santi hesitantly.

Julian stared at his life-companion, and pressed on sternly, "_Does Harry feel it, the way I do?_"

Santi let out a heavy sigh. "_If it does exist, if it's true, then he might, probably without realizing what it is – yet unwittingly following what it makes him desire_." He glanced at Julian, and added quietly, "_He is very sensitive to Magic, more than he should be by innate nature. Yet, at this point, I only know that he will think of you frequently, and that once, he will even save your life, by preventing someone from disclosing to Grindelwald your role as a spy_."

"_I see_," muttered Julian under his breath, before he pinned Santi with a speculative glance. "_Will I also be saving Harry's life by being Dumbledore's spy?_"

"_No_," replied Santi shortly, before his voice turned gentle, as he added, "_But you will save a group of people who in return will meet Harry, veering him into a path he must take._"

"_What path?_" demanded Julian, feeling a sudden frisson of perturbed worry.

"_Answers to many of your questions are awaiting you at Nurmengard_," said Santi sternly. "_I cannot tell you. You must discover things on your own, at your own time_."

"_You always say that_," mumbled Julian, disgruntled.

In the next second, he squared his shoulders and briefly stared at his own reflection in the mirror, before he said curtly, "_Very well, I'll tell Dumbledore what he wants to hear. But I will not truly be his spy until I determine that it's the best thing to do_."

Without a second glance at Santi, he strode out of the bathroom. Soon reaching the classroom where the others awaited him, he yanked the door open and said tersely, "I'll do it. I'll be your spy."

Utter chaos ensued after his statement, since Laurent proved to be intractable.

It was Dumbledore who finally rose to his feet and wisely put an end to it, saying courteously, "It's clear you have much to discuss between you in private."

He shook Julian's hand, as he added, "You have my gratitude for hearing our request. We'll be waiting for your decision. You can send Aurora an owl with your answer. If it's favorable, we'll meet again shortly and we'll prepare you."

The two weeks that followed that day were not spent how Julian had initially planned. He and Laurent had stayed in the Didier's summer cottage in Nice, and instead of ardently and passionately making love to each other, they spent it in heated arguments, with Laurent yelling at him, dramatically slamming doors, and hurling vases against walls.

It was just two nights before the day in which Julian had been ordered by his father to return to Germany, that Laurent finally crept into their shared bed.

Julian had stiffened at first, thinking he was going to be yelled at some more, but his lover then hugged him tightly from the back, caressing his curls of hair and pressing soft, yearning kisses along his neck, as he whispered in a quiet French, "_I don't want to lose you. So I will accept this. Even though I hate it and fear for you._"

Aurora Bones was contacted the morning after and soon they had her and Dumbledore flooing directly into their cottage.

"If Julién iz doing zis," Laurent said warningly the instant the pair stepped into the parlor, "I vant to be involved."

Mrs. Bones and Dumbledore shared a glance, and Julian knew they had anticipated that much and that it satisfied them greatly.

"These are Bones heirlooms that will prove quite useful," said Aurora as she handed a pair of beautiful crystal figurines in the shape of doves, one for Julian, the other for Laurent. She then glanced at her nephew, as she added sternly, "You must go to Florence and apprentice under Migliani, as you had planned." She gestured at the doves in their hands, as she continued, "Through these, Julian can send you letters and even flasks with his memories, of things he sees, battle plans he finds and such…"

She demonstrated by conjuring a piece of rolled parchment and an empty vial. Muttering an incantation at one of the doves, it opened its beak and swallowed the parchment and flask, only for them to float out of the beak of the twin dove in the next second, both objects then gently landing on the table.

Aurora Bones glanced at Julian. "It will not be suspicious if you are sending letters to your closest friend of Beauxbatons. You can even say that your dove is Laurent's parting gift to you. Yet, to your reports to us, you will need to charm them with an encryption spell, that will make it look as if you were writing merely about day-to-day anecdotes, innocent narrations not related to your missions as one of Grindelwald's followers. Then, from Florence, Laurent will send your letters and flasks by owl to me."

She proceeded to teach them the incantation for the doves, and to Julian, as well, the encryption spell. Of course, Laurent was quick to demand to know it too.

Fortunately, Dumbledore had firmly refused. Julian certainly didn't want Laurent to ever hear anything about him becoming the Dark Lord's lover.

After that, Julian and Dumbledore had spent the rest of the day alone, as the wizard taught him many spells that would aid him in his spying activities, whilst giving him instructions on the issues he wanted to know most about.

It was clear what Julian's main mission was: study the powerful wards of Nurmengard, report on their characteristics so that Dumbledore would find spells to disable them, at which point, Julian would receive detailed instructions of how to bring the wards down so that certain prisoners in the dungeons could make their escape with Julian's aid.

"The day you free them," Dumbledore had said before he left the cottage, "you must come to Hogwarts, Julian. Laurent will be alerted and he will be waiting for you there. I'll make sure you're both protected so that you may carry on with your lives without fear of Grindelwald's vengeance."

Julian nodded, even when he knew it would never come to happen. And then, something just made him say the next words. Perhaps he wanted some tacit acknowledgement from Dumbledore, for the wizard to reveal that he knew exactly what he was sending Julian to do - what he would be for the Dark Lord, if his father was right.

"Gellert, not 'Grindelwald'," he murmured quietly, piercing Dumbledore with his gaze. "He's Gellert to you, is he not?"

Dumbledore started, looking momentarily taken aback, before he stared at him fixedly and gave him a long, considering look.

"He _was_ Gellert to me, a long time ago," Dumbledore said at last, his voice turning soft and gentle, as he added with a hint of worry, "Do not let him be Gellert to you, my boy."

Those were the last words Julian would ever hear from Dumbledore in person. It was the last time he ever saw him.

The last day, when he parted from Laurent, was very hard for him. Santi had insisted he should break it off before leaving for Germany, but Julian hadn't been able to do it.

He preferred his own way of letting Laurent know their relationship was over: at some point, he would just send reports and flasks of his memories through the dove, not personal letters to Laurent. His lover would understand what it meant but he would be in Florence, unable to do anything about it. After all, someone who wasn't Grindelwald's follower couldn't find Nurmengard.

"_He could end up doing something foolish_," Santi had insisted sternly, "_if he suddenly stops receiving letters from you._"

"_If I tell him now that my father intends to make me the Dark Lord's lover_," interjected Julian tiredly, "_he _will_ do something foolish. I know him. He'll just kidnap me and take me to some remote corner of the world and my father will find us – you're the one who warned me about it!_" He then shot him a demanding glance. "_Do you know for a fact that Laurent will do something dangerous that might get him killed?_"

"_No_," Santi grudgingly admitted. "_Yet I still think_-"

"_Enough said, then_."

Armed with valor and determination, Julian finally returned to his country of birth. His parents received him just as he had expected, going straight to business, instructing him what he should say and how he should behave when he was presented to Grindelwald, what robes he would wear, what platitudes and praises to speak.

Three days later, his eighteenth birthday was celebrated which much pomp in the Erlichmann's ancestral and palatial estate amidst the dense forests and peaking mountains near the German border with Austria.

La crème de la crème of dark wizarding society of Europe were invited, with the 'German Minister of Magic' as the guest of honor, of course.

However, Julian hadn't been prepared for the encounter.


	24. Part I: Chapter 23

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N:

Thanks to all of those who reviewed!

And thanks to the reader who warned me that chapter 22 was chapter 21 repeated. I already fixed it and it's back to being the real chapter 22. ^^

I'll be answering reviews in the A/N of the next chapter, which I hope to post in a few days.

Also, I know that some of you don't like polls, but I still like them very much as a way of knowing your opinions. Polls are much easier and quick to answer than writing full reviews, so I've always thought it was a convenient thing for readers. And don't fear about the results of polls making me change the story in ways I don't want. In the end, I'll always write what I feel is right for the plot and characters, but your opinions are always very highly valued. So I'll be doing some polling in future chapters.

**Warning:** There are some gruesome, sickening, harsh scenes in this chapter. Do skip them if that sort of thing is too much. I'm not going to be gentle with sensibilities in this fic because, well, it's going to deal with nasty stuff, inevitably, given the era it's taking place in.

**Note:** This chapter is all Julian Erlichmann. Just to let you know beforehand and prevent peeved grumblings from Harry/Tom enthusiasts, lol.

**New Pics:** In my Yahoo Group, in the folder for this fic, I've uploaded 3 wonderful fanart pics made by Skarp – thanks so very much, I love them!

As always, all languages that aren't English are in Italics.

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**Part I: Chapter 23**

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During his years in Beauxbatons, Julian had seen pictures of Grindelwald in the newspapers, of course. And he had faint, vague recollections about the man, from when he had been a child and Grindelwald had visited his father in their home.

Seeing him in person, when he himself was an adult wizard who had already experienced attraction to his own kind and knew the pleasures of the flesh, was quite a different matter.

In the midst of his birthday celebration, his father had waved him over. And Julian had seen him standing next to Grindelwald, with a large crowd surrounding them with adoring, enchanted, servile, greedy, or sycophantic expressions on their faces, as they listened avidly to the Dark Lord's every word.

His father had whispered something in the Dark Lord's ear and the wizard's hazel eyes had flickered to him. Julian had almost halted in his steps as he made his way towards them.

Grindelwald's hawk-like gaze had roamed along his body to end up studying his face. And Julian saw it then, in the Dark Lord's hazel eyes: a glint of surprise and startled recognition, as if the wizard was beholding a ghost. The glint turned into one of interest, which quickly became a hungry, covetous spark as Grindelwald kept staring at his face.

Just mere feet from the man, Julian had suddenly felt something very potently, and he had shivered with unwanted pleasure.

Santi had abruptly shimmered into existence right by his side, as he whispered urgently in German, "_You're very sensitive to Dark Magic, as you already know. That's his power and magical core you're feeling. Don't let it ensnare you_."

It was a moot point. Julian hadn't been able to help himself. He had exhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing, as he finally stood before the Dark Lord, under the wizard's piercing gaze.

His father had made the proper formal introductions and Grindelwald had soon taken Julian by the arm, gently escorting him to a more secluded corner of the vast, elegant ballroom.

"_I've heard many great things about you, from your father_," had intoned Grindelwald softly, his hazel eyes still fixed on his features, closely roving over them. "_And I have read much about you when you won the European Dueling Championship. I congratulate you, Julian. Such a great accomplishment for one as young as you_."

With something stuck in his throat, Julian had only nodded jerkily, feeling like an utter fool. Yet the evening had soon become something out of a dream.

Like in one of those romantic novels that some of his female friends in Beauxbatons had gushed about, Julian had found himself the object of much charming gallantry, softly spoken praises, and admiring, passionate looks. He had been heavily courted. Grindelwald certainly didn't waste any time in obtaining something he desired.

The wizard had even asked him to show him the 'splendorous, famed gardens of the Erlichmann estate'. And as Julian complied and meandered along the charming, pebbled paths along ponds, fountains and statues, being gallantly carried by the arm by Grindelwald, he had seen his parents gazing at them from the arched windows of the ballroom, glowing with pride and satisfaction, as they whispered to one another.

In his parents' view, the evening was a complete success. Grindelwald had asked them for permission to induct him in his ranks. Moreover, Julian was given private chambers in Nurmengard Tower itself, right next to Grindelwald's. Not much subtlety there, though the Dark Lord didn't press the matter after that. He had taken his time.

Julian began by being just one more follower, though he was initiated right into the mid-level ranks. However, he had been unprepared for Grindelwald's courting tactics.

He had thought he would have to deal with an imposing, dominant man, who took what he wanted and demanded obeisance in all aspects. After all, Grindelwald was the Dark Lord and Julian just a lackey; if the man wanted to take him to bed, Julian could only comply.

He should have known better. Grindelwald's debonair air and suave, charming and gallant ways were legendary. In the first year as the man's follower, the wizard never made any sexual overtures towards him, never pressured or coerced him in any way.

Instead, there were heated, desireful glances now and then, soft pats on the shoulder, brief caresses along an arm or knee that seemed nothing more than accidentally lingering touches. It was done so artfully and subtly that for many months Julian wasn't quite sure if he was interpreting the situation correctly.

Furthermore, Grindelwald was quick to exploit Julian's weaknesses: the man enthralled him with his vastly superior knowledge, sharing such with him as well as life stories and personal experiences, with trusting openness; giving Julian precious and unique tomes of books to read from his own personal collection; feeding Julian's own need for affection and attention by becoming his mentor in the Dark Arts, by teaching him such powerful dark rituals and spells that Julian had never even imagined he could come to know or master; by openly praising Julian's magical abilities and encouraging more excellence from him; and ultimately, by showing interest in the things that Julian loved the most.

Countless evenings Grindelwald made Julian sing and play his magic flute for him, alone in Grindelwald's chambers, only illuminated by the fireplace and few candles, infusing the rooms in a cozy, intimate ambiance. The Dark Lord always showed true, honest enjoyment and his praises were candid as he encouraged Julian to keep practicing his art in his spare time.

Julian was aware of such manipulations, such as Grindelwald purposely showering on him the affection his own father had not when he had been a child, yet he was unable to make himself care about it.

The trap was set and Julian ended up willingly stepping into it. Grindelwald never initiated the intimate aspect of their relationship. It had been Julian who, one night after a session of flute-playing, had stood up to then lean forward to tentatively press a soft kiss on the seated wizard's lips. Grindelwald hadn't moved and had allowed Julian to slowly and hesitantly take control, as his exploring touches turned into caresses and then passionate grabs.

It was what was ultimately expected of him, after all, but not only that, it was what he had truly desired as well, like a hungry need that had grown to an unbearable level and had to be quenched.

Yet the first six months of his intimate relationship with the wizard had been torturous at best. It was as if a dam had been broken the moment Julian initiated the sexual aspect of their relationship and Grindelwald hadn't repressed himself any longer; there was no affection in it, but lust, hunger, and anger.

Julian was well aware that in those months he wasn't being seen.

The love that the Dark Lord held for Albus Dumbledore, who was now clearly an enemy, was something Julian came to slowly understand in those months. It was a twisted thing, fueled by hurt, longing, need, and obsession, but also, fury and hatred due to a perceived betrayal. All of that was unleashed on Julian, as Grindelwald became brutal when he took him, clawed at him and bit down on his shoulder as he released deep inside Julian with punishing thrusts, inaudibly groaning out "Albus" instead of Julian's name.

With shuddering effort, he made himself bear it and was nothing if not pliant and never said a word against it, though those feelings that had started to blossom during the gentle 'courting stage' had been stumped.

It was also then when he sometimes came to truly despise Albus Dumbledore, when Grindelwald's hazel eyes turned clouded and hazed, unfocused as if lost in a memory, in those moments when he violently subdued Julian in bed and used him as a substitute to dole out his punishment.

It was in his second year as Grindelwald's follower, when he rose to the highest ranks as he proved himself invaluable to the Dark Lord, as he excelled in everything Grindelwald taught him, as his input in planning meetings were listened to and seriously considered, as he broke the six-month mark of being the Dark Lord's lover against all expectations and followers started whispering about him, enviously, angrily, or with some admiration, that things slowly started to change.

Julian could never pinpoint when it actually happened, but one day the glances Grindelwald shot him were not just heated and lustful, but became thoughtful stares.

And in the days in which they spent much time together out of bed, it wasn't only Julian enjoying the man's company and words, but the other way around as well: Grindelwald's lips began to hitch upwards now and then, or the man started to outright laugh and chortle at some witty quip Julian made, or his hazel eyes brightened at the sight of him, or a blissful expression of true enjoyment spread on the man's handsome face as he relaxed and fell into a placid slumber as Julian played the flute for him.

It was then that when Grindelwald looked at him, Julian realized the wizard was truly seeing him, for the first time. He would catch an expression of wonder briefly crossing the man's handsome features, or a softening look in the hazel eyes as their encounters in bed stopped being brutal, and tender, affectionate caresses began to be involved.

The night when Grindelwald groaned out Julian's name instead of Albus', an unwanted feeling surged in him due to it, of joy, gratefulness, and of sheer longing need being finally satisfied. It was then when Julian realized his downfall had begun, since the Dark Lord became 'Gellert' in his mind.

"_You're a gem_," Gellert would softly murmur into Julian's ear as they laid satiated in bed, their limbs entangled with each other's. The first time the wizard said it, his tone of voice sounded a bit perplexed and awe-struck, as if wondering at his own developing sentiments.

It soon became Gellert's affectionate pet name for him when they were alone - 'mein Edelstein', 'my gem'- and Julian's insides would twist and recoil when hearing it because it always made him rejoice, much against his will and better judgment.

The situation became worse when Gellert proved to be too understanding of Julian's nature, accepting it and seemingly cherishing him all the more for it.

Indeed, it caught Julian unawares one day, just like in many others, when Grindelwald had accompanied him down to the dungeons to observe how Julian put into practice all the dark curses the Dark Lord had been teaching him.

"_You don't enjoy causing pain_," suddenly said Gellert quietly, when the prisoner Julian had been subjecting to a curse finally stopped screaming and fell into unconsciousness.

Julian stiffened at that, lowering his wand, being unable to stop his hand from shaking at the frisson of fear that spread through him.

From the first day when Grindelwald had showed him the dungeons, Julian had done his best not to show abhorrence on his face when seeing the heart-wrenching state of the prisoners: skeletal, starved, gazing out with dull eyes, looking lifeless whilst cramped in horrid, fetid tiny cells, lying among their own waste.

They were the people Dumbledore wanted Julian to save, after all. The Jews that had been disappearing from both the Wizarding and Muggle World for the last few years, and who had clearly been tortured in all possible ways.

It was an unbearable sight for him, but Julian had been very careful to never allow his face to show his true reaction to it.

With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, Grindelwald mended the ripped ribcage of the unconscious prisoner.

Julian swallowed thickly and stood still as the wizard turned around to gaze at him, half-expecting he would be punished for not being cold-blooded enough.

A pensive expression spread on Gellert's face as he regarded Julian closely, as if trying to puzzle out the intricacies of some strange, fascinating being. "_You take pleasure in the Dark Arts themselves, which stands to reason given you're naturally talented in them, yet you don't take pleasure in using them for torture_."

Julian remained still in wary silence, not quite sure where the remarks were going to lead.

"_It's something quite unusual in a dark wizard of your caliber and bloodline_," continued Grindelwald, now looking half amused, half exasperated, a glint of tickled fondness shining in his hawk-like eyes as his lips quirked upwards. "_The feeling of such power over others calls to all of us of our kind, though clearly not to you._"

Taking hold of Julian's left hand, the wizard brought it up to his face and brushed his lips against the knuckles in a soft, gallant kiss, gently dropping it as he said musingly, "_It's another unexpected little thing about you that I find strangely compelling._"

Flabbergasted, Julian merely stared back at him, his sky blue eyes growing big.

Gellert chortled loudly, as he trailed a caress down Julian's cheek. "_I do like the look on your face when I don't act like the big, bad Dark Lord you surely expected me to be_."

And with that, and a jaunty wink, the wizard turned around and started to amble his way out of the dungeons, not pausing as he added over his shoulder as an afterthought and lofty warning, "_It doesn't mean, mein Edelstein, that I give you leave to quit your practice sessions with the prisoners. Carry on without me and let their screams sing to me as I make my way up_."

A bit numbed, partly relieved, partly disturbed, Julian obeyed instantly.

It was shortly after that that he noticed how his status among the ranks changed. No longer did other followers whisper nastily behind his back, calling him the Dark Lord's whore or boy-toy. The cleverer, who realized how the tides were flowing, treated him with much respect and calculating amiability, not only for being the son of Egon Erlichmann but also the Dark Lord's 'favorite', as became his unofficial title, since he was too young to be part of the Haupte Kommandanten and certainly didn't have enough clout and experience to substitute the vaunted Konrad Von Krauss as Grindelwald's Right Hand.

His ascendancy was clear when Grindelwald started to take him along with him everywhere.

In the meetings in the Reichstag, before Herr Hitler and his cronies, he was introduced as Grindelwald's personal secretary. After all, to those muggles, Grindelwald was a wealthy industrialist and fervent nationalist, owner of countless factories that were producing airplane and submarine parts, artillery and guns.

Grindelwald was accepted into their group in an advisory capacity, though it was obvious to Julian that quite a bit of mind-nudging and compels took place often with a surreptitious flick of the Dark Lord's wand, since the muggles always ended up doing what Grindelwald suggested. Just as he was certain that the moment the top tier of Nazi hierarchy stopped being useful, they would all be swiftly obliviated.

The Dark Lord's growing affection for him became evident, as well, in the trust the wizard started to bestow upon him.

This became clear the day that Gellert handed to him a thick pile of old, yellowed parchments, as he pierced him with his hawk-like gaze and intoned gravely, "_Only Konrad knows about this, and now you_."

Julian had a full week of sleepless nights, all his candles burning out to be left as nothing more than melted wax, as he submerged himself in the research that Ulrich Von Krauss had so long ago pieced together.

His father had always told him that Ulrich Von Krauss had been an utter fool, pathetically pinning after Grindelwald since they were young boys in Durmstrang, following the man in their decades spent in travels whilst spending every last knut of the Von Krauss's once formidable fortune, and even being stupid enough to sign a marital contract for his heir without realizing the trap in it.

After all, it was common knowledge and source of much derision that the family of Konrad Von Krauss's wife had tricked them. The fortune Ludmilla had inherited from her wealthy Russian family had not gone to replenish the Von Krauss's empty coffers, as traditionally happened with the riches of married witches, but rather, Konrad's wife still held complete control over her fortune, only to pass it down to her daughter when the time came.

Ulrich Von Krauss had left nothing to his son except numerous estates, the majority of which had become abandoned and dilapidated since Konrad didn't have funds of his own to maintain them.

Nevertheless, utter careless idiot as Ulrich Von Krauss had certainly been in many aspects of his life, it was clear to Julian that the wizard had been a brilliant scholar and historian.

The night he finished reading the wizard's research, Julian was left breathless with wonder, his mind spinning, his blue eyes unfocused and wide.

It was a loud clearing of a throat that yanked Julian from his absorption. He blinked as he glanced at Santi, who was shimmering and standing right next to the desk, gazing down at him with an expectant expression on his face.

"_So now you know_," said Santi jovially, when Julian remained mute.

Julian stared at him before his gaze swiveled back to the stack of parchments, his voice hoarse as he croaked out, "_Is it all true?_"

"_It is,_" replied Santi, humming contently under his breath as he perched himself on the edge of the desk.

In that instant, Julian abruptly became agitated and frenzied with fear, and he gestured wildly at Ulrich Von Krauss' research. "_Why would Gellert want me to know so much? I don't want to know this! It's dangerous information!"_

His earlier missions during his first year as a follower had been to go through the warehouses the Nazis had, filled with the things they had stolen from Jews' homes. They had to detect anything magical in nature and study it carefully in case of traces, clues, and hidden information - anything pertaining to some 'great treasure' the Jews were keeping hidden.

No one in Grindelwald's ranks actually knew what that 'treasure' was, though there was much speculation going around. And he was no fool: he knew what it meant to be the second person, besides the Dark Lord himself, to know about the truth.

A couple of months ago, when he had wanted a more precise time-frame than Santi's usual vague response of "your life will be short", because by wizarding standards a short life could be eighty years old, he had demanded another answer from his life-long companion.

Santi's reply of "you won't live to see your twenty-fifth birthday" had certainly shortened his expectations, though he had been twenty when he had asked, and knowing Santi, it could mean he had just a few months left or perhaps a couple of full years.

Thus, the last thing Julian wanted was to know what the true object of the Dark Lord's Quest was – information that put his already shortened lifespan at risk, clearly.

Julian shakily carded his finger through his short auburn hair, and breathed out frantically, "_Gellert will soon realize what a foolish mistake he made by giving me this and he'll snuff me out like this!_" He snapped his fingers. "_What could have possessed him to trust me with such information!_"

A realization struck him, and he gazed at Santi with wide, fearful eyes. _"It's a test, isn't it? He suspects me. He-"_

"_He doesn't suspect you_," interjected Santi calmly, before he shot him a wide, beaming smile that had a taunting quirk to it. "_You've played your part well and you've made him become very fond of you. Men make stupid mistakes when blinded by affection. A Dark Lord is no exception._"

Julian scowled at him with irritation as he bit out acidly, "_There's no 'affection' and the Dark Lord would certainly not be swayed by something like that-"_

"_No affection, really?"_ interrupted Santi, arching an ethereal eyebrow at him, looking as if he expected Julian to suddenly pour his heart out. _"From neither side? Why, and I was quite certain you had fed each other love potions."_

Not at all amused by Santi's humorous quips, Julian shot him a dirty look and turned away from him, not wanting for a second to think about the maelstrom of conflicting emotions he had been feeling lately.

It was then when Santi's playful expression vanished from his face, turning grave, as he said sharply, _"I told you not to become enthralled by him. I warned you what would happen, and you've utterly disregarded my-"_

"_I have not become 'enthralled'!"_ snapped Julian, spinning around to glare at him. _"I'm not a schoolboy anymore. Stop treating me as such."_

"_By the way you've been acting I would say you are,"_ interjected Santi harshly. _"You think Dumbledore hasn't noticed how your reports have been lacking? How they've become shorter and shorter with each passing week? He already suspects that you have become infatuated with Grindelwald."_

"_My reports are short because I have no more information to give him,"_ gritted out Julian, his posture becoming defensive, utterly ignoring that last accusation.

Nevertheless, in his view, his statement was true. During the first year, he had given Dumbledore every possible detail about the wards of Nurmengard. In that respect there was nothing more he could do.

It was Dumbledore who was working with that information and had already concluded that the wards were too powerful to bring down completely. The wizard had informed him that he was coming up with spells that would momentarily disable the wards for a few minutes – long enough for Julian to use portkeys that would take the Jewish prisoners away from Nurmengard and into the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts.

Moreover, after many months of testing the waters with some followers who didn't seem too firm in their convictions or fanaticism, or who flinched and recoiled from torturing prisoners, he had managed to recruit two as spies for Dumbledore.

Granted, he hadn't dared attempt to recruit one of the Haupte Kommandanten. Instead, one was in the low ranks and the other in the mid, but it would still be two spies he would leave behind when he was no longer around, so he wouldn't be leaving Dumbledore in the dust.

And from all the other discoveries he had made, it had been Santi who had stopped him from informing Dumbledore of the two most important ones.

Indeed, a few months ago when Gellert had started showing him too much trust, and he had become uncomfortable with it, he had been granted access to the other side of the floor from where his quarters and Gellert's were. The Dark Lord had finally allowed him to enter his office.

It had been the subject of much gossip that the Dark Lord had spent much of his time during the past couple of years entrenched in his office, apparently absorbed in a pensieve filled with mysterious memories.

Julian had finally seen it then. Though the night he had used many of the spells Dumbledore had taught him in order to covertly enter the office without detection, Santi had popped into existence the second Julian had aimed his wand at the pensieve.

"_Don't even attempt it,"_ had bit out Santi, angered, alarmed, and panting, as if he had barely made it in time in order to stop him, from wherever Santi went when he wasn't with Julian. _"You don't have the skill or power to break the wards around it without Grindelwald finding out. Let it be."_

Julian had shot him an annoyed look at that. The gossip about the Dark Lord's pensieve was the one rumor he had informed Dumbledore about and of course that Dumbledore's immediate order was to find out what memories it contained.

"_Dumbledore wants to know,"_ Julian had finally interjected tiredly.

"_I bet he does,"_ Santi had remarked wryly. He gestured at the pensieve, as he added coolly, _"Those are the memories that Sybilla Spyros allowed Grindelwald to wrench from her mind after he had gouged her eyes out to turn her into an Oracle. They are the remains of the threads of recollections that weren't savaged by the poison she took to destroy her own mind. They are the things she wanted Grindelwald to know about so that he would act according to her plans. And they are precisely what I never want Dumbledore to know about."_

Julian had stared at him, mouth partly hanging open before he snapped it shut, and breathed out, as he remembered her from so long ago, "_Sybilla Spyros…"_ He had shaken his head slowly, before he inquired with deep curiosity, "_What do the memories show?"_

"_Much,"_ had retorted Santi tersely. "_And I'll tell you soon, but not yet." _

Julian had simply nodded, reconstructed the Dark Lord's wards around the office, and gone back to his quarters, knowing that being patient with Santi always bore the desired results.

The other piece of gossip among the ranks that had also proven to be true was the presence of Anacleto Armonios as a guest of the Dark Lord. Indeed, the infamous creator of the Time-Turner, former Spanish Unspeakable being hunted down around the world by Aurors of several countries, was living right there, across the corridor from Grindelwald's office.

Seeing the man with his own eyes, having confirmation that the rumors were true, had left Julian gobsmacked, wondering what the Dark Lord could possibly want from a wizard with such a despicable reputation.

Furthermore, Santi's reaction had left him even more flabbergasted.

"_Not a word about Armonios to Dumbledore either_," Santi had warned him sharply, spitting out the former Unspeakable's surname as if it was the vilest thing, deep-rooted contempt and hatred clear in his voice.

Never had Julian heard Santi speak about someone in such violent tones, and he had only been able to stare at Santi as his eyebrows shot upwards with disconcert.

The one thing he had written to Dumbledore about was the very same artifact that the Dark Lord himself had proudly shown to him.

The Globe occupied a whole vast corner of Grindelwald's office, and as Julian gazed at the innumerable colorful flames brightly glowing and dotting it, and as Gellert explained to him its function and how it worked, the last surviving glimmer of hope that Julian had been holding had crumbled.

Up until that day, he had still considered the slight possibility that Santi could have been wrong, that perhaps there was truly a way out for him, that perhaps Dumbledore could uphold his end of the bargain and help him escape with Laurent once Julian freed the Jewish prisoners of Nurmengard.

However, in the following days, as he finally found a book in Gellert's library with detailed information about The Globe – 'Obscure and Forgotten Dark Lords and their Inventions' - and when he had read about it and realized he had no way of destroying it, he had finally known that Santi had been right all along, and that he must have been referring to The Globe itself when he had warned Julian so long ago that wherever he fled to, his father and Grindelwald would find him.

Furthermore, he had even gone as far as giving Dumbledore the book title, to see if the wizard could discover something from it that Julian might have overlooked. Dumbledore's response had been grim: they indeed had the book in Hogwarts' Restricted Section but after reading it, he saw no way in which Julian could disable The Globe. The message was clear; Dumbledore himself was powerful enough to do so, if he was in its presence, but not Julian.

To Julian, it felt as if the last door of his cage had been irredeemably slammed shut. Moreover, the news of the existence of such an artifact as The Globe had certainly rattled Dumbledore. The wizard had wanted to know if there was anything that might lead Julian to believe Grindelwald had created any of the other inventions mentioned in other chapters of the book.

Not really knowing what Dumbledore had been inkling at so worriedly, and too despondent and depressed, Julian had merely flipped through the book with little interest, seeing nothing of notice and thus replying to the wizard in the negative.

Casting aside such dour recollections, Julian stared back at the stack of parchments, plopping down on his chair as he tiredly rubbed his face.

At last, he muttered under his breath, "_I can hardly believe it_." He shot Santi a quizzical glance, as he added, "_How much does Dumbledore know about this?_"

"_He can only know what is common knowledge, what can be found in textbooks regarding the subject._"

"_Very little, then_," mused Julian pensively. "_In History of Magic they only told us very briefly the story of how the muggle Jews in Ancient Egypt cherished the muggleborns born in their midst, thinking of them as gifts sent to them by their God. How with their help, they managed to break free from slavery and escape." _

He then gestured briskly at Ulrich Von Krauss's research. _"But the books certainly didn't say anything about how the legend of the Vessel is fact and not just some nonsensical muggle myth. Certainly didn't say that it was really used back then and what for, and again much later in 1692 for the second and last time in history!"_

Julian paused to pierce Santi with wide eyes, as he breathed out haggardly,_ "Are you absolutely sure that all of Von Krauss's speculations are correct?"_

"_Yes," _replied Santi shortly.

Julian didn't question it, and quickly, he flipped through the parchments until he reached the large drawing of a beautiful, complex, intricate symbol he had studied before.

Tapping it with a finger, he muttered under his breath,_ "Beauxbatons' textbooks didn't say anything about these Guardians, either - descendants from those muggle Jews of Ancient Egypt, who have protected their wizards and witches throughout time as they moved from country to country…"_

Julian trailed off, a realization suddenly striking him, and he breathed out, "_This is why Gellert makes his followers take both muggle and wizarding Jews, whole families in fact, and why they are stripped naked the moment they are taken to the cells, every inch of their bodies searched for a 'mark'_." He gestured adamantly at the picture. "_It's this symbol they are unknowingly looking for, because Gellert wants to find one of these Guardians, because he wants to find and use the Vessel._"

He yanked out the very last parchment, and flattened it on top of the desk, as he added anxiously,_ "And look what Von Krauss's conclusions are. In the two times the Vessel was used, its power was never fully unleashed. The first time, it was used correctly, of course, since the Jews themselves created the artifact. They did everything right. The most powerful wizard among them willingly offered himself up –who, according to Von Krauss, was also the only Lord-level wizard of those times. He made the three required sacrifices to fuel the Vessel: magic, life, and body. But the Jews didn't need the Vessel to be fully powered, so they didn't let the sacrifices compound with each other and grow within the artifact for too long. They were cautious and used it just a few months later."_

Julian turned over the parchment and pointed at the next paragraph._ "The second time, in 1692, the Jews heard about the intentions of the International Confederation of Wizards, how they were looking for powerful magical artifacts to protect wizarding kind from the crazed, religious muggles rampaging around the world with their witch hunts. The Guardians contacted the Confederation, revealed the existence of the Vessel and offered the use of it, with the caveat that Jews, both muggle and wizarding, would be wholly spared from the effects of it."_

Pausing to click his tongue scornfully, he then added, "_The Confederation made a complete mess of it. Too scared of the muggles and their sheer numbers, they didn't follow all instructions. Allegedly, there was no Lord-level wizard or witch in existence at the time, and the Confederation didn't dare wait for one. They chose three wizards, each to give one of the sacrifices into the Vessel. Obviously, the power unleashed from the Vessel was too feeble, it didn't fully work. So the Confederation had no other resort than to come up with the Statute of Secrecy, just laws that are hardly effective…"_

He trailed off, shaking his head bemusedly. He had always wondered why the Jews were the only ones exempted from the Statute of Secrecy. Most believed it had been an oversight.

Even Grindelwald, the few times the wizard had been confronted about the issue by other Ministers of Magic, used the excuse that it wasn't legal for the Jews to not be bounded by those laws as a reason to justify why he was 'imprisoning' Jews in his country.

Yet Grindelwald knew the truth, just as Julian did right then. It was owed to the Jews since they had allowed the use of the Vessel. That it hadn't gone as expected had been the fault of the International Confederation of Wizards, yet they still had to uphold their end of the deal by at least excluding the Jews from the Statute of Secrecy.

Julian skewered Santi with his gaze, as he said slowly,_ "If they had done as the Jews instructed and the Vessel had fully worked, the solution would have been magical. It would have changed everything. Wizarding kind would have owed the Jews much." _

The realization struck him hard. The Jews had wanted to help.

The day he had truly decided to aid Dumbledore was the day he saw the Jews in their cells in the dungeons of Nurmengard. It was more out of pity for them, than real conviction, that he had chosen to become Dumbledore's spy.

His feelings for them changed into admiration as months passed and the prisoners remained staunch in their silence, no matter the torture they were subjected to, no matter how their other like-wise imprisoned relatives –fathers, grandparents, siblings or children- were tortured or killed in front of them. None of them ever spoke a word.

Admittedly, there were those who screamed in crazed terror, but those never lasted long; those were just muggle Jews who had been caught up in it and truly didn't know anything. The others, however, the survivors, were wizards – either that, or there were truly Guardians amongst them. And yet, so far, none of them had given any indication that they knew anything about the matter. Thus far, Grindelwald had been thoroughly unsuccessful in that regard.

"_Very true, wizarding kind would have owed them much," _interjected Santi placidly, before he eyed him closely with a grave expression on his face_. "Yet you can see the danger in it, can you?"_

"_Of course I do!" _replied Julian vehemently_. "Even in 1692, the Guardians of the Vessel didn't intend for it to be used to its full power – their instructions to the Confederation of Wizards ensured that it wouldn't." _

His sky blue eyes flickered back to the last of Ulrich Von Krauss' conclusions, and he said anxiously,_ "He believed that if the Vessel was fully powered, with the three sacrifices coming from one individual with magical levels of a Lord, leaving the magic of the sacrifices to interact with each other, compounding and exponentially growing within the Vessel for at least five decades, the power then unleashed would be such that it would affect the whole muggle populace of the world_." He found the sentence that had made his insides twist and recoil with sheer horror and fear, to then whisper shakily,_ "The effects of it, he termed them the Winds of-"_

He chocked, unable to say the words, and frantically shook his head._ "Gellert cannot possibly think he can control the repercussions of this! It's sheer lunacy!"_

Santi quirked an eyebrow at him, as he said loftily, "_And here I've often heard you say that you didn't care about the common good."_

Julian shot him a hard look. _"I care about the fate of the people I love. Laurent, for starters." _He gestured angrily at Ulrich Von Krauss' research, and snapped,_ "If Gellert uses the Vessel as Von Krauss suggests, Laurent will one day wake up to find himself living in a devastated world – that's why I care!"_

In the next second, he frowned at the parchments as he muttered,_ "Yet he needs a sacrifice. Gellert is certainly not planning on being it." _Julian's head jerked upwards, staring at Santi as he breathed out,_ "Dumbledore." _

"_It won't be Dumbledore," _retorted Santi calmly.

"_What do you mean?" _demanded Julian sternly._ "If the rumors about his magical prowess are to be believed, he's the only other Lord-level wizard out there, besides Gellert himself."_

"_There are others."_

"_What others?" _Julian frowned at him_. "Who is he going to use?"_

"_You don't need to concern yourself about this," _said Santi, waving a hand dismissively.

Rising to his feet, feeling an ominous, apprehensive coil twisting his insides, Julian scowled at him and bit out impatiently,_ "Who is he going to use as the sacrifice, Santi?"_

But Santi wouldn't answer, and Julian was only told not to reveal Ulrich Von Krauss' research to Dumbledore.

Julian hadn't needed the warning. He was no fool and he trusted Dumbledore as far as he could throw him. By then, he knew how Dumbledore's mind worked, and if the old man was told about the Vessel and Gellert's plans for it, Dumbledore would have no other choice but to act on the information, knowing that Gellert would realize who had leaked it to him.

It was the type of hard decisions that a wizard in Dumbledore's position had to make: to sacrifice an individual for the sake of the cause and common good. However, Julian wasn't going to give the old man any reasons to blow his cover and thus sacrifice him. Julian was determined to live as long as possible.

Nevertheless, in the following day, Julian discovered why Gellert had given him such information.

Grindelwald had indulgently smiled at him as Julian had no other choice but to voice admiration for Ulrich Von Krauss' discoveries and plans, making the Dark Lord believe that he was fascinated by the whole matter and was breathless with anticipation to see the Vessel finally being used to its full capacity.

"_Now you know what to look for," _Gellert had said to him, his hawk-like eyes glinting as Julian returned Von Krauss' research to him.

Indeed, given the lack of results in the torture of Nurmengard's Jewish prisoners for years, the Dark Lord had had no other choice but to entrust someone with the knowledge of what he was looking for. It was thus that Julian had been chosen and now knew that the mark he had to look for on the prisoners' bodies was actually the symbol of the Guardians that Ulrich Von Krauss had depicted.

Julian had accepted his new mission with an enthusiastic nod of the head, yet his actions had been vastly different.

For two years, given that he was expected to break out the prisoners of Nurmengard, he had carefully established a friendship with the guards of the dungeons. He knew about their lives, he inquired after their children, spouses, girlfriends and boyfriends, he brought them bottles of Firewhiskey, played wizarding cards with them, drank and teased and taunted, and was soon welcomed and treated as one of the bunch.

However, cautious to maintain his cover, he had never interacted with the prisoners other than to torture them, keeping his abhorrence and distaste to himself.

That night, at last, he decided to make his first overture towards them, especially given what he knew about them from Von Krauss' research. A sense of admiration, duty, sorrow, and mercy was what compelled him to do it.

He slipped out of Gellert's bed and made his way to the dungeons. Greeting the guards, trading some jokes, and finally being patted on the back and told to "have fun with 'em", Julian acted as if he was going to have a night round of blood sport and was left to his own devices.

As soon as he entered the corridor holding the prison cells, he waved his wand and cast a silencing spell at the entrance.

The sight of the slumbering prisoners was horrific, the stench unbearable, the gloom, dankness, and grimness, suffocating. Yet, in the middle of the corridor, he sat on the cold stone floors, crossed-legged, and took out his beautiful, silver magical flute.

He heaved a deep breath, brought his lips to it, and played. He chose the most uplifting, hope-bringing, soothing, cradling song of his repertoire, his fingers flying across the keyholes, producing the trill of a phoenix to rise from his flute, heightened and meshed with the heavenly, enthralling voice of sirens.

He suddenly felt like one of those famous SongSorcerers who entranced their audience and moved them like the waves of a tide, as the prisoners stirred and their eyes cracked open.

It was a wondrous, powerful thing, Music, he had always known, but never had he felt more deeply touched as right then, as he saw life being suffused back into dull eyes that began to stare at him, as skeletal chests heaved and released deep sighs of peace, as dry lips cracked, bled, and stretched to form placid smiles on sunken, haunted faces.

It was a macabre spectacle, like gaunt puppets slowly coming to life, yet it made joy burst and course through his body.

In many faces, he saw awe, shock, or wonder, as they gazed at him. In others, he saw a glint of recognition or a sparkle of sudden frantic hope.

Some stirred and dragged themselves to be closer to him through the bars of their cells, their eyes riveted on him, drinking him in.

Yet when one of them seemed to be about to speak to him, he heard one other of them say sharply in a hoarse voice, "_Not yet!_"

Julian stilled and stopped playing at that, and attempted to find the one who had spoken, but none of them said another word.

Frowning, he attempted to explain the situation. He revealed who he was and what his intention would soon be. They all gazed at him but otherwise remained silent.

Similar things happened when he went to the other levels of the dungeons – seven in total, when once there had only been three.

It wasn't until he reached the first subfloor, where the prisoners who had been there the longest were held, that something different happened.

Their reaction to his playing had been the same, however, when he started to explain who he was, he was shortly interrupted.

"_We know who you are_," said a voice coarse from lack of use, sounding like the crackling of old leaves. "_You have tortured us before."_

Quickly standing up to find the one who had spoken, Julian reached their cell, seeing an old man slowly making signs with his skeletal hands. A man in his forties was lying next to him, his gaze focused on the old man's hands, while two children, with bellies bulging out from starvation, were slumped against the man's sides, their drowsy, sunken eyes gazing back at Julian with reanimated curiosity.

"_Yes, I did, because I had to,"_ said Julian quickly, his tone of voice entreating. _"But it's finally come the time for me to tell you that I mean no harm to you. I'm here to-"_

"_We know. He will bring pain and he will sing to you with the voice of hope, of sirens and phoenixes_," said the man in his forties, as if repeating a long ago memorized litany, his gaze flying from the old man's gesturing hands to flicker from Julian's face to the flute. _"You're the spy of the Companion of the Phoenix."_

Julian stared at him, bemused. There was only one wizard he could possibly think of as being 'the companion of a phoenix', thus he nodded, as he said quietly, "_Yes. I'm working for Albus Dumbledore. I'm here on his behest-"_

"_No. You're here because you're meant to be here,"_ interjected the man hoarsely, his eyes leaving him to gaze again at the old man who had started making signs with his hands once more.

The man nodded, before he turned to Julian again. "_I am Aaron."_ He slowly lifted a hand, his face straining with effort, as he gestured at the old man by his side. "_He is my grandfather, Abel __Boschkowitz. He does not speak. He tore out his own tongue a long time ago. I am his voice."_

Julian stared at them, horrified. _"Why did he tear out his-__"_

"_He wants you to know,"_ interrupted Aaron, looking weary, his voice starting to sound more haggard and hollow. _"Observe."_

It happened as if in slow motion. The old man slowly parted open the top of his prison garbs, showing a skeletal chest. Many of the other prisoners that had been intently gazing at them, clutching bars to slowly rise to their feet or dragging themselves across their cells to be at an angle in which to look at them, did the same. And as if one, following the old man's lead, they all touched their chests at the same time.

It was a breathtaking sight in the midst of the gloom and darkness of the dungeons. They shone. Many chests suddenly glowed with an intricate symbol spanning across the entirety of their torsos, the light silvery white.

"_The Guardians,"_ Julian breathed out in understanding as he recognized the symbol from Ulrich Von Krauss' depiction.

They were all touching their chests, but just some had the glowing mark. Nevertheless, there were more than he had dreamed possible. Those of the mark were the Guardians, the muggle Jews who kept the secret of their 'treasure', amongst other things. The rest who were touching their chests but didn't glow with the symbol could only be those the Guardians protected: Jewish wizards and witches.

Julian's gaze swiveled back to the mute old man. "_And you're their leader_."

Abel Boschkowitz nodded and started to make signs with his hands once more.

"_My grandfather,"_ began Aaron slowly, his eyes riveted on the old man's hands as he translated, _"says you must come here, to play for us, for as many nights as you can. Only then, one day, we will speak to you again. For now, we must wait."_

"_Wait for what?"_ said Julian, frowning with uncertainty.

Aaron didn't reply. The gaunt man rested back against the wall of their cell and closed his eyes with exhaustion, as the two children by his side burrowed themselves against him, peering up at Julian as they blinked slowly.

Feeling half triumphant and excited, half bewildered and bemused, Julian left them in peace, though he did as asked and visited all of the floors as often as he could manage to slip from Gellert's bed in the middle of the night without being detected. From hence forward, he found a new purpose for his flute-playing: he gave them hope, he knew well.

However, it was when the Dark Lord finally made his move and conquered Austria that many things changed for Julian.

He had taken painstaking care to inform Dumbledore about all the details regarding Gellert's plots and strategies – and quite a brilliant plan they conformed.

The Nazis occupied the country under feeble excuses, the muggle soldiers' food supplies were doused with Pepper-Up and Strengthening Potions to make them indefatigable, and mind-altering potions were used on the water supplies of muggle cities so that when the citizens 'legally' voted for the annexation of their country to Germany, ninety-nine percent voted in favor.

Meanwhile, Gellert's Haupte Kommandanten had several Nazi Commanders under the Imperius Curse so that they led their divisions of soldiers to surround a building – which was, unbeknownst to them, the Austrian Ministry of Magic.

Sieged by muggle soldiers that vastly outnumbered them, the Ministry wizards knew they had limited options when Gellert and his followers broke into the Ministry. Most of them swiftly surrendered and Gellert was quick to kill the Minister.

Julian had been directly involved as well, since he was expected to prove his mettle in battle. He couldn't disappoint.

He had been given the leadership of the squad of followers that had to deal with the Auror Department – much to Dumbledore's satisfaction, since the old man had required one thing from him.

It had shocked and vastly disappointed him when Dumbledore had made clear in his missives that he wasn't going to appear on the day of the conquest in order to fight against Gellert. Dumbledore wasn't even going to send Order members to aid the Ministry. Instead, Dumbledore needed to allow it to happen, and required proof of how potions were being illegally used on muggles, on both citizens and the Nazi soldiers.

Julian understood Dumbledore's reasoning and tough decision –it was clear that the Austrian case was going to be used as an example, to convince as many as possible that Grindelwald was a Dark Lord- yet he had still hoped that Dumbledore would directly take a hand in matters and halt the Dark Lord once and for all. It would have ended Julian's turmoil.

But no, besides information and evidence, Dumbledore required one thing from Julian: that he saved the sister of Faustus Prewett, the Head of International Magical Cooperation in England, a wizard whom Dumbledore was subtly courting to his side.

Julian had been sent a picture of the woman and her husband, an Auror in the Austrian Ministry. If it didn't cast suspicion on him, Julian was to save them both. Yet, even then, he had known that if they died, it would serve Dumbledore's purpose as well. Faustus Prewett would not side with the Dark Lord if the man's actions cost him his sister.

It was thus, that when he fought against those Aurors who refused to surrender, he had personally killed Nettie Prewett's husband without a second thought, only showing what mercy he could by dispatching him quickly.

With skills he had displayed in the European Dueling Championship having been further honed with nearly three years of direct tutelage from the Dark Lord, Julian had performed excellently, being thoroughly unmatched.

Furthermore, as much as he despised torturing helpless prisoners, he had discovered that dueling against armed, qualified opponents in the heat of battle was a much different experience that he vastly enjoyed.

His squad and he were left to carry on the 'clean-up stage': that was, vanishing the dead bodies, and with information gathered from the Ministry's own personnel records, going to the homes of those Ministry officials who had fought against them and died. Their families would be taken as prisoners, so that those who surrendered and survived would know the punishment that befell the others, even if they could never speak of it.

Indeed, the rest of the followers went around forcing Unbreakable Vows from those who had surrendered, so that the truth of what had happened never came to light.

The world would believe that the Austrian Minister of Magic had died of some illness, that some Ministry workers had been sacked or willingly resigned for some reason or other, which would explain their absence, and the disappearance of their families would be left as a mystery for quite some time.

Moreover, presented with the fact that their muggle counterparts had voted to become annexed to Germany, the story was that the Austrian Ministry had decided to do likewise, in order to not have a fragmented country.

It was thus that Grindelwald went from being the German Minister of Magic to the Austrian as well, with conjoined title and position, by 'legal means'.

Grindelwald's intricate, masterful plan of conquest worked without a hitch, only Dumbledore knowing the truth behind it due to Julian's information.

Hence, Julian ended his duty by visiting the last of the homes of those who had died at the Ministry. He hadn't expected what he had found in Nettie Prewett's home: she had been alone, yet her robes displayed such a huge, protruding belly that it was clear she was expecting a baby at any given moment.

Julian had been taken aback. Dumbledore certainly hadn't mentioned her circumstances; probably hadn't known himself. It was then when he had decided he would do his best to free her at some point. Nevertheless, at the time being, he could do nothing if not magically bind her and take her back to Nurmengard with all the rest.

If he had known beforehand what her fate would be, he would have killed her on the spot and considered it a great mercy.

However, he hadn't expected the next stage of Gellert's plan or what the festivities after the triumphant conquest of Austria would entail.

All of the Dark Lord's ranks gathered that night to celebrate the victory, at a vast clearing in the forest that surrounded Nurmengard Tower.

In impeccable uniform and robes, Julian stood amongst the Haupte Kommandanten, besides his father, while Gellert, in front of them, gave a grandiose speech that ensnared his ranks.

The captured families brought from Austria were grouped together, standing in the middle of the clearing, bounded and surrounded, their expressions terrified.

It was when he caught sight of the prisoners of the dungeons being led into the clearing, that Julian felt a frisson of apprehension and misgivings. The Jews were being formed into lines, facing the Austrian prisoners, as if to stand as witnesses.

Glancing around, Julian discovered that the ranks looked clueless, except the Haupte Kommandanten, who were staring forward with expressions of awe, wonder, and great anticipation.

Suddenly, a dome-like shield encompassed the Austrian families, and Gellert raised his wand in the air as he started enchanting words in a language wholly unknown to Julian.

Abruptly, he felt a powerful surge of magic bursting out from Gellert's wand -so obscure, potent, and dark as he had never felt before- and black rays shot out to strike each of the Austrian prisoners.

Julian turned to his father, bewildered. _"What-"_

"_Necromancy,"_ whispered Egon Erlichmann sharply, his gaze riveted on the spectacle. _"The Dark Lord is creating a new breed of Inferi."_

"_Inferi!"_ choked out Julian through a suddenly dry throat, to then quickly grasp his father's arm with frantic urgency. _"There's a pregnant woman among them, Father!"_

"_Hush! It's of little importance-"_

"_She's a pureblood witch!"_ said Julian frenziedly.

Egon Erlichmann shot his son a harsh, reprimanding look, grabbing him tightly by the arm to keep him in place. _"The Dark Lord would not care about the matter. The process cannot be disrupted for such an insignificant issue."_

For a second, Julian stared at him with utter incredulity, before he violently shook him off and leapt towards Grindelwald, ignoring his father's shout.

Screams suddenly pierced the air and Julian skidded to a halt, right next to Gellert, his eyes wide as he fixedly stared forward. It was too late.

The Austrians' skins were rippling, their backs arching, their eyes suddenly becoming dull, empty and soulless, as teeth sharpened, fingernails became claws, bodies turned cadaveric, the flesh becoming rotten and greyish, and clumps of hair fell from heads.

There was no spark of intelligence in the new Inferi but some sort of primal, animalistic awareness, as they growled and savagely threw themselves against the dome-like shield of magic that kept them separated from Grindelwald's followers, as if they wanted nothing more than to attack and tear apart. They didn't move slowly, as Julian had read that Inferi did, but with beastly strength and quickness.

With a sense of otherworldly, nightmarish detachment from reality, he saw how the followers who had been guarding the Jews selected some of them. He even caught sight of Abel and Aaron Boschkowitz, with the little boy and girl he had assumed were Aaron's children. They weren't grabbed, but seven others were, to be dragged and then unceremoniously thrown through the dome-like magical shield that caged the Inferi.

The Inferi bore down on them like a pack of ravenous animals, clawing, tearing apart, chewing, killing, growling and feasting, whilst the guards held back the other Jews, some of whom were crying out in shock and horror.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek resounded across the clearing. It wasn't a scream, but a hollow, hair-splitting, inhuman sound. It came from the Inferi who had once been Nettie Prewett. Robes that had become slashed and torn as she had fought with the others of her kind to reach the humans that had been served as food, now revealed an immense greyish belly that was rippling as she arched on the ground while the sound kept coming from her throat.

Something was clawing its way out from her, and in the next instant, it tore out from her belly and broke free. Several of Grindelwald's followers loudly gasped. It was a monster of a baby, with claws, jagged teeth, and rotten flesh. It crawled and then sped forward as fast as a flash, leaving mother behind to attack one of the corpses and sink its teeth to devour with savage hunger.

The once Nettie Prewett was soon on its feet again, belly ravaged, nothing but flaps of skin and hanging entrails, as it showed no awareness of its baby and just turned around to leap at another corpse.

The sight of it all was too much. Julian became dizzy, faint, and disoriented. He suddenly swayed where he stood and then landed on hands and knees, hacking, crying and retching, and he couldn't stop.

The horror of it, the piercing, gut-wrenching guilt and helplessness he felt, the very nightmarish, gruesome images, were forever branded in his skull.

"_Get up!"_ he heard his father's voice say furiously, as a boot kicked one of his legs. _"You're embarrassing the family – get a hold of yourself!"_

"_Julian is not a hardened follower as you are, Egon," _said a voice in chiding tones. _"You should show some understanding and compassion to your son."_

Suddenly, he felt several spells cast on him, and Julian's mouth became freshened and his stomach settled itself.

Still on hands and knees, he glanced up through blurry, watery eyes to see Gellert gazing at him with a sympathetic expression on his face.

The Dark Lord offered him a hand, and Julian hesitantly took it. He was helped up and then taken by the elbow, Gellert holding him up in a supportive way as he glanced at the monstrous, baby-like creature that kept feasting.

"_A pureblood baby_, _from what I overheard you say to your father,_" said Grindelwald, a moue of discontent twisting his lips. "_A pity_."

With a flick of his wand, the Dark Lord cast the Killing Curse at it, and Julian quickly turned his face away from the sight, to then stare at the wizard.

"_The road to triumph is not an easy one,"_ said Grindelwald, gesturing at the Inferi. _"But there is no dishonor in feeling revulsion." _Casting a reprimanding, dark look at Egon Erlichmann, he then gazed back at Julian, his expression softening_. "With time, you'll become hardened to such unpalatable sights." _His voice lowered to a mere, intimate murmur, as he added,_ "Let me comfort you tonight, mein Edelstein. You deserve as much. I've been told you dueled superbly in the Ministry."_

Without waiting for a reply, Julian was led away by Grindelwald after the wizard gave some curt, short instructions to his ranks regarding the Inferi, who were to be kept in a section of the forest, for later use.

Later that night, when Julian slipped from Gellert's bed and escaped to his own quarters, as he turned on the shower, he didn't rub himself clean and raw as he once did during the first months of torment and intimacy with Gellert.

Instead, as warm water trickled down his back, he softly touched love-bites, sighing and closing his eyes, remembering the sweet, soothing nothings whispered into his ears, the comforting arms gently embracing him, the tender caresses and touches, the slow love-making as he had held unto Gellert as if he was a lifeline.

He didn't react when he felt a presence in his bathroom and the press of eyes gazing at him.

"_I'm losing myself,"_ Julian muttered as he rested his forehead against the tiles. And he finally admitted to himself and said out loud the feelings that had been warring within him, _"Despite everything, even what happened tonight, I'm starting to love him."_

"_There's no happy ending possible for you and Grindelwald."_

Julian opened his eyes, and through the sheet of pouring water, he shot Santi a dour look. _"I know that. It's just that- " _He swallowed thickly, before he attempted to speak again, his voice a dejected whisper,_ "I don't know if I can do it anymore. To hurt someone I care about. To betray him-"_

"_You are a spy," _pointed out Santi coolly._ "To betray is what you do. You've known that from the start."_

With all sense of modesty around Santi having been lost a long time ago, Julian angrily turned off the water and stepped out, trickles of drops trailing down his naked body as he glared and remarked tartly,_ "You're a callous bastard when you speak so bluntly."_

"_I've never lied to you."_ Santi quirked an eyebrow at him. _"I'm not going to start now in order to soothe your feelings."_

Julian scowled sourly as he wrapped a towel around his waist, making way to his bedroom as Santi floated and trailed after him.

"_You have to distance yourself from him, in your mind."_

At that, Julian shot him an incredulous look as he plopped down on his bed. Letting out a humorless bark of laughter he then said acidly, _"And pray tell, how do I do that?"_

Santi gazed at him with a pensive, considering expression on his face, which soon turned calculating, before he said slowly, _"Perhaps I should reveal to you that you'll know love with someone else, before you die. Perhaps knowing that helps?"_

Taken aback, Julian stared at him. _"What on earth do you mean?" _

"_She'll be of much help to you," _said Santi, now smiling warmly. _"She'll give you what you need, and love you greatly."_ He paused, to then add hesitantly, _"And you'll come to love her too, in a strange sort of way, I believe."_

"_She?"_ Julian gaped at him before he scoffed. _"In case you hadn't noticed by now, my inclinations don't lean towards the female persuasion."_

Unconcernedly shrugging his shoulders, Santi took a seat at an armchair as he made his body turn solid. _"It will not matter. You'll be drawn to her. You'll meet her again soon."_

"_Again? So I already know her?"_ Julian deeply frowned at him, unable to imagine whom it could possibly be. Crossing paths with one of the girls from Beauxbatons didn't seem likely.

Casting such thoughts aside, Julian shook his head disparagingly as he groused curtly, _"I don't want a relationship with anyone else. I betrayed Laurent by being with Gellert. And now you're telling me I'll betray Gellert by being with a witch on the side? No."_

"_It doesn't matter what you say," _remarked Santi contently. _"It will happen all the same. She'll be important." _His lips quirked upwards as he pinned Julian with a fixed stare. _"Harry will know about you through her."_

"_Harry?"_ Julian blinked. _"Your Harry. My Harry. Our Harry?"_

"_Yes,"_ replied Santi placidly.

Julian felt an odd sense of joy at the idea, his expression relaxing as his lips tilted into a soft smile.

Santi gazed at him knowingly, looking satisfied with himself.

After that, as impossible and troubling as thoughts about having a secret affair with a witch were, Julian didn't press to know more about the matter.

It hadn't served the purpose Santi had surely intended. No sense of detachment grew in him after knowing Gellert wouldn't be his last lover; that apparently he would love someone else, that hopefully by then, feelings for Gellert would not be an issue, since he couldn't afford it.

On the opposite, it distressed him. Betraying the ones he loved by being with others was a horrible sensation.

Even after all his time with Gellert, in some guarded corner of his heart he still held his love for Laurent, untouched and untainted, guarded zealously as a precious thing, and yet it would still conflict him.

Much to Santi's aggravation, Julian had not cut ties with Laurent as he had once promised. He still received letters weekly, coveting and cherishing every last word from Laurent, whilst replying and playing along, writing about their plans for the future.

Such a connection had been his lifeline in the first six months of intimacy with Gellert when he had been Dumbledore's replacement and a whipping boy in bed. And then, even after the discovery of The Globe, when he had known there was no hope left for him, he had still written back to Laurent, willfully deluding them both, making plans like glorious dreams of love and freedom that would never come to happen.

Santi said he was selfish and cruel by stringing Laurent along and giving him hope.

But Julian simply couldn't let go. It sustained him, the lies he wrote and the fantasy world they created.


	25. Part I: Chapter 24

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Hmm, well, I've realized that there isn't much I can answer to questions in reviews without spoiling the plot. So you'll just have to be patient and see your questions answered in future chapters.

Now, as promised, here's the fast update. This chappie starts with a Julian part, but then it's back to Hogwarts.

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 24**

* * *

After Julian's performance and success in the Austrian Ministry -just like how he had transitioned from being the Dark Lord's boy-toy, to his lover, and then his favorite- he indisputably became Grindelwald's protégé, being directly involved in planning the conquest of Checoslovakia.

Though, many of those plans had already been developed by Grindelwald some time ago, some of which Julian thoroughly despised.

It was when he had nearly spent three years as Gellert's follower that the wizard chose to share with him one of Konrad Von Krauss' reports.

Up until then, he had only known that Konrad had been sent to England a few days before Julian himself had been inducted into the ranks. Not having Konrad around had been a vast relief, given that the Erlichmanns and Von Krausses were feuding rivals since time immemorial.

As the date approached in which Konrad would return to Germany, Grindelwald had handed Julian a scroll of parchment sent by his Right Hand, chortling as if he had just read the funniest of jokes.

Julian hadn't been able to make much sense of the information. All Konrad wrote about was 'the Parselmouth boys': how he had legilimized the caregiver of a muggle orphanage called St. Jerome's, a girl who was closest to 'the boys' –some muggle woman by the name of Alice Jones- and he was sending those memories in flasks; how he had constructed a muggle identity as the long-lost son of some muggle Lord, and was thus known as Alistair Ashcroft.

How with that identity he had procured a job in the Foreign Office to thus leak more information to an old muggle politician by the name of Winston Churchill, and had also formed an acquaintance with Sarah Jones, sister of the Alice woman, thus creating an indirect link to 'the boys', to be used when and if the Dark Lord decided –for what purpose, it didn't say.

And finally, how he had at last found the underground group of Communists that were causing so much trouble in muggle circles and killed the leader, noting that a man named Robert Hutchins was part of the group, coincidentally linked to 'the boys' because he was courting the Alice Jones woman.

Gellert crowed with laughter. _"Isn't it just the most marvelous of ideas, that tidbit about the camps?"_

"_Hmm?"_ Julian said distractedly, staring at the scroll, still stuck with the first baffling fact, if Konrad's information was to be believed. He slowly shook his head and peered up at the Dark Lord, as he breathed out disbelievingly, _"Parselmouths, truly? In this day and age? Who are they?"_

"_Never mind about that,"_ retorted Gellert curtly, waving a hand dismissively before his hazel eyes glinted with amusement and he chortled loudly. _"What do you say to the part about the Communists, mein Edelstein?"_

Julian blinked in puzzlement before he read that part again. The leader Konrad had killed had been a wizard, a halfblood in fact: the father a muggle, the mother a witch and German Jew who had apparently disappeared.

The man had escaped from persecution and landed in England with his own evidence and ideas of what was happening to the Jews in Germany. Clearly, the halfblood had known that Jews were 'disappearing' because Grindelwald was capturing and imprisoning them in Nurmengard. Yet the halfblood couldn't say such to the group of muggle Communists he had formed. Apparently, he told them Jews were being carted off to mysterious camps.

It seemed to be the explanation that had taken hold and spread, being believed by some few muggles –mostly Communists and Jews, their relatives and acquaintances, that knew nothing of the Wizarding World, nor about the Guardians, evidently- but who knew Jews were 'disappearing'.

"_Camps?_" finally echoed Julian, disconcerted.

"_Yes, camps,"_ said Gellert, a crooked grin on his face. _"Muggles like to throw each other in these so-called labor camps."_ He sighed wistfully. _"I remember, long ago, that Ulrich told me how camps have been used throughout muggle history. It's hardly an original idea."_ His hazel eyes glinted as he added with amusement, _"Yet, after the annexation of Austria, my puppet and his lackeys are beginning to wonder what to do with the Jews. Wouldn't you say that the idea of camps presents a simple solution?" _He chortled._ "Oh, the irony!"_

Julian could certainly see the horrid irony of the halfblood's lies about camps becoming true, but he still found the concept a bit flummoxing.

"_When Konrad comes back, it will be his task to work on the matter,"_ decided Gellert in a positively cheerful tone.

Some months later, Konrad Von Krauss did come back, and it was the day when Santi's prophetic statement of "you'll find the answers to all your questions in Nurmengard" began to come true.

Gellert had vanished into Anacleto Armonios' quarters, giving Julian precise instructions to guard the door and not let anyone disturb them. Apparently, whatever Armonios had been working on had finally bore some fruits and he was prepared to earn his keep by dazzling Gellert with his brilliance.

Julian had been standing in the corridor, twitching with curiosity, when he had seen a tall, imposing man with icy blue eyes and strictly-cropped ashy blonde hair, clicking his boots on the stone floors as he made his way towards Julian's post.

With eyes widening for a fraction of a second, Julian recognized the wizard immediately.

Konrad Von Krauss' lips flattened into a severe line full of distaste as he caught sight of Julian, his icy eyes narrowing as he scrutinized him. Even though feeling a frisson of apprehension and wariness, Julian put up with the inspection with a calm expression on his face.

"_Stand aside, boy_," Konrad commanded curtly as soon as he reached him.

"_The Dark Lord asked not to be disturbed_," Julian said softly, showing nothing but meek politeness.

"_He'll want to see me_," retorted Konrad briskly, piercing him with a chilling stare.

"_As you wish,"_ said Julian pleasantly, bowing low as he took a step away from the door he had been guarding.

Without a second glance at him, as if Julian was too lowly to be worthy of further notice, Konrad entered the rooms.

A click, and the sound of wards securing the quarters once more, made it evident to Julian that the conversation to be held had to be a very important one. Having been intrigued by Anacleto Armonios' presence in Nurmengard for too long a time, he finally decided to take action.

Using the set of spells taught to him by Dumbledore in order to eavesdrop through wards without being detected, Julian was able to hear every astonishing, flabbergasting, mind-boggling word spoken.

And suddenly, everything he had ever known about Santi throughout his entire life, all the mysteries, all the unexplainable facts, and so much more, abruptly fell into place like the pieces of some gigantic puzzle that had baffled him for a long time. It was as if a blind had been ripped from his eyes and everything became bright and clear; everything finally made sense.

He was breathless with the revelations, and that night, as much as sex with Gellert had become a wondrous, fabulous experience, he had faked a stomachache and thus been dismissed from his duties as a lover.

Pacing in his rooms, Julian had awaited for Santi, because Santi would appear, because Santi would know what happened that day. It had been long anticipated and planned, Julian was able to realize.

And then, Santi shimmered into existence and Julian swirled around, staring at him, with eyes filled with wonder and awe.

"_I finally know who you are,"_ he breathed out, his mind still a whirlwind of thoughts, but it was a cohesive one.

He brought up a hand towards Santi, and the man seemed to realize what Julian needed and became solid just as Julian's fingers trailed down Santi's cheek, mesmerized as he observed Santi's naturally tanned skin that faintly glowed with golden specks, the curly dark hair and handsome face, the milky eyes that swirled with sparks, like stars, constellations and nebulas floating across the sheer irises. Were they really, or just a reflection of something within?

"_Santiago Torres," _said Julian at last in a soft, fascinated murmur. _"The young, brilliant Spanish Unspeakable who discovered the clams in Atlantis and was directly affected by their Sands of Time, who vanished to never be seen or heard from again. Anacleto Armonios was your boss, the one ultimately responsible for what happened to you – that's why you despise him."_

Mutely, Santi merely nodded, and Julian let out a whoop of victorious joy as so many of his speculations were confirmed.

With sky blue eyes shinning, Julian continued excitedly, "_I know who our Harry is as well. The anchor, the soul, the time-traveler Anacleto spoke about. The baby that Gellert suggested. He told Anacleto that the Sands of Time had to be directly applied to the baby." _

He paused and slowly shook his head in wonder, as he added in a whisper,_ "And it has already happened. I'm living in the secondary timeline." _

Startled, Santi stared at him._ "How did you come to that realization?"_

Julian scoffed and replied tartly,_ "It wasn't easy to wrap my mind around such revelation, or to accept it as true, but it was evident because Gellert knew how the practical aspects had to work, of something that's supposedly impossible. He knew more than Anacleto himself, in that respect!" _He shook his head, before he frowned and demanded,_ "Did Sybilla Spyros tell him about it, or did she leave the knowledge in the memories she allowed him to take from her?"_

"_She didn't tell him about that,"_ replied Santi quietly. _"Grindelwald saw himself in one memory of her visions, throwing Sands of Time on a baby and enchanting a spell."_

Julian nodded, before he frowned at him in deep pensiveness, his voice slow as thoughts unraveled into words, _"I always thought you found me first, and then spent your life with me as I grew up, whilst you waited to find some boy called Harry you greatly cared about. But it was the other way around, wasn't it?"_ He gazed at him searchingly. _"You found him first. When did it happen?"_

"_A few months from now. This November."_

With his suspicions confirmed, Julian chuckled wryly under his breath. _"Of course, Time isn't linear to you as it is for the rest of us..."_

He trailed off and then murmured quietly, _"All the things about past and future that you knew and I never could explain why, other than to think you were a Seer."_ He shot him a piercing look. _"And you often said you were one of a kind. You told Sybilla Spyros that the Centaurs called you The Fates. It's rather accurate, isn't it? You can jump through Time with the natural ease of someone swimming through tides."_

"_Something like that,"_ said Santi pleasantly, his lips quirking upwards.

"_In what century were you living in when you felt it?"_ inquired Julian, fixedly staring at him. "_Because you felt it somehow, didn't you, when a baby was affected by the Sands of Time, as you were. Was it a pull, a connection, a sudden awareness of some sort?"_ He tilted his head to a side, his gaze riveted on Santi. _"You felt there was suddenly someone like you out there and you searched for him. For years, centuries, eons?"_

Before Santi had a chance to reply, Julian shook his head at himself, as he amended, _"No. You cannot really tell, can you? How can you possibly measure Time when it's not linear to you."_ He blinked at him. _"If I asked for how long you've existed you wouldn't be able to answer, would you? Time can be an eternity or the blink of an eye for you."_

"_True,"_ said Santi calmly.

Frowning, Julian continued, "_You looked for him, in all the possible timelines he could have landed in, and you found him in this one, some months from now. And then you traveled to the past of this timeline and found me."_ He skewered him with a hard gaze. _"The decisions you've made me take-"_

He rose up a hand as soon as Santi opened his mouth, looking hurt. _"No. I made them willingly, I know. My point is that the paths I've taken are serving as a catalyst, for things to go your way. To shape this timeline as you need it to be. Your reasons and motives are not the same, but you, like Gellert, want this secondary timeline to be the one which survives. In your case, it's because you want Harry and he's here."_

Julian paused as a sudden spark of understanding lightened in his mind. He felt grimness and anger in Harry's behalf, yet sorrow, sympathy, and pity for the being before him.

"_You could spare him from it,"_ he murmured quietly. _"You could travel to the future and prevent Gellert from using the Sands of Time on Harry and let him have a normal life. But you won't, because you've always been lonely." _

Santi narrowed his milky eyes at him, clearly not caring for his words, but Julian trudged on firmly, _"Unlike other magical creatures that are considered 'immortal' because they live for millennia, your existence is unlimited and there isn't anyone else like you - no one that could be a companion. Anyone 'normal' you could possibly love and care about would eventually die."_ He skewered him with a demanding gaze. _"But Harry won't? Will he become what you are? How does it work, how long will it take?"_

"_I don't know,"_ admitted Santi reluctantly. _"The transformations on me caused by the Sands of Time weren't instantaneous. They occurred erratically. Thus, I have no way of predicting how it will work in Harry's case or even if he'll fully become what I am."_

"_But he already has an ability that was not his by inherent nature,"_ interjected Julian thoughtfully. _"You told me that, once, regarding his magic-sensitivity. So, do the Sands of Time affect the body-"_

"_The soul. They transform the soul,"_ retorted Santi shortly. _"And the changes will be reflected in the magical core and body that his soul is in – that's what will grant him abilities as time passes, but I cannot predict which or when."_

"_I see," _mumbled Julian, his eyes slightly widening with wonderment. In the next instant, he frowned deeply. "_I don't understand one thing. Gellert said the time-traveler had to die before he was born in the future, because how can he be born with the same soul if his time-traveler self already has it? Doesn't it mean that Harry will be trapped in a loop?"_

"_No,"_ said Santi with a heavy sigh. _"There'll be no loop because the timelines will not go on coexisting beyond the day in which Harry is made to time-travel. Only the so-called secondary timeline will remain after that."_

Julian frowned, not really understanding the explanation. He shook his head, before he said insistently, scowling at him, _"Be that as it may, it still means that Gellert is planning on killing Harry before he's born in the future. How can you have him as a companion if he's going to die?"_

"_His soul won't,"_ replied Santi wearily, not looking as if he enjoyed the topic of conversation. His lips twisted in a pained moue. _"It will be preserved in a locket and transferred into another body, a baby's. He'll be reborn, in a manner of speaking."_

"_Doesn't sound too good," _muttered Julian, glaring and feeling a mite indignant.

Santi clenched his teeth as he gritted out,_ "I'm not going to discuss this further with you. It is what it is."_

As if to make his point, he vanished from sight without another word and Julian was left blinking at empty space. It was certainly a touchy subject.

It was several days before Santi returned, and as soon as he made an appearance in Julian's chambers, he was glowered at.

"_Where in Merlin's beard have you been?"_ snapped Julian crossly. _"Did you go traipsing into the future to see how Harry will turn out?"_

Santi's eyebrows shot upwards. _"What's the matter with you?"_ His lips then quirked upwards as he tutted tauntingly, clearly in a cheery disposition, _"And using light wizarding expressions in a tower full of dark wizards isn't the wisest of choices."_

Utterly ignoring Santi's humorous quips, in no mood for them, Julian pointed a finger at the book lying on his desk, as he said irritably, _"That's what's the matter with me."_

Just the day before, Gellert had said to him with a wry chuckle, _"He abhors the 'ghastly, uncivilized, horrid little country', as he calls it. I cannot send Konrad back to England so soon, he would never forgive me. Thus, I'm giving this mission to you, mein Edelstein."_

Julian had been given a portkey, instructions, and a very familiar book – 'Obscure Dark Lords and their Inventions'.

"_For some reason, Gellert is interested in two Parselmouth boys that live in some muggle orphanage_," said Julian frowning as his voice then turned puzzled. "_I would understand it if the boys could actually be Parselmouths, but I don't see how they can. A Parselmouth hasn't been born in India in centuries and the only other bloodline with the trait was Salazar Slytherin's, and everyone knows it died off ages ago. It's clear that Konrad must have made a mistake…"_

He trailed off, his brows furrowing, before he grabbed the book and flipped through it, until he pointed a finger at the first page of a chapter. "_Gellert wants one of those boys to read part of this chapter. That's all he said. He gave me a portkey that will take me to the orphanage, along with the boy's name and one of Konrad's pensieve memories. So I'll know what the boy looks like-"_

It was then that Santi broke into loud guffaws, heaving and grabbing his midriff as he bent forward and kept laughing.

At first bewildered, Julian stared at him, startled. When his life-long companion just kept chortling, apparently at his expense, he scowled at the man, highly annoyed.

"_What's so amusing_?" he snapped, irked.

"_You still haven't figured it out, eh?"_ said Santi with a last chuckle. _"Well, behoove me if I spoiled the surprise." _

"_What surprise?"_ said Julian, thoroughly disconcerted.

Ignoring the question, Santi glanced at the portkey lying on the desk. _"When will it activate?"_

"_In fifteen minutes,"_ replied Julian, still frowning bemusedly.

Santi shot him a wide, pearly-white grin. _"I came just in time, then. I'll come along with you." _

"_If you wish,"_ said Julian, eyeing him suspiciously. _"What aren't you telling me?"_

"_You'll soon see,"_ quipped Santi cheerfully.

Julian scowled, before he shook his head and said gravely, _"I don't know if I'll carry out this mission."_ He gestured at the book, frowning. "_That chapter regards the Dark Lord Horkos and the artifact he created."_ His voice turned anxious, as he added, _"Why would Gellert want a magical child to know about Horcruxes? I don't like it one bit."_

Indeed, when Gellert had given him his mission, he had instantly recognized the book as the one in which he had found the information regarding The Globe. It was then, also, when he suddenly understood why Dumbledore had asked him if he believed that Grindelwald might have created any of the other artifacts mentioned in the tome.

He could understand how it could greatly worry Dumbledore if Gellert had made a Horcrux, but really, the whole notion was rather ridiculous. Grindelwad had never given any indication that he was remotely interested in immortality, and if he did, the wizard would certainly come up with some other way.

Tearing out a piece of one's soul to hide it in an object that could be easily destroyed wasn't the brightest of ideas. Yet, to some ignorant little boy who knew no better, it might. And Julian certainly didn't want to be the one responsible for some innocent boy doing such a horrid thing to himself.

"_Do proceed with the mission,"_ said Santi gravely. _"Believe me, it's for the best."_

Yanked from his musings, Julian glanced at him, puzzled. _"What do you mean?"_

"_I'll explain soon,"_ said Santi, before his lips quirked in amusement as his milky eyes trailed over Julian. _"You are going to change, aren't you?"_

Julian's lips twisted with distaste as he glanced down at himself.

Earlier in the day he had accompanied Gellert to a meeting in the Reichstag, and he had dressed to play the part, since when he had become Gellert's personal secretary to the eyes of the muggles, they had demanded that he became a member of one their organizations, giving proof that he was a 'pure Aryan'.

Julian had felt quite insulted and indignant at the request. The Erlichmanns –just like the Von Krausses, before Konrad had been made to marry the Russian Ludmilla– had always been very proud that they were not only purebloods that could be traced back to Roman Times, but also of pure German stock.

After being educated in Beauxbatons, Julian didn't care much about such matters. But when a bunch of pathetic muggles who were being led by the nose dared to question his blood purity, it did irk him.

Gellert had crowed with laughter, finding it vastly amusing. The Dark Lord had certainly had a blast forging papers for Julian, giving him a purely muggle ancestry.

It was thus that he was still wearing the SS Nazi uniform, with high black leather boots, puffed black pants, stiff uniformed black jacket with lapels displaying the silver stripes, stars, and the SS insignia that looked like two lightning bolts, along with the military-style peaked cap, red armband with the swastika cross, and belt with the Meine Ehre heißt Treue –'My honor is loyalty'- motto on the buckle.

"_Or are you planning on giving the Brits a nasty fright at the mere sight of you?" _said Santi with a chortle.

"_You have a point,"_ said Julian wryly.

In no time, he changed into a plain wizarding attire that he then proceeded to transfigure into cotton shirt, wool vest, and simple muggle worker-class pants, casting glamours on his features, giving him a forgettable, common face.

Soon, with book in hand, they were both taking the portkey to be swept away.

The London muggle neighborhood didn't impress Julian much. In fact, it was quite ghastly.

From Konrad, he knew that Dumbledore had already paid the 'Parselmouth boys' a visit. Thus, they would need to go to Diagon Alley at some point if they were starting Hogwarts in September. It would be the best opportunity in which to do it, and thankfully, Julian knew his way around wizarding England, having traveled to the country with his parents.

The inconvenience was that he had no way of knowing when the boys would go. So he prepared himself for a stake out that could last days or even weeks.

He chose an expanse of wall between two houses across the street from the orphanage and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on a two-square-meter area, in which he conjured a plush, comfortable sofa and proceeded to Disillusion it and himself.

Santi shot him an incredulous look. _"You aren't planning that we spend the night here in the middle of a street, are you?" _

"_I have little choice,"_ replied Julian, not too thrilled with the idea himself. _"And it might be several nights, in fact." _

He could see a muggle pub down the street. It would have to do for when he needed a restroom and required some sustenance, though he knew well that English food and cuisine was quite horrid. No, he wasn't looking forward to the experience.

"_It won't, thankfully,"_ muttered Santi under his breath, as he took a seat on the sofa.

"_Hmm?"_ said Julian distractedly, turning his head around to face him again.

It was quite a tedious night, since Santi refused to say anything about the Parselmouth boys, nothing stirred in the orphanage, and muggle passersby were very boring to observe. So Julian could only entertain himself with a book he had already read several times and ended up dozing off and quickly falling asleep.

The following morning he was awakened by a cacophony of excited, shouting voices, travel trunks being dragged, and a large motorwagon blaring its horn.

"_What's happening?" _said Julian worriedly as he watched the activity coming from the orphanage and spilling into the street, making him instantly rise to his feet, alert.

Santi didn't answer him, since he was observing the proceedings with an amused look on his face.

The driver of the motorwagon, a rather handsome muggle, was helping two women to load trunks to the vehicle, whilst a flock of girls and boys of all ages were running in and out of the house, carrying things with them, yapping, shouting, and jumping with joy and anticipation.

It was quite a disorderly chaos, though the strictest looking of the women made short work of it and soon had the children inside the motorwagon, still and silent, though their faces still expressed their happiness.

Clearly they were having a trip of some sort, and Julian could only exhale with relief when he didn't catch sight of the face he had seen in Konrad Von Krauss' memory.

When they all seemed about to leave, the handsome muggle halted before opening the driver's door of the muggle contraption, as he took a backward look at his passengers and frowned. "Where are the boys, Alice?"

"Harry has a terrible stomach ache, poor dear," replied a rather pretty young woman who was seated at the front of the vehicle, besides the strict-looking one. "Tom is staying with him and Magda will watch over them."

"Old John will be disappointed," remarked the muggle man, not looking too happy himself as he entered the motorwagon and took the driver's seat. "He rather enjoys Harry's company."

"I know, Robert," said the woman sympathetically. "But he'll see him next year."

Having heard the names, Julian stared. Robert and Alice could only be the Robert Hutchins and Alice Jones of Konrad's report. 'Tom', since Julian hadn't seen the boy amongst the others, clearly was Tom Riddle, the target of his mission. But the other name…

As he watched the motorwagon drive away, Julian spun around, seething and furious, and spat, _"Our Harry is here? You let him be raised in a muggle orphanage?"_

Santi quirked an eyebrow at him, and retorted coolly,_ "Surely you must have realized. You were there when Sybilla said-"_

"_I didn't make the connection until now!" _snapped Julian angrily._ "I remember she said that the boy was already in the orphanage – but I didn't think she meant a muggle one!"_

"_How many wizarding orphanages do you know of?" _demanded Santi pointedly.

"_I've never stopped to consider the matter," _bit out Julian crossly._ "I assumed he was in a magical one! I assumed there had to be something of the sort here in England." _

"_The location alone of their flames in The Globe should have made you realize that Harry was in a muggle neighborhood-"_

"_What?" _snapped Julian, frowning._ "Their flames? You mean Harry's flame in The Globe?" _He shook his head._ "How was I supposed to know-"_

"_Grindelwald looks at their flames often," _interjected Santi impatiently._ "Surely that made you see their flames as well-"_

"_I never look," _interrupted Julian in a whisper, before he lifted his head up to glower at him, his voice gaining force_, "When I'm in Gellert's office, I never look at it. I don't like the reminder of what it means for me."_

Santi snapped his mouth shut at that, and looked at him with sympathy and compassion, as he said quietly,_ "I understand."_

Julian heaved a deep breath, before he frowned and gestured briskly at the shabby orphanage._ "How could you have let him be raised by muggles? In such environment! To not know he's a wizard, to be surely confused and –"_

"_I hardly had anything to do with it," _said Santi stiffly, a hard expression on his face._ "You have your beloved Gellert to thank for that."_

Julian frowned, before he narrowed his eyes and demanded curtly,_ "Explain yourself."_

"_What do you think the incantation Grindelwald used when he doused Harry with the Sands of Time was for?"_ said Santi tiredly. _"It served to guide and control the time-traveling. To fix the number of years, months, days, down to the last hour, that Harry was to travel into the past. And to fix the precise location in which he had to appear."_ He pointed a finger at the doorstep of the orphanage._ "Right there."_

Julian glanced at the site, before he shook his head confusedly. _"I don't understand. Why did Gellert want Harry to be in this orphanage?"_

"_Because here's where Tom Riddle was born_," replied Santi calmly, _"and raised."_

"_What does the object of my mission have to do with anything?"_ said Julian exasperatedly. _"He's just some muggleborn-"_

"_He's not."_

Julian shot him a disbelieving glance and said matter-of-factly, _"If he was born in a muggle orphanage, he can only be a muggleborn. It's the only explanation possible."_

"_The story of how it came to happen matters little,"_ interjected Santi dismissively. _"Just know that Gellert wanted them to be raised together, and so they were, since they were told by the caregivers that they're fraternal twins."_ He paused, before he added musingly, _"Though I gather that Tom must have found out the truth by now."_

Julian stared at him, utterly befuddled. But before he had the chance to ask another question, the front door of the orphanage was opened, capturing his attention.

He instantly recognized the first boy that surreptitiously slipped out into the street.

He looked exactly the same as in Konrad's memory: quite a handsome boy of aristocratic features, silky black hair perfectly combed and neatly arranged, dark blue eyes that looked too serious, and with a solemn, adult-like demeanor, though in this instance, he wore an expression of annoyance, as if the boy regretted not being someplace else.

The other boy that came barreling right behind him, bubbling with excitement, was much different, and Julian felt all air leaving his lungs in a whoosh of exhalation.

He couldn't peel his eyes away. All his life he had heard about this boy, and dreamed and imagined what he would look like. It felt surreal now that he finally saw the boy in the flesh.

Julian drank him in, noticing that Santi's description had been sorely lacking. There was the lightning bolt-shaped scar on the forehead, and the green eyes, yet he hadn't expected their beautiful shape and shade, nor the rather hideous, rounded eyeglasses that covered them.

The little boy was very good-looking, but what drew the eye the most was the good-natured, cheerful, and carefree air about him, and the mischievous, impish grin on his face, as if he had just gotten his own way. All in all, it made him look rather adorable.

"Eins," Julian finally breathed out, as he kept staring. And at his own words, he suddenly felt a powerful surge of apprehension, grief, and regret, along with an abrupt constriction on his chest.

"_One?"_

Julian peeled his gaze away from Harry and glanced back at Santi. _"Yes, one."_ He sighed deeply, before he added in a low murmur, _"When I was eight years old, you told me I would never come to know Harry, but that I would see him twice - just twice. I never forgot." _His gaze swiveled back to the boy that was making his way down the street. _"This is one. The first time. And there will only be one other. My time is running short."_

Santi said nothing to that, and Julian was grateful for it.

Without another word, he was quick to vanish the disillusioned and conjured sofa, and dispel the Muggle-Repelling Charm. With a last flick of his wand, he cancelled the disillusion on himself and quickly proceeded to follow the boys with book in hand, maintaining the required distance as to not be noticed.

When the two boys hopped into the monstrosity that muggle Londoners seemed so fond of, Julian ripped a couple of hairs from his head and quickly transfigured them into pennies, thus paying his fare and climbing into the double-decker bus.

He followed them all through their meanderings, his eyes fixed on Harry, until they discovered the Leaky Cauldron and finally entered Diagon Alley. There, Julian instantly transfigured back his clothes into plain robes, though he kept the glamours on his face.

It was Harry's expressions that he enjoyed the most, as the boy's green eyes widened and sparkled with awed fascination and wonder, keeping a constant jubilant chatter, as his gaze snapped from window display to window display.

"_He reminds me of you at that age,"_ said Santi softly, his expression wistful while he glided along Julian's side as they both trailed after the boys.

At that, Julian shot him a wry look. _"When I was innocent, unspoiled, and untainted, you mean?"_

"_Yes,"_ replied Santi bluntly, yet with a hint of remorse in his voice.

"_And for how long will he remain thus, do you think?"_ retorted Julian, feeling a frisson of sadness. He sighed heavily. _"It's not right."_ He briefly glanced at Santi as he added quietly, _"I understand your reasons for letting Gellert use the Sands of Time on him and thus make him his tool, but it's still not right."_

They fell silent after that, both simply gazing at Harry and basking in the boy's reactions as he discovered the Magical World.

It was when the boys entered Flourish and Blott's that Julian knew it was the perfect opportunity to execute his mission. However, with book in hand, he hesitated.

"_You must do it,"_ said Santi sharply, as they stood at one side of the entrance of the store.

Julian clenched his jaw and glowered at him. _"To let an innocent boy read such dangerous information?"_

"_Tom Riddle doesn't have an innocent bone in his body,"_ scoffed out Santi tartly.

Julian frowned at that, before he glanced at the aforementioned boy through the windows of the shop, who was absorbed with some book whilst Harry kept glancing outside, clearly longing to explore all the other stores.

"_I don't know what kind of person he is,"_ said Julian shortly, glancing back at Santi. _"But he's still just a child, and the information Gellert wants him to read is extremely harmful if employed."_

Santi clucked his tongue with dissatisfaction, before he eyed Julian with a considering expression on his face. _"You once asked me what Grindelwald had seen in Sybilla Spyros' memories."_

"_I know he saw himself using the Sands of Time on –"_

"_Yes,"_ interrupted Santi quickly, _"but before finding that memory, he had spent many years studying the innumerable others. There were two, in particular, which helped him understand what it all meant."_

Julian stared at him, deeply intrigued. _"Go on."_

"_In one memory,"_ said Santi quietly, _"he saw himself, imprisoned in Nurmengard-"_

"_What?"_ choked out Julian, utterly taken aback. _"You must be joking-"_

"_I'm not,"_ snapped Santi impatiently, before he chuckled with much amusement. _"Oh, believe me, Grindelwald was quite enraged when he saw that. He, the Dark Lord, being a prisoner in his own Tower! How dare them!"_

As Santi chortled, Julian shook his head slowly, feeling a sudden piercing pain in his chest as he whispered, _"So it means he was defeated?"_

Santi observed him with narrowed eyes, and said gruffly, _"I hope you're not feeling sorrow for him." _Then he waved his hand dismissively_. "Never mind. As I was saying, he saw himself, old and shrunken, in a small cell at the top of the Tower, but with a guest. A wizard who broke in and declared himself to be Lord Voldemort, demanding to know where Grindelwald's wand was-"_

"_Gellert's wand?" _interrupted Julian, bewildered._ "Why would another wizard want-"_

"_That's not relevant to the issue at hand," _said Santi with exasperation_. "The importance of the memory resides in the characteristics of the wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort - with snake-like features and red eyes."_

"_Red eyes," _murmured Julian under his breath, frowning._ "I've read about that. Allegedly, it happens to wizards who delve too deeply into certain Dark Arts which cause them to lose part of their humanity." _He shot Santi a perplexed glance._ "I don't understand."_

"_Let me continue, and you will," _interjected Santi shortly._ "In that memory, Grindelwald refused to give Lord Voldemort the information about the location of his wand and Voldemort killed him."_

Gellert killed. Julian froze, and then took a shuddering inhalation of breath, but didn't interrupt.

"_In the other memory,"_ continued Santi swiftly, _"he saw himself, looking as old as in the first one, yet free. With a disfigured face shrouded by a grey cloak, having a meeting with another wizard, who was referred by others as Lord Slytherin. This wizard was handsome, young, and yet, from time to time, his eyes would flash red when his temper arose. After seeing that, Grindelwald realized that he was seeing memories of two different futures, and that Lord Voldemort and Lord Slytherin was the same wizard, who had turned out differently due to having different pasts-"_

"_And then Gellert saw the memory of him using the Sands of Time on a baby,"_ breathed out Julian as understanding dawned on him, _"and he knew he could create that different timeline, where he isn't killed in a cell in his tower but free and alive, in the company of this 'Lord Slytherin'..." _

He trailed off, frowning. _"Red eyes."_ He glanced down at the book in his hands, his eyes widening, as he whispered, _"Horcruxes. Lord Slytherin with red eyes. Parselmouth boys."_ His gaze snapped to see the boy inside Flourish and Blott's, as he gasped out, shocked, _"Tom Riddle?"_

"_Yes,"_ said Santi with much satisfaction. _"He is truly a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. And he's the one who becomes Lord Voldemort in the original timeline, and Lord Slytherin in this one. No fool, Grindelwald came to the rather wise conclusion that if he had to deal with another Dark Lord as a rival, he preferred one who was sane and could thus be controlled and manipulated."_

"_But if Tom Riddle comes to have red eyes,"_ said Julian apprehensively. _"It means he will make horcruxes-"_

"_Don't you understand?"_ interrupted Santi impatiently. _"Grindelwald is not going to let him make horcruxes. He doesn't want him insane and thus uncontrollable. He has already told his spy at Hogwarts to destroy the copy of that book. Tom will never find it in the Restricted Section. Your mission's true purpose is to wet Tom's appetite for immortality, to let the boy know that it is possible." _

Julian shook his head uncomprehendingly. _"But you said Lord Slytherin's eyes flashed red in the memory. So he must've made-"_

"_Just one,"_ said Santi shortly. _"Inevitably, he must create one horcrux, the same one Lord Voldemort made accidentally and unwittingly, and which Lord Slytherin will make on purpose." _

Julian frowned at that, but before he could ask, Santi continued swiftly, _"Whether as Lord Voldemort or Lord Slytherin, Tom Riddle has two weaknesses: his unquenchable hunger for power and his deep-rooted fear of death. Grindelwald will exploit both in order to manipulate him. He'll use the first weakness by presenting himself to Tom as a mentor and later as an ally, supposedly. The second, by offering Tom another means in which to attain immortality." _

He pinned Julian with piercing gaze, as he added, _"Grindelwald will demand much in return, of course. But he's well aware that this Tom Riddle who'll become Lord Slytherin has a third weakness he didn't as Lord Voldermort. The only attachment he has ever formed towards another human being. Harry. That's why Grindelwald wanted them to be raised together."_

"_That's what Harry's role will be in all of this?"_ demanded Julian suspiciously. _"To be used by Gellert to pull Tom Riddle's strings?"_

"_Harry's roles will be many,"_ replied Santi tersely. _"As you know, he's-"_

"_Yes, yes,"_ snapped Julian impatiently. _"I mean besides being used to create this timeline. Is Gellert interested in Harry for any other reason?"_ He suddenly frowned. _"Konrad said both boys were Parselmouths."_ He eyed Santi searchingly. _"I don't understand how it's possible. But if you say Riddle is truly a Slytherin and thus a Parselmouth, then Konrad is right and Harry is a Parselmouth too? How?"_

"_That's a topic for some other day,"_ said Santi hurriedly, as he gestured at the book in Julian's hands. _"You must act now before it's too late."_

With his fingers tightening around the book, Julian demanded harshly, _"Are you sure I'll not be the cause for that boy to make horcruxes, besides the one you say is necessary?"_

"_Yes,"_ replied Santi with exasperation. _"This Tom Riddle will not discover how horcruxes are made when he's young. It will be Grindelwald who will tell him how, many years from now."_

"_Very well, then,"_ said Julian with a sigh, before he yanked open the door of the store and slipped inside.

It was very easy. A Disillusioning Charm cast on himself. Place the book on the floor, right in front of Tom Riddle's feet while the boy was focused in reading some other tome, leaving the book opened in the chapter regarding Lord Horkos. Giving the boy time to see it and grab it.

And precisely when Tom Riddle reached the page Gellert had told him, stand behind the boy, towering over him, so that his presence was felt. Tom Riddle turned around, frowning, without being able to see a disillusioned Julian, and then, with a flick of his wand, the book was vanished from the boy's hands.

Yet, as Julian started to make his way out of the bookstore, he paused for a moment, gazing at Harry, who was still yearningly looking at the bustle and activity outside, through the windows of the shop.

Right then, Julian felt the inexplicable urgent need to grab the little boy and whisk him away. To protect him, to spare him much, perhaps? Julian didn't quite know, but he hesitated for a moment, trembling with the urge, whilst he seriously considered the possibilities.

"_Let's go,"_ said Santi, his milky gaze flickering from Julian to Harry and back, to end up frowning at Julian.

Jerked out of his thoughts, Julian peeled his eyes away from the little boy, and sighed. "_Yes. Let's._"

As they left Diagon Alley, Julian whispered to himself the reminder, grim and sorrowful, "Eins."

* * *

He didn't like German, decided Harry as he scowled down at the picture of the blue-eyed, blonde woman who had just chided him for his "terrible, horrifying pronunciation! Do make an effort, boy!"

"I am!" snapped Harry at the book, extremely peeved.

He was in a very bad mood that day.

It was Sunday, there were no classes, and there he was, lying against the trunk of a tree with book on lap, wrapped up in one of Tom's Slytherin scarves he had stolen, because for some reason his brother's scarves always felt softer and warmer.

He was before a lovely view of the frozen Black Lake that was being taken full advantage of by a group of Hufflepuffs that were having the time of their lives by skidding and sliding along the ice.

Another group of students, not far away, were playing with the snow that beautifully covered the grounds of Hogwarts, throwing snowballs at each other and even making a snowman.

A snowman! Harry sniffed with envy. Everyone was having fun, and in the meanwhile, he was stuck with learning German, because if he didn't, Tom would know.

His brother always tested him, and if Harry couldn't convincingly prove he was indeed studying, then Tom refused to tutor him in the two classes he was still having trouble with: Potions and Transfigurations.

Not only that, but Christmas Holidays were in two weeks and Tom had already 'informed' him, in a rather high-handed manner, that they were going to stay put.

The last thing his brother wanted was to return to the orphanage, and Tom was going to approach Headmaster Dippet to ask for permission to stay at Hogwarts.

Harry had never felt so angered and indignant in his life. He missed Alice and his friends and he had been looking forward to seeing them. Christmas was his favorite holiday and it was always spent with much fun in the orphanage, in his opinion.

Thus, first, he had attempted to convince his brother with pouts, big, teary eyes, sniffles, and whimpering, wheedling tones. When that didn't work –and Harry had been a bit stumped, because he could usually soften Tom up when he employed such tactics- he had ended up having a heated match of shouts and yells in the middle of the common room.

Nothing good came out of that, since they could both be as impossibly stubborn, and Tom had been furious with him for being the reason they caused a 'scene' before their housemates.

Furthermore, he couldn't even ditch German in order to play with his friends because they were all busy with other stuff.

Algie Longbottom's older sister, the rather serious, strict-looking Augusta, had become engaged to their cousin Francis Longbottom. The girl was over the moon –the first time Harry had ever seen her even smiling- and the Gryffindors were throwing her a party in their Tower, so Felix and Felicity were unavailable.

The twins had invited him over, but Harry knew he wouldn't be welcomed by their housemates – Halloween had proved that. So he preferred to spare himself the trouble and stay far away from the Gryff's Tower that day.

And then, Alphard was busy with his siblings, aunt, and cousins, because they were 'managing a family crisis'.

Earlier in the day, during breakfast in the Great Hall, whilst Augusta Longbottom made her announcement at the Gryffindors' Table to be received by much cheer from that rambunctious, loud lot, the Blacks at the Slytherins' Table were receiving letters by owls, all at the same time.

When they read the missives, their reactions were plenty: beautiful Lucretia had her mouth hanging open, her handsome brother Orion flushed with rage, Alphard choked on his sniggers, his older brother Cygnus lost all color on his face, and their sister Walburga…

Well, Walburga trembled, her face contorted, and she screeched at the top of her lungs with roaring fury, "HOW DARE SHE!"

Heads snapped around at that, students of other houses staring at the girl with surprise and gossipy curiosity.

Outside of the common room and especially in the Great Hall, Slytherins always comported themselves with much decorum and solemnity, so an outburst like Walburga's was indeed rare. Though when it happened, it always seemed to be Walburga.

Dorea Black, the only one who had just flinched when reading her letter, had immediately stood up, reached her niece, and hissed out commandingly, "Not here. We'll all discuss this later."

For once, Walburga instantly obeyed, though it was clear it took her great effort to rein in her temper in order to proceed with her breakfast quietly. All the Blacks did that, staying for the full duration of the breakfast as if nothing had ever happened, before they silently rose up as one and followed Dorea's lead out of the Great Hall and into the dungeons.

Harry didn't find out what had happened until Alphard made a hand sign to meet him in the kitchens.

As they skipped the Great Hall and partook of their lunch amidst the solicitous house-elves, his secret friend explained the situation to him.

"We received news that my father's cousin, Cedrella Black, eloped," said Alphard chuckling and looking highly cheerful. "I'm glad for her, really. Besides Dorea, she was my favorite relative –always gave me candies and fun toys and she told the funniest jokes!"

Grinning, the boy popped a potato chip into his mouth. After crunching it down, he piped in, "She's been a spinster for ages. She's around fifty, so we all thought she was going to die an old maid." His grey eyes sparkled. "But at last she did it! She's been in love with Septimus Weasley since their days at Hogwarts, but was never allowed to accept his courtship. And now, they escaped, went to Gretna Green and got married in a muggle church, with priest and all!"

Alphard chortled happily. "The Black Sheep Curse strikes again! See what I mean?" He then shook his head and added with exasperation, "I don't know why no one believes my theory. How much more proof do they need? Really!"

Bemused, Harry kept staring at the boy in silence, remembering the tidbits he knew about the Weasleys. Not much. From Alphard, he knew that family always had loads of children without any fertility problems like the rest. And from the Prewett twins, he knew they were weird and had a Leprechaun somewhere down their line, which apparently explained their weirdness.

"I will miss her, though," said Alphard suddenly, his voice small and sad.

"Miss her?" interjected Harry, frowning. Then he rolled his eyes. "It can't be that bad. It's not like she died."

Alphard shook his head. "It's even worse than if she had died, at least for the rest of the family. Father has already struck her out from the family tree and records and left her knutless. She cannot even use the Black surname anymore, not legally, at least."

Baffled, Harry pointed out, "But the Weasleys are purebloods, aren't they? So why is it so bad that she married one? Is it because they're light wizards?"

"Oh no, that wouldn't have mattered so much," replied Alphard with a wave of his hand. "It's because they're considered bloodtraitors – they've always liked muggles and muggleborns and are quite open with their views. And it's because they lost all their prestige and respect when they lost their fortune."

Harry scowled, feeling directly insulted. "So just for being poor-"

"It's because of the way they lost their fortune," interrupted Alphard quickly, seeing Harry's expression. "They weren't rich, but Septimus' father did have a respectable amount of galleons in his vaults, from what I've heard." He shook his head disparagingly. "But Weasleys have always been very strange. The wizard apparently thought that muggles were very funny and inventive and some years ago, when muggles invented that thing…" He trailed off, his face scrunching up with effort. "That thing they use because they can't cast Lumos Spells… eclec- eclectitty-"

"Electricity?" prompted Harry, blinking.

"Yes!" breathed out Alphard, looking relieved. "And then they made those things that look like upside-down pears made of glass…"

"Light bulbs?" said Harry, now chuckling in amusement.

Alphard stared at him, as he said uncertainly, "Hmm, yes, I suppose that's their name." He heaved a sigh. "Well, it seems that Septimus' dad thought it was the brightest of ideas for the Wizarding World as well." He rolled his eyes. "What do we need those bulbs for when we already have candles and spells?"

He shook his head disparagingly. "Anyway. The wizard invested all his galleons in those houses that muggle have in which they make stuff, and he bought those things that make other things."

Completely lost for a moment, Harry tried to fathom what the other boy was talking about.

"Oh!" he said at last. "You mean he bought a factory and machinery to make light bulbs?"

"Yes, that," said Alphard, shooting him a look as if Harry was slow of understanding and his explanation had been as clear as crystal. "So for starters, purebloods like my parents were angered because the wizard had invested in the Muggle World. It's something simply not done, you know? Purebloods like to keep wealth in the Wizarding World and not give it to the muggles."

The boy paused, a pensive expression spreading on his face. "I suppose it wouldn't have been that bad if the wizard's business had been a success and he brought back money into the Wizarding World. But it was a catastrophe. Apparently, he discovered that eclectrity and magic don't work well together. So his bulbs were useless in our world. But then he decided to adapt the bulbs so that they could work just with magic."

Alphard snorted loudly. "That didn't go well. He experimented and blew himself up. Not even the house where the bulbs were made or the things that made other things were left. So Septimus was left without a father and poor. And the family name was left in the mud."

After that rather bemusing explanation, Alphard had to leave, because the Blacks were having a meeting to discuss how they would 'confront the humiliating situation' of Cedrella's elopement with a Weasley and decide how they would present a solemn, united front against the 'ridicule, scorn, and derision' from other dark purebloods.

It was a grave family crisis that had to be quickly dealt with, apparently.

And given that Tom was entrenched in the library as usual, Harry was left all by his lonesome, with just a nasty, pushy book for company.

"Let's try again!" snapped the pretty witch of the picture, her hair by now looking frizzy and her expression frazzled and tetchy. "Where is the nearest Floo connection? Repeat after me. Wo ist die nächste Flooverbindung?"

Harry sighed, before he mumbled, "Woe is dye nachta Flooberdung?"

"No! No!" bellowed the witch, yanking her hair. "Wo ist die nächste Flooverbindung!"

Glowering at her with all the power of his frustration, Harry yelled back, "I'm saying it right, you hag! Woe is dye nachta Flooberdung!"

"Is that atrocious German I'm hearing?" said a lilting, drawling voice.

Harry snapped his head around and glared at Abraxas Malfoy, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and was now standing besides Harry's tree, looking down at him with an expression of disdainful amusement.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" bit out Harry, slamming his book shut.

He hadn't crossed words with Abraxas Malfoy since the Hogwarts Express. It was certainly the first time the boy talked to him or even approached him. But Malfoy simply rubbed him the wrong way, especially because Harry would sometimes stare at him from a distance, feeling funny and a bit entranced, and Felix Prewett was always taunting him about it. And to add insult to injury, Abraxas Malfoy was always intensely observing him too, but as if waiting for Harry to grow horns or something.

"Sod off?" drawled Abraxas as if tasting the words in his mouth. "No one has told me before to 'sod off', as you so eloquently put it. I get the gist of it, though." His lips curled upwards in sheer disgust. "A muggle expression, is it not?"

"Yeah, and I've got plenty more for you," growled Harry. "Bugger off, piss off, go take a hike and get lost, stuff it and leave me the hell alone, stick it up yours and-"

"I'm attempting to carry a conversation with you, Riddle," interrupted Abraxas, darkly glaring at him. "You do know what that is, yes? What civilized wizards do from time to time? Rings any bells?"

Harry scowled with deep irritation. "What the hell do you want?"

Abraxas arched a pale eyebrow at him, his silver eyes briefly glancing at Harry's book, as he asked coolly, "Why are you learning German?"

"None of your bloody business," said Harry gruffly, as he rose to his feet. He scowled, highly miffed, when he saw that Abraxas towered over him. He shot the boy a glower and snapped, "Is that all? You can leave now."

Seeing that Abraxas didn't move and kept staring at him with puzzled, narrowed eyes, Harry huffed and started to move away.

He was suddenly forcefully grabbed by the arm and pulled back, and he swirled around, trying to shake himself free as he yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Let go, Malfoy!"

Abraxas stared down at the arm he was tightly clutching, frowning. "You're solid."

Harry blinked, gobsmacked. "Solid?" He then snorted loudly. "Of course I'm bloody solid! That's my arm you're grabbing. What's the matter with you?"

Looking thoroughly confused, Abraxas gazed down at him. "What are you then?" He frowned. "A golem?"

"A what?" Harry stared at the boy, nonplussed.

"Don't play dumb!" hissed out Abraxas impatiently. "I saw how the Bloody Baron touched you and he didn't go through! And I know you're working for the Dark Lord!"

"I'm working for…" Harry's mouth dropped open. Then he shook his head and scoffed, "You've gone mental, Malfoy."

"Don't lie to me, golem!" spit out Abraxas in a frosty, sharp tone. "I want to know what you're doing for the Dark Lord."

Harry shot him an angry, exasperated look. "I'm not a bloody golem – whatever that is!"

Abraxas frowned deeply and then pinched the arm he was holding and twisted the flesh, hard.

"Ouch – that hurt, you bastard!" bellowed Harry furiously, shoving the boy away and finally gaining his freedom.

He didn't waste a second in whirling around and breaking into a run.

"Stop right there or I'll tell everyone you're looking for the Chamber of Secrets!"

Harry choked, skidded to a halt, and slowly turned around to stare at Malfoy with wide eyes.

"What?" he croaked out faintly.

Abraxas smirked, looking triumphant as he coolly sauntered towards him, his silver eyes glinting. "Yes, I do know that much, at least. The Dark Lord wants you to find it and open it, doesn't he?" He cocked his head to a side, a thoughtful expression spreading on his ethereally handsome face. "And then what? Does he believe the legends about the monster?"

Recovered from his shock, Harry bit out crossly, "For the last time, I don't work for the Dark Lord. And I'm not that golem thingy. I'm just a person!" He huffed. "And I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not looking for any chambers-"

"Please, don't insult my intelligence," sneered Abraxas incensed. "After that rather pathetic display of hissing like an idiot at the furniture in the common room, I've seen you searching the school up and down-"

"You're the one who has been following me around!" gasped out Harry, jolted, before he pointed an accusing finger at him and spat with indignant fury, "Stop spying on me, Malfoy, or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" interjected Abraxas loftily. "I can do whatever I please. And I want to know what the Dark Lord has asked you to do."

"I've got nothing to do with any Dark Lords!" snapped Harry, vexed beyond endurance.

Abraxas' silver eyes narrowed, as he demanded, "Then explain how come my grandfather was ready to get you expelled from Hogwarts and he didn't because he received a letter from the Dark Lord."

Stiffening for an instant, Harry then relaxed and shook his head, blinking at the other boy dumbly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," insisted Abraxas, his gaze sharp and suspicious. He paused, his eyes travelling over Harry's body, before he frowned and said slowly, "Very well. If you're not working for the Dark Lord, prove you're not a golem."

"I don't even know what a golem is," said Harry with exasperation. "So how do I do that?"

"It's simple," said Abraxas stoically. "I came prepared."

He pulled something shiny and silver from his school robes' pocket and presented it to him.

Harry automatically grabbed it and then stared down, seeing a small, sharp dagger. He snapped his gaze up to the to other boy's face, his eyes wide, as he asked warily, "What do you expect me to do with this?"

"Make a cut on the palm of your hand."

Harry shook his head. "This is stupid. If I wasn't a person I wouldn't have a brother, would I?" He shot him an irritated look and added dryly, "Haven't you seen Tom around?"

"Tom is not your brother," scoffed out Abraxas. "You look nothing alike."

"That's because we're _fraternal_ twins, you idiot!" bit out Harry churlishly.

Unimpressed and clearly unconvinced, Abraxas said curtly, "Cut and prove you're just a boy."

"Fine," gritted out Harry, briskly holding the dagger and sliding its tip through the palm of his left hand, his jaw clenching in pain. "There. Satisfied?"

Abraxas harshly grabbed his hand and yanked it upwards to inspect it closely. He dragged a fingertip across the wound, making Harry hiss under his breath, and then collected trickles of blood on his finger pads, rubbing them together as if to feel the texture of Harry's blood.

In the next moment, he dropped Harry's hand and plucked the dagger from Harry's hold, pocketing it back as he frowned. "You're just a person." Abraxas skewered him with his silver eyes. "Then you're no mudblood and neither is Tom, if he's really your twin. And if so, you're both Parselmouths."

Harry froze for a split second before he let out a loud guffaw. "You're bonkers! We wish!"

"You are," said Abraxas sternly. "That morning, when the whole House found you hissing at things in the common room, I thought what everyone else did – that you were just deplorably attempting to imitate the hisses of a snake. But I've heard you hissing when you go around inspecting classrooms at night." He shook his head musingly. "You wouldn't keep doing it unless you could really speak Parseltongue. And I don't really know what a Parselmouth sounds like, so I realize that you could be one."

"I'm telling you, I'm not," said Harry vehemently as he scowled at the boy.

Abraxas suddenly smirked at him. "You are. It's the only explanation of why the Dark Lord might be interested in you – why he stopped my grandfather from kicking you out from Hogwarts."

The moment Harry opened his mouth to speak again, Abraxas swiftly raised a hand, as he drawled placidly in his lilting voice, "I never thought Tom was anything but a person, because I've seen ghosts go through him. And I've observed him and know his type." His lips twisted with snide disdain. "After seeing how he has dealt with the Slytherins and students of other houses, it's clear. He's nothing but an uppity social-climber that has ideas above his station and thinks that being intelligent and good at the Dark Arts, as he proved to be when he attacked Walburga Black with a dark curse none of us knows, is enough to make others bend to his will."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Like him, I've seen plenty." He pinned Harry with his gaze, his lips quirking upwards, as he added, "Like you, though, I have not." He cocked his head to a side. "And yet you're both Parselmouths and don't want anyone to know. I would have expected for Tom to reveal his ability to make others fawn over him. Evidently, you're keeping it a secret because you have some other agenda." He arched a pale eyebrow. "Perhaps you're waiting to find the Chamber of Secrets, so that it would prove you're Parselmouths, hmm?"

"You're mad," snapped Harry briskly. "Nothing of what you said is true. You're way off." He fiercely scowled at him. "And don't say things like that about my brother! He's worth ten of you-"

"Hardly," scoffed Abraxas. "Even if he's a Parselmouth, his lowly upbringing shines through. He comes from muggle slums." He shot him a sneer. "Just like you. And given your surname, you can be nothing if not halfbloods."

Harry bristled with fury at the insults, but Abraxas cut him short as he snapped, "Save it." He pierced him with hard, silver eyes as he added in a low, slow voice, "If you want me to keep my mouth shut about the things I know about you, you'll not mention this conversation to anyone, not even your brother." His eyes narrowed to mere slits, as he added sharply, "And when I come around wanting to talk to you, you'll behave civilly and respond in kind. Do I make myself clear?"

With eyes widening for a moment at the threat, Harry then glowered hatefully at the boy, his shoulders tense and stiff as he spat acidly, "Yes."

"Tut-tut," said Abraxas, shaking his head mournfully. "That was not a civil tone of voice. Try again."

Harry's hands clenched into fists, trembling with rage, as he gritted out, "Yes."

Abraxas chidingly clucked his tongue. "Not good enough. Say it gently. And no glaring."

Harry hissed under his breath, before he took a deep breath and reined in his temper. He relaxed his shoulders, stared back at the boy, and muttered quietly, "Yes."

Abraxas smirked widely, his silver eyes sparkling as he intoned softly, "Good boy."

At with that, he calmly turned around and sauntered back to the castle, leaving Harry shaking with fury.


	26. Part I: Chapter 25

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all of those who reviewed!

I'm glad that last chapter answered many of your questions. But fear not, there are still many other mysteries to solve and plot twists to unravel. So don't think that was the end of it, lol. ^^

And oh yeah, Abraxas was quite a cunning little bastard and badass with Harry. What he did, in essence, was to blackmail Harry into starting a forced friendship -as one reviewer described it so perfectly- and it's basically because he's truly interested in him.

We'll see how their relationship will evolve, as well as with Tom, as the fic progresses, because Abraxas will be one of the important characters of the fic.

**Note:** This chapter is shorter than usual, because I decided to post what I already had instead of making you wait, probably weeks, for the full thing. If you like this method better -in smaller doses but more frequent- then let me know and I'll start doing it for all future updates.

I hope you enjoy it!

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**Part I: Chapter 25**

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Harry fully blamed his brother for his current predicament.

He was lying against the headboard of his bed, flipping through a catalogue of Monsieur Ermenegilde's 'haute couture' collection of formal dress robes, all of them exorbitantly pricey, whilst feeling utterly clueless regarding what kind of attire his brother expected him to choose. Fashion definitely wasn't his thing.

Headmaster Dippet had gladly allowed Tom and him to stay at the castle for Christmas Holidays. In fact, it seemed any student who wished to do so didn't even have to ask for permission. The Headmaster was a fanatic observant of all wizarding traditions, and those who stayed at Hogwarts would be required to attend the Yule Ball.

Apparently, wizards didn't celebrate Christmas but Yuletide, some pagan wizarding festivity that came from the Germanic Goths, and had something to do with Astronomy and Winter Solstice, and with all sorts of legends and rites like something called the Wild Hunt and whatnot.

To Harry it seemed very much like muggle Christmas, at least as far as decorations went. The Great Hall had become adorned with green and red ribbons, holly wreaths, and garlands here and there, along with twelve enormous pine trees that had been charmed to have a constant soft drift of snow falling down on them from the enchanted ceiling, while a flock of fairies fluttered through their branches.

That, he liked. What he did not, was the whole Yule Ball business. All the students that were staying, especially the girls, spoke of nothing but what dress they were going to wear and what boy they hoped would ask them out.

When Tom had informed him about the Yule Ball -giving him one of his many pouches of galleons he had earned by selling essays to other students, so that Harry would order for them two sets of dress robes from Monsieur Ermenegilde's shop- he had also commanded him to find a date for himself.

A date! Harry had been horrified.

"Who are you going to take?" he had demanded grumpily.

"Olive Hornby," Tom replied, smirking at him.

Harry had scowled darkly. That explained why he had lately seen his brother constantly around Hornby and her little Ravenclaw friends who so liked to torment poor Myrtle.

After that, he had been stumped. He would have spared himself the angst and suffering by asking Felicity, but the Prewett twins were not going to stay at Hogwarts. Like many purebloods, they were going back to their homes.

Indeed, while the rest of the school made preparations for the Yule Ball, the Slytherins spoke of nothing but the 'Winter Season'. It seemed that from Christmas to New Year's Eve there was going to be a succession of social gatherings.

He heard them speak of the Rosier's Ball, the Wilkes' soiree, the Black's Wild Hunt party, the Malfoy's masquerade gala, the Avery's midnight dinner, and even a Ministry Ball that Charlemagne McLaggen was throwing in his manor and to which all the Slytherins would be attending with their parents.

At least, Harry had vindictively enjoyed seeing the glint of envy in his brother's eyes, surely because Tom was not invited and was thus going to miss so many opportunities to 'forge important social connections', as his brother had once put it.

However, Tom had been behaving very mysteriously since earlier in the day.

During breakfast in the Great Hall, his brother had received a package from an owl of Flourish and Blott's.

"At last!" Tom had muttered under his breath, paying the bird quite a load of galleons, sticking the package under his arm and standing up, to then leave his half-eaten breakfast behind as he hurried out of the Great Hall without another word or backward glance.

And during the whole day, Tom had seemed distracted during class, frowning to himself, impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, and utterly ignoring Harry's probing questions.

Harry sighed as he glanced down at a picture of a young wizard striking poses while wearing some weird ensemble of pointy hat, flashy silver tunic, and bright pink and green polka-dotted bowtie – 'The latest Parisian style!' read the banner above the photo.

Suddenly, the curtains of his bed were yanked open and Tom appeared before him, staring down at him, his dark blue eyes sparkling as he rushed out in a quiet whisper, "I've finally found something. Come!"

Harry shot him a bewildered look. "Come where?"

"Just follow me – be quick!" said Tom hurriedly, already turning around and making his way to the door.

Bemused, Harry gladly left Monsieur Ermenegilde's catalogue behind and trailed after his brother. All his questions were shot down as they climbed up moving staircases, Tom refusing to say a word 'out in the open'.

Harry groaned when they reached the library.

"Do we have to go in there?" he whined mournfully. "What do you want to show me-"

"Hush!" snapped Tom, grabbing him by the hand and forcefully pulling him along. "Not a word until we're alone."

Sighing, Harry followed him into the depths of the library, passing through rows of shelves and some tables occupied by a few Ravenclaws here and there.

Finally, they stood before the grates barring the way to the Restricted Section. Tom waved his golden pass at them and they parted open. They both slipped inside and Harry followed his brother until they reached a nook in one shadowy corner, boxed in by several shelves filled with dusty, grimy tomes.

Tom dropped his schoolbag on the only small table in the place, and then whipped out his wand. "Eligo Salazar Slytherin's tree-line!"

Several books came shooting out the nearest shelf and landed on the table. Without another hitch of breath, Tom was quick to open them, flipping through their yellowish pages.

Finally, he arranged them in a line, one next to the other, and then gestured at them.

"Take a look," he commanded shortly.

Quirking an eyebrow, now intrigued, Harry obeyed. He blinked when he saw that all the books were opened on pages that displayed tree-lines that were nearly identic. It was no surprise that the name on the top was Salazar Slytherin's, though it was connected by a line to a name that sounded vaguely familiar to him.

"Honorea Woodcroft," said Harry, frowning pensively. "Woodcroft? I've heard that name before-"

"She was the daughter of Hengist Woodcroft," interrupted Tom curtly, "the founder of Hogsmeade."

"Oh! Yeah," said Harry brightly, fondly remembering Alphard's ramblings when they had been exploring the village under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak, breaking all sorts of school rules. He shot his brother a curious look. "So Slytherin married this Honorea witch… did he love her?"

"What does that matter?" bit out Tom, casting him a contemptuous glance. "She was a pureblood witch, daughter of a very well respected, influential wizard. Salazar must have chosen her for that," he added with a sneer, "not due to any romantic sentimentalities."

Harry huffed, feeling a mite disappointed. He would have liked the idea that their ancestor had some redeeming qualities and had married out of love and not self-interest.

Seeing his expression, Tom said superiorly, his tone pleased, "Slytherin was a ruthless, practical man. As he should be." Then he scoffed, looking irked and disgusted. "Though many historians do like to write about how Salazar was really secretly in love with Rowena Ravenclaw or truly pinning after Godric Gryffindor." He suddenly smirked with dark amusement. "Funnily enough, no one dares to speculate that he was enamored with good, chubby Hufflepuff."

Harry snorted at that, but before he could voice any opinion, his brother eyed him closely, as he demanded, "Besides what is common knowledge, what do you know about Salazar Slytherin?"

"Hmm… I know he was the first to create Fertility Potions," replied Harry slowly, not mentioning the information he had learned from his secret friend. It still made him shudder and blanch when he remembered Alphard's revelations about Breeder Potions.

"You don't know much, then," said Tom sternly, looking vastly annoyed. He heaved a deep, steadying breath, as if gathering patience, before he gestured at a couple of chairs. "Very well, let's take a seat and I'll explain the most important parts."

Harry complied and his brother was quick to begin, by demanding, "Do you remember Alice Jones' history lessons, about the era before the Plantagenet kings?"

"Er…" Harry trailed off, hesitantly. "Um, not really-"

"Do you remember Professor Binn's lectures in History of Magic, then?" snapped Tom irritably. "About Merlin and Arthur Pendragon."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know the story but not because I paid attention to Binns. You're the only one who doesn't fall asleep!" He huffed, miffed. "I know a bit because I read the textbook for the essay we had to write about the-"

"About the Fall of the Druids," interjected Tom sharply. "Exactly." He shot him a vexed glare, before he continued, "As you should know, after the destruction of Arthur Pendragon's kingdom, Druids were persecuted and killed off by muggles. It's said that it was the Druids themselves who had found Merlin as a young boy and raised him and taught him magic. But only a few survived the decades of scouring after Pendragon's death and before the rise of the Plantagenets. Of those of Ireland, Cliodna was the last one of their kind."

"Cliodna?" piped in Harry, perking up. "I have a Chocolate Frog card of her! It did say that she was a Druidess-"

"Whatever your stupid card says," interrupted Tom, darkly aggravated, "I'm sure it's not much." He briskly gestured at the shelves around them. "It took me a long while to find and piece together the full account of it. She was the last Druidess, yes, but she also took it upon herself to teach others about Magic, so that her kind's knowledge wasn't lost. She went around the British Isles, visiting village after village, finding magical children and choosing the worthier among them."

He paused to then shoot Harry a pointed look. "In Scotland, she found Helga Hufflepuff. In Ireland, Rowena Ravenclaw. In England, she found Godric Gryffindor, in a southern town that nowadays bears his name – Godric's Hollow. In northern England, in what is today Lancashire county, she found Salazar Slytherin, in a town called Woodcroft."

"Woodcroft?" Harry stared at him, bemused. "As in Hengist-"

"Yes, as in Hengist Woodcroft," retorted Tom impatiently. "The wizard was the Chieftain of the wizarding town, and it's believed that before marrying Honorea, Salazar Slytherin knew her from there, when they were little children, before Cliodna took him away."

Tom waved his hand dismissively, before he continued, "Cliodna had other pupils, of course, but several years later, when she died, it was the four most outstanding of her students who decided to continue her work but in a more organized, permanent way-"

"And they founded Hogwarts," breathed out Harry, startled and then fascinated by the whole story.

"Yes," said Tom curtly. "Meanwhile, the wizarding village of Woodcroft was attacked and burned to cinders by neighboring muggles. The Chieftain, Hengist, managed to escape with his daughter, and he adopted the name of his former town as his surname." He paused, before adding musingly, "As a reminder and way of honoring those who had died, I suppose. Moreover, rumors about Hogwarts had already spread among wizarding communities, so he travelled to Scotland in search of it. Evidently, he was successful, and that's when he finally founded Hogsmeade."

"Nice!" said Harry, grinning widely. "So besides Slytherin, our other ancestor was the daughter of the Chieftain of Woodcroft and founder of Hogsmeade!"

Tom shot him a scathing look. "Hengist was remarkable, yes, but from what I've read, Honorea was quite useless. Just a pureblood witch with a renowned father that Slytherin used, to have her bear pureblooded children for his line – nothing more."

Harry glowered at him and then scoffed. "I don't care what you say. I still think it's wicked."

Tom leveled a snide glance at him, before he gestured at the books impatiently. "Now that you know a bit of his background story, look at his tree-line of descendants and tell me what you see."

Piqued, Harry moved his chair closer to the table and peered down at the nearest book. He then frowned, puzzled, trying to untangle all the connecting lines that seemed to loop up and down all across the page.

"What's with all the twists?" he groused out, his eyes narrowing with the effort of attempting to follow the lines. "It's impossible to understand!"

"That's what incest looks like in a tree-line," replied Tom placidly, then smirking at Harry's shocked expression. "Oh yes, there you have it – uncles marrying nieces, cousins paired with cousins, siblings with siblings, and every other combination possible."

"That's – that's disgusting!" choked out Harry, his small nose scrunching under his big, round eyeglasses.

Tom's dark blue eyes glinted and his smirk widened as he said loftily, "I wouldn't say that. I would call it necessary and understandable. The Slytherins weren't the only ones who took such measures to preserve the blood purity of their line. Most of our housemates' family lines are filled with incest as well."

Squicked and grossed out, Harry shook his head, before he inspected the page again, focusing on the notations in parenthesis underneath some names instead of the connecting lines.

The first that caught his attention was a Slytherin who had the label of 'Founder of the True Blood Alliance', making him remember the Prewett twins' explanation about the Egeriana Rose that the members of that group used as a symbol.

Then, he found something else: a Sidony Slytherin, one of the few who was matched with someone outside the family – with an Ignacius Peverell, in her case – with a note under their linked names that prompted the reader to 'See Potter line for information of descendants'.

Harry's gaze snapped up, his eyes wide with happiness. "We're related to the Potters?"

He very much liked Dorea's secret beau. Charlus Potter had not only lent Alphard and him his Invisibility Cloak that day in which they had gone exploring down the secret tunnel behind the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, but was also very kind, warm, and friendly to him.

Just the other day, when he had been leaving the Great Hall after lunch, they had crossed paths.

"A pretty little bird has told me that you're quite fantastic on a broom," Charlus Potter had whispered, winking at him, before he huffed with mock annoyance. "Indeed, lately, my own girl has been doing nothing but singing your praises when instead she should be paying attention to the naughty things I do to her." He had shot Harry a rakish, challenging grin, as he added, "Oh, but I am looking forward to matching skills with you in the pitch and see if she's right!"

And with that, the fifth-year Gryffindor had strolled away, and Harry had only stood there, in the middle of the corridor, in silence, because he had been too stumped and taken aback, and then highly peeved for a moment.

Dorea always told him very sharply to keep his mouth shut about his secret Quidditch training, saying that she wanted to give Charlus Potter a nasty surprise next year during Quidditch matches. And then, evidently, she turned around and spilled the beans to Charlus! Boyfriend and 'naughty things' involved or not, that wasn't an excuse, as far as Harry was concerned.

But then, he had felt rather happy with himself and content with the prospect of playing against Charlus, not only the Gryffindors' Captain but also such a brilliant Chaser that he had beaten the talented Dorea in all matches.

So this new discovery of being related to a boy he liked and admired made him feel quite joyful and proud.

"Related to the Potters?" scoffed out Tom disdainfully. "The connection is too distant to be significant, little brother. We're not cousins with them or anything of the sort."

At that, Harry's shoulders slumped dejectedly, his disappointment deep and crushing.

Tom released an annoyed sigh, as he then said crisply, "I wanted you to notice the last of the line, not waste time with nonsense."

Harry shot him an irked glower, before he grabbed the book, looked and found, and read out loud, his tone waspish, "Sherisse Slytherin. Death, 1340. Dragon Pox. Age 15." He glanced up at his brother, and snapped, "So what?"

"So, you halfwit," said Tom tetchily, "that information evidently isn't correct because here we are-" he gestured grandiosely at themselves "- alive, descendants of Salazar Slytherin. And she was the last known one." He then pointed at the other books lying open on the table, displaying the tree-lines, as he added with much contempt, "And all the others have the same. Not one says anything different about Sherisse Slytherin."

Closing the book in his hands and sighing, Harry muttered quietly, "We already knew that everyone thinks the line died off ages ago." He gestured at the book resting on his lap. "You can't be surprised."

"I wasn't," retorted Tom solemnly, before he abruptly smirked smugly. "But I found a different version regarding her death."

Tom grabbed his school bag and took out a glossy, bright, colorful magazine.

At the sight of it, Harry's eyebrows shot upwards and then he guffawed loudly. "The Witch Weekly!" He started sniggering, his green eyes tearing. "You've become a fan of a rag for chits? What – hope to see yourself nominated as The Most Charming Smile?"

He chortled and his brother shot him a murderous glower as he spat, "Shut up, you twit!"

Harry couldn't stop laughing, though. He had often seen Felicity Prewett and her Gryffindor girl friends with that rag, gawking and blushing at the pictures of handsome wizards awarded for stupid stuff –The Dandiest! The Dreamiest Eyes! The Most Scrumptious! The Most Yummy Body!– and then pouring over hairstyle advice, and best fingernail color-charms to match robes of that shade or other, and gossip about who married whom and who cheated with whom and when and why, and such.

It wasn't until Tom used the rag to whack him on the head with full force, making his skull throb, that Harry ceased his amused chuckles and snickers in order to rub and soothe the forming bump.

"It isn't mine, you idiot! It's Hornby's. Olive and her little Ravenclaw friends have been yapping about an article in this magazine the whole week," said Tom, his tone snide and poignant, which suddenly made Harry feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he grinned to himself, feeling vastly vindicated.

Ha! He had known that his brother couldn't truly like Olive Hornby. Granted, she was very pretty, smart, and a pureblood, and already had Tiberius McLaggen eating out of the palm of her hand, but she was also very nasty and cruel to other girls who were lacking and easy prey, like Myrtle.

"They thought it was utter rubbish, and kept making fun of it," continued Tom acidly, still glaring at Harry, "but as I heard more and more about it, I decided to read it for myself."

He brusquely opened the magazine and flipped until he reached a page, to then shove it along the table towards Harry.

"There, read it, and stop acting like the lamebrain you are!" hissed out Tom, shooting him a venomous look.

"Alright, alright," said Harry in an appeasing tone of voice, "keep your bonnet on."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the thing. What he saw first was a full, lengthy article that occupied most of the page.

He cleared his throat, and said carefully, as to not arise his brother's temper again, "Erm, I don't suppose it's the piece about 'How to Make your Hair Sparkle like a Fairy's', right?"

"No," said Tom testily. "It's the column by the margin."

"Right," said Harry, glancing at it and trying his best not to find anything amusing in it. "So it's this column written by the… er-" he had to badly rein in his need to chortle "-um, The Pink Quill?"

"Yes," bit out Tom, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I see," said Harry tactfully, as he gazed at the small moving picture of the old witch who called herself 'The Pink Quill': she had a long, thin face, with bright emerald, winged eyeglasses and a peacock feather sticking out from the bun at the back of her head, which bobbed up and down in the air as she moved and gave a shark-like smile.

Seeing no way around it, he heaved a sigh and began to read.

_My dear, avid readers and beloved fans, this week I will reveal another heart-wrenching, tragic story of a famous witch swindled, misused, abused, and mistreated by a heartless, despotic wizard. _

_Researching, unearthing, and unraveling this particular tale has been a project of mine that has lasted for countless months. At last, I'm prepared to give you the unadulterated facts, the brutal truth, that only I have been able to bring forth to light._

_I begin the tale by asking you to remember: Who was Sherisse Slytherin? _

_Witches like myself, vastly educated and knowledgeable regarding the history of the most prominent and important wizarding families, will instantly recall her as being the last descendant of the infamous, dangerous, and deranged Salazar Slytherin, the darkest and most cruel of wizards in English wizarding history. _

_Witches like myself, enthusiast, devoted, and dedicated self-taught historians, will even know that, according to all publicly-accepted and known accounts, Sherisse Slytherin, like her parents, died in the calamitous outbreak of Dragon Pox in Hogsmeade in 1340, which devastated the wizarding community by taking the lives of many in village and Hogwarts Castle._

_At the tender age of fifteen, the last of the Slytherins died. But – did she really? Was it truly due to Dragon Pox, like her parents?_

_I have unburied the truth: No. _

_The first fact that made me question the records of renowned historians, regarding Sherisse Slytherin's cause of death, was an unresolved mystery. If she had died two weeks after her parents, as is widely claimed by established authors, what happened to the famed collection of books, heirlooms, and fortune that the Slytherins had amassed for three centuries since the times of their abominable forefather?_

_Most historians would answer that they were simply lost and destroyed with the passage of time, that perhaps they were plundered and stolen by others after Sherisse's death, or even, that they are still intact, hidden somewhere in Hogwarts, in the legendary, mythical Chamber of Secrets, zealously guarded by the monster within._

_I, however, do not believe in fairytales or vague, dismissive answers meant to excuse one's own ignorance and make light of a serious, grievous question. What was the fate of the Slytherins' possessions – who took flight with them?_

_It was through an old acquaintance of mine – a passionate, ardent, self-taught historian like myself, who throughout her life had formed an impressive collection of rare books __– _that I found the answer. 

_In her library, I found an old tome, written by a wizard two centuries ago and published posthumously, only for his research to pass unnoticed, ignored, or ridiculed by wizarding academic circles. _

_Allow me now to reveal the truth Mortimer Mullhorn had painstakingly unearthed. Sherisse Slytherin did not die of Dragon Pox, but from complications during childbirth. _

_Childbirth! Many of you must be shaking your heads, in disbelief. From childbirth, at the age of fifteen, when she was unmarried? Yes, my dear, beloved readers. _

_Her story was clearly a tragic one. After having lost her parents, amidst an outbreak of Dragon Pox and with death surrounding her, she gave birth. The sire, a mysterious M.G.._

_Mortimer Mullhorn must have known the identity of the wizard who so callously impregnated the young Sherisse Slytherin, only to take the child with him and flee. _

_In the ensuing chaos produced by the laments of the relatives of those who were dying during the outbreak, the mysterious, ruthless, despicable wizard took his child, and all of the Slytherins' amassed possessions, and escaped. _

_Mortimer Mullhorn must have discovered the wizard's full name, since his annotation of the wizard's initials –M.G.– had been quickly scribbled, as if it was a reminder to himself, to be further expounded upon. _

_Alas, he did not. _

_Mr. Mullhorn died before completing his research, before finishing writing what would surely be an account regarding M.G.'s identity, background, and further fate after fleeing from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade._

_It was Mortimer Mullhorn's son who published his father's unfinished work after death. It is so, that we will never come to know who the odious M.G. truly was._

_Yet, there was a child, my dear, faithful readers. Sherisse Slytherin was not the last of her line. _

_Thus, could it be that there are descendants of the ignoble Salazar Slytherin amongst us, this very day, keeping themselves hidden in our midst? _

_Could it be that there are Parselmouths, those with the darkest and most dreaded and feared of magical abilities, who are deviously passing themselves off as good, honest wizards and witches?_

_I dare to believe it possible, and shudder._

Harry finished the article and stared at Tom, his eyes wide, his breathing haggard, and his heart loudly thumping in his small chest.

"Is it true?" he breathed out, hope powerfully swelling within him.

"It _has_ to be," said Tom firmly, his lips then stretching into a triumphant smirk. "It's the only explanation possible, given that we exist."

Then he swiftly dug into his schoolbag and brought out a very worn, battered old book.

He presented it to Harry as he said with much self-satisfaction, "I ordered it from Flourish and Blott's. It took them a while, but they found a copy of Mullhorn's book in a small wizarding bookstore in Ireland, and they purchased it for me."

"That's the package you received today," murmured Harry quietly, understanding dawning on him as he automatically took the tome. He fixed his brother with a penetrating gaze. "Is she right, then? Did this Mullhorn chap-"

"Yes," replied Tom instantly, then indolently gesturing at the book in Harry's hands. "It's all exactly like she wrote. Mullhorn's account of what happened to Sherisse Slytherin. The tree-line he made for the Slytherin family – with the annotation of the M.G. initials as the sire of Sherisse's child. It's all there."

"M.G.," whispered Harry slowly, in wonderment.

"Exactly," said Tom, a smug smirk on his face. "He must be our father's ancestor. Whoever he was, his descendants at some point came to have the Riddle surname."

"And now we finally have our first clue!" piped in Harry excitedly, glancing down at the book in his hands with wide, bright eyes. "Granted, initials isn't much, but it's a start, isn't it?"

"It is," drawled Tom superiorly. "And you have me to thank for that."

"I do," said Harry softly, glancing up at him with a warm, beaming smile. "This is great, Tom!"

That night, Harry could barely sleep, so joyful and exhilarated he was. They were one step closer to finding their dad, because he just knew that he was somewhere out there, waiting for them.


	27. Part I: Chapter 26

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Only a few replied to my question of what you preferred as readers: fast updates of shorter chapters, or longer chapters that took longer to be posted. : ( : (

Anyway, this is something in between and I hope you enjoy it.

To those who answered or reviewed about other things, my deep thanks! Some of your questions/doubts/etc are addressed in this chapter. As you'll see, one of the subplots will be picking up its pace.

Let me know what you think! ; )

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 26**

* * *

Harry sighed, drowning his sorrows in a porridge that seemed tasteless to him.

The school was having their last breakfast before the holidays: the fairies were fluttering around the beautifully decorated pine trees; at the front of the Great Hall, the Herbology Professor, Herbert Beery, was cheerfully waving his wand, conducting a motley group of students that conformed the school's Choir –mostly Hufflepuffs with a few Gryffindors and Ravenclaws here and there, because apparently all Slytherins felt that it was beneath them to perform for the masses and make utter fools of themselves- who were singing the 'Yuletide at Hogwarts' carol, accompanied by an enchanted harp that looked as if invisible hands were plucking its strings; the other teachers at the Staff's Table were animatedly talking among themselves, wearing festive attires –most notable, Dumbledore's quirky robes that displayed dancing snowmen and prancing reindeers with red noses; while many students were absent from their House tables because they were getting ready to take the Hogwarts Express in two hours.

And Harry was depressed because he wouldn't be going with them and he would miss the festivities at the orphanage. Moreover, he still didn't have a date for the Yule Ball.

Just then, he caught sight of Myrtle Mimbletinon and quickly glanced down at his porridge once again.

During the last few days, he had seen Myrtle often shooting him glances from the Ravenclaw Table: sometimes the looks she gave him were bright and hopeful, filled with expectant anticipation; other times –when it was clear Harry wasn't making a move to ask her to the Ball- they were impatient, peeved, and angered.

He heaved a martyrized breath, and then glanced around, inspecting his options.

Inevitably, his gaze first landed on a second-year Gryffindor girl, who was excitedly chattering with her friends –one of the few times he had seen her acting in a carefree manner.

She wasn't pretty nor ugly, and in precisely that moment, her plain features seemed to be illuminated with inner joy, none of her usual prim, strict seriousness showing.

Nevertheless, it wasn't her looks that mattered to him, but rather what he knew of her.

Minerva McGonagall had been the one who had saved him, one day, long ago, when he had been cornered by Walburga Black and other Slytherins. Minerva had stumbled upon them and then, swiftly, turned around to fetch the Prewett twins' cousin and Head Girl, Muriel.

Ever since, the second-year Gryffindor girl would, from time to time, glance at him. Not with pity -or he wouldn't even consider her, feeling too affronted by it- but rather with sympathy and worry.

He had heard that she was bookwormish, very bright, and excellent in Transfiguration –allegedly, Dumbledore's favorite. Moreover, he had never seen her simpering, giggling stupidly, or coyly fluttering her eyelashes like some other girls. At least, he would be spared that in a dance partner.

Furthermore, it had been Felicity Prewett who had first suggested Minerva, just the other day in the Gryffindors' common room, when he had grumpily admitted he still didn't have a date.

"She's quite nice, actually," said Felicity Prewett, to then shake her head in puzzlement. "I don't know why no one has asked her yet."

"Because she's an unbearable stickler for rules!" groused out Felix angrily. "She confiscated my muggle photo parchment thing-"

"It's called a poster," interjected Felicity shortly.

"Right - that," snapped Felix, then looking mortally offended as he continued, "Minerva confiscated my poster – Confiscated! When she doesn't have the right –she's not even a Prefect!"

"Oh, just you wait," said Felicity in a relishing, vindictive tone of voice, "she'll be made a Prefect in her third year, no doubt about that." She glared at her twin, as she added poisonously, "And you deserved what she did – you went around with a poster of a naked muggle woman-"

"She wasn't naked!" roared Felix defensively. "The girl was wearing those things muggles put on when they go into the sea!"

"A bathing-suit," said Felicity in a suffering tone of voice, before her beautiful mismatched blue and brown eyes narrowed. "It was scandalizing! It fully displayed her legs, arms, and shoulders!"

At Harry's half-amused, half-nonplussed expression, the girl swiftly turned to him as she clarified, "Our cousin Ignatius works under Father in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, so he gets to travel a lot and always sends us souvenirs." She huffed peevishly, as she added, "And last week he was in America, and he sent Felix a poster of a muggle actress-"

"Rita Hayworth," breathed out Felix, his expression dreamy and utterly besotted. "She's so pretty."

Felicity shot him a disgusted look. "She has no shame. And you and your little friends were in the middle of the common room, ogling at her poster like salivating Trolls!"

Felix snapped his head around at that, to glower at her as he spit out accusingly, "Oh, that's rich coming from you - when you gawk at the pictures of wizards in The Witch Weekly!"

Felicity's face turned as red as her hair, before she folded her hands on her lap and said primly, "I don't gawk. I merely glance at the pictures of important wizards who are the recipients of celebrated awards." She cleared her throat, and added airily, "And that day when you caught me at it, I was just looking at the picture of Professor Tilly Toke, because he had been awarded as The Most Gallant-"

"Oh, yes, because 'Tilly Toke has an Order of Merlin First Class'!" mimicked Felix in a high-pitched, simpering tone of voice. "He tricked a dragon and saved so many muggles! Tilly Toke is so fabulous, brave, and handsome!"

Felicity blushed profusely –her twin having evidently just repeated words out of her own lips– and Felix cast her a revolted look before he turned to Harry and said entreatingly, "Cousin Ignatius sent that poster to me as a joke, you know? He likes to send muggle stuff from the countries he visits. My friends and I did no harm by looking at a picture of a muggle celebrity." His voice lowered with anger, adding as if his honor had been profoundly impeached, "And Minerva treated us as if we were a bunch of perverts! Took the poster and then went to tattle-tale on us to Muriel!" He shook his head firmly. "You can't take someone like _that_ to the Ball."

"Rubbish," snapped Felicity, bristling and looking affronted. "Minerva is very nice, no matter what you say." She glanced at Harry as she added cajolingly, "I don't think she'll mind that you're one year younger than her, and she's a Quidditch fan, so you'll have plenty to talk about." Then her expression brightened. "As a matter of fact, it's rumored that she's going to be the Team's new Chaser. Those who went to the first tryouts have said that she's actually very good. And she's an excellent dancer too-"

Felix let out a loud guffaw, half snorting, half chortling, as he said mockingly, "Oh yes! I heard that when it was her turn to dance with Dumbledore, she swooned as soon as he placed a hand on her waist!" He rolled his mismatched eyes. "Who swoons, I ask you!"

"She fainted?" said Harry amused, though not surprised by the circumstances.

He had already discovered that the Head of other Houses had been giving dancing lessons: Perpetua Fancourt, the Astronomy Professor, to her Ravenclaws; Dumbledore to his Gryffindors; and Tilly Toke to his Hufflepuffs –much to the envy of girls of other Houses.

His Head of House, Horace Slughorn, however had not, because, apparently, most purebloods were given dancing lessons since the cradle. Though Harry suspected that not all were actually good at it.

Indeed, his yearmate, Thaddeus Avery, hulked around like a clumsy Troll at the best of times. And the Slytherin Keeper, Anthonin Dolohov, was dexterous when playing, but off a broom, the boy walked awkwardly, stomping around as if he had the heavy feet of a Giant.

Nevertheless, their Potions Professor had clearly forgotten that there were two Slytherins –Tom and him– who didn't have the 'advantage' of a pureblood upbringing.

Harry didn't know any type of dancing except the Charleston and the Swing, and that was only because when Robert Hutchins had gifted the orphanage with a radio, Alice was at first –before she started tuning the wireless only to the News, to listen about Germany like someone possessed– so excited that she left the radio on channels that played the latest hits and thus she taught them the dances that were all the rage.

It had been much fun, Harry reminisced with a nostalgic pang, though it hadn't prepared him for the Yule Ball. Alice thought that ballroom dancing was outdated, antiquated, stuffy and boring.

Though, according to Tom, formal wizarding dancing wasn't exactly like muggle ballroom dancing.

"It's not like the muggles' Fox-Trot," Tom had said with a disdainful sneer, his tone then turning drawling and arrogant, "Wizarding dancing is one of much more elegance and sophistication, in which every turn and twist has a meaning and a foundation in wizarding traditions and rites."

It was then that Harry had discovered that the week Tom had spent with Olive Hornby and her Ravenclaw friends, at all hours, wasn't just because he was learning about The Pink Quill's article in the Witch Weekly, but because the girls had also been teaching him how to dance.

Seemingly, Tom was a natural at it, and had shortly become a superb dancer. At least that was the gossip traveling through the school's grapevine, which was evidenced by the flock of girls who had started giggling and fluttering their eyelashes at his brother, more insistently than ever, clearly hopeful that Tom would ditch Olive Hornby at the last hour and instead choose one of them for the Yule Ball.

"Yes, well, Minerva fainted because…" Felicity trailed off, looking discomfited and hesitant. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and mumbled grudgingly, "Fine. Everyone knows why she swooned. She has a huge crush on Dumbledore. Outside of class, she becomes a complete ninny around him."

Felix shot her a triumphant grin at that, and then pointed out in a sensible tone of voice, "Exactly." He tapped his temples with a finger. "She's not right in the head. What girl would fancy Dumbledore? He's ancient!"

"I'll let you know," Felicity huffed out, incensed, "that Dumbledore is in his eighties and thus a wizard in his prime. He's brilliant, powerful, and quite attractive-"

"Oh, so now you fancy Dumbledore as well as Tilly Toke!" blustered Felix, going red with anger, to then growl accusingly, his eyes narrowing, "You're only twelve! You shouldn't be fancying anyone!"

"You're one to speak!" snapped Felicity indignantly. "You're twelve as well and you go around making eyes at that nasty hag of Olive Hornby, like a love-sick puppy! And it's even more pathetic because everyone knows that she fancies Harry's brother!" She squared her shoulder and lifted her chin up. "Besides, that I understand the appeal of Professor Toke and Professor Dumbledore doesn't mean I seriously fancy them. My point is that since Minerva likes Dumbledore, she's a safe option for Harry."

"Safe?" said Felix crisply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as his gaze flickered from his twin to Harry and back. "Why should you care if she's 'safe'?"

Felicity's cheeks went pink, and she shot an absent-minded Harry a surreptitious glance, before she edged closer to her twin and breathed out in a joyful, secretive whisper, "Remember what Mother told me? That one day I would just know – that when I met my Match, I would just feel it, like a tug in my magical core?" She daintily touched her chest. "Here. Like she did-"

"That's a load of cadswallop!" snorted out Felix derisively. "That Match stuff is utter rubbish that only silly little girls believe!"

Felicity's soft expression vanished from her beautiful face, as she bit out angrily, "It's not! You know Mother was supposed to marry Charlemagne McLaggen but she didn't because she then met Father at a Ministry Ball and instantly felt that he was the one for her! Don't mock it – it's true." She shot Harry a covert glance, as she added in a low murmur, deeply blushing, yet looking enraptured, "I've felt it. So I know what I'm talking about."

"You have felt nothing!" roared Felix, looking beside himself with fury. "You're too young to even think of such things and I will not allow it anyway-"

"Allow it! How dare you think I need your permission-"

"I'm your twin – your brother! Father and I are the ones who decide, and it's my duty to protect you-"

"Protect me! Don't make me laugh – I'm the one who's always taking care of you, not the other way around! And Mother thinks it should be a witch's decision, so I'll be bonded with whom I choose, it will not be up to you or Father-"

"Over my dead body!"

The subject of the conversation went wholly unnoticed by Harry, who had long ago disconnected his mind from the twins' loud ramblings, as he often did when they engaged in a full battle of snipping and bickering.

And thus, he finally slipped away, undetected as the twins kept railing at each other about something or other, with his head buzzing since the Prewetts had given him much food for thought.

Indeed, now that he glanced at Minerva McGonagall again, he finally came to a resolution. As soon as he finished his breakfast, he would arm himself with valor and go over to the Gryff's Table and ask the girl to the Ball.

Just as he made his decision, he was yanked from his musings when an owl swooped down and dropped an envelope in his bowl of porridge.

Grumbling with irritation under his breath –since that same owl had also dropped a letter for Tom, though just to one side of the boy's plate and not in his food - Harry lifted up the soaked envelope and flicked his wand at it, casting a drying and restoring charm.

"It's from Alice," said Harry happily as soon as he took out the letter and recognized the penmanship.

At that, Tom scoffed scathingly and abandoned his envelope back on the table, without giving it a second glance, to go back to his 'healthy' breakfast, which unlike Harry's, consisted of 'nutritious' stuff like fruits.

Tom had already forced Harry to eat an apple, after all, so that should satisfy his brother – though it rarely did. But Tom seemed to have many other things on his mind and thus didn't push the issue, for once.

Along with the letter, a newspaper clipping had slipped from the envelope, though at first Harry didn't pay any attention to it. He was rather absorbed with Alice's writing.

She sounded sad and mournful since they would be staying at their 'boarding school' instead of returning home to the orphanage. Mostly, she seemed sorrowful that they wouldn't be spending together their birthday on New Year's Eve, expressing how much she missed them and longed to be with them in their day of celebration. Though she did imply she would be saving their birthday presents for when they returned for summer holidays, which made Harry grin widely.

Finally, in a decidedly melancholic, reminiscing mood, she prompted Harry to take a glance at the newspaper clipping she had sent him, to make him remember how much fun they had had 'that day'.

Curious, Harry picked up the clipping and roved over the article.

It was a commemoration of the former monarch of Great Britain and Emperor of India, George the Fifth, who had died over two years ago and had been much admired for being what a King of the English people should be – of 'stern features', 'strong, self-possessed, and stoic in the face of adversity', and with a 'powerful, authoritative presence that commanded and gained instant respect and obeisance'.

It went on to describe the celebration of the King's Silver Jubilee that had marked the monarch's 25th year of reign. The large, black and white still-picture that accompanied the article showed exactly that: the crowds standing all along a wide street, with sticks in hands that had small English flags made of paper, and the ornate, golden carriage that carried George the Fifth, with glittering crown, jeweled medals on chest, and heavy cape on shoulders, amidst his escort of royal guards in their crimson uniforms, with sheathed swords, mounted on magnificent horses.

Harry remembered it clearly. He had been eight years old, and Alice had taken them to central London, to wait for the royal procession in front of Westminster Abbey.

He had been bubbling with excitement, wanting to see 'the King! The King!', and a man in the crowd had smiled down at him, asked Alice for permission, and then effortlessly lifted him up so that he sat on the man's shoulders and had a clear view of the street. And the people had cheered and clamored and waved their paper flags, and women and little girls had thrown flowers to the street, to adorn the way, as the King's carriage passed by in a sedate pace.

Looking solemn and grave, King George hadn't waved, but instead curtly inclined his head in greeting, and the crowds roared, and Harry had jovially shouted along with them, fascinated by the spectacle and by the fact that that man was actually 'their King'.

With a reminiscing, fond smile on his face, Harry gazed again at the picture of the newspaper clipping. And that's when he suddenly saw it, depicted on the festive adornments hanging from the windows of a shop.

At first he froze, his eyes wide and incredulous, then he gaped, as it all suddenly clicked in his mind, the revelations shocking, and finally he breathed out in a thread of a gobsmacked whisper, "The Tudor Rose."

In the next second, he swung his head around to stare at his brother, and said in a loud, exhilarated voice, "It's the Tudor Rose, Tom! That's why I thought it looked so bloody familiar – I had seen it before, of course – but in the Muggle World!"

"What are you blabbering on about?" snapped Tom, darkly vexed as he lifted his gaze from his breakfast.

"We have go to the library – now!" said Harry urgently, picking up envelope, letter, and clipping, and shooting to his feet.

Tom arched an eyebrow at him as he drawled mockingly, "_You_ want to go to the library?"

"Yes, right now. Let's go!"

However, his brother didn't move – didn't even twitch. Tom just went back to his breakfast, fully ignoring him, clearly thinking Harry must have been babbling about some idiocy and simply not understanding.

Growling under his breath, Harry wasted no time in yanking Tom up by the arm and instantly pulling him along, brusquely and with utter disregard if his grip was too forceful or bruising.

He made a run for it and yanked his brother along. Several times, Tom tried to break free as he furiously hissed at him, but Harry just gripped harder and pulled more brutally, never halting his pace.

He broke into the library in a full sprint, and when Ciceron Plume barked "No running in here!" from his desk by the entrance, Harry paid it no mind and only stopped when he reached the Potions Section, releasing his brother and panting as he caught his breath.

He whipped out his wand in the next instant, and having seen Tom performing the Electus Charm so many times before, he perfectly executed the required wand-movements and said hastily, "Eligo Egeriana Rose!"

The 'woosh' was loud as hundreds of books shot out from surrounding shelves and landed in a pile on top of the nearest table.

Harry gawked, dismayed, at the sheer number of them.

"Egeriana Rose?" bit out Tom, looking vastly annoyed. "That's what all this is about?" He scoffed scornfully. "I already know what it is. A potions ingredient Slytherin used for Fertili-"

"I know that too," snapped Harry impatiently. "It's not about it being a Potions ingredient, but…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Just bear with me, will you!"

He spun around and briskly cast a spell to send the books back to their places, and tried again, amending, "Eligo description of the Egeriana Rose!"

This time it seemed that the books that merely listed it as an ingredient were excluded – as had been his intention– since only ten books or so landed on the table.

Harry sighed wearily, before he plopped down on a chair and said briskly, "Help me go through these."

"If you told me what you're looking for," gritted out Tom, appearing to be highly irked, as he took a seat in a fluid, elegant motion, "it would be easier."

"I'm not quite sure yet," retorted Harry as he grabbed the nearest book. "I just have some suspicions. Simply look for the book that has the lengthiest description of the Egeriana Rose, telling about its origins and stuff, and I'll try to explain."

Just as he saw that the first book had nothing but a short paragraph only mentioning the magical properties of the Rose, making him shake his head with irritation, he began as he took another tome, his words rushing out, "I first saw the Egeriana Rose on Maximillian Malfoy's robes – remember, when the loon tried to strike us with his cane, at the platform of the Hogwarts' Express in King's Cross Station?"

"I remember," said Tom dryly, flipping through a book as he shot him a piercing glance and frowned. "Though I don't remember seeing any flower on his robes-"

"Well, I do," said Harry curtly, finding that the tome in his hands just explained how the Egeriana Rose had to be watered and treated if it was cultivated in a magical greenhouse.

He released a frustrated breath and took the next one, as he continued, "Then I saw the flower again, on your Hogwarts a History book, when you showed me the picture of a painting that was a copy of Slytherin's original portrait that had been destroyed or lost, or some such thing." He waved his free hand dismissively. "And then I saw it again, that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Galatea Merrythought said those nasty things about Veela because she wanted to rile up Abraxas Malfoy, because she hates Veela due to what happened to her brother…"

He trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind about that. My point is that she, like Maximillian Malfoy, and the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, wore the flower here-" he pointed at the middle of his chest with a finger "-right here."

Harry closed the book in his hands shut, having found nothing useful, and added quickly, "It always looked very familiar to me. So I asked the Prewett twins about it and they told me that it was called the Egeriana Rose. That Salazar Slytherin had worn it as a symbol of his discovery of the flower as a magical ingredient, of his Mastery in Potions, and his invention of Fertility Potions. And they also explained that Professor Merrythought and Malfoy's grandfather wore it because it was a symbol of a group they were members of – The True Blood Alliance." He paused to cast his brother a pointed look. "And the other day when you showed me the books with Slytherin's tree-line, one of his descendants was pointed out as the founder of that very same group. So that was confirmed."

"You have told me nothing new," interjected Tom acerbically, scowling at him. "I already knew about all of that through my research." He held up the book that he had been inspecting, as he added tartly, "That much is said in this tome as well-"

"Why didn't you say before?" said Harry crossly, irreverently plucking the book out from his brother's clutches, earning him an irked glare from Tom which he wholly ignored.

He quickly flipped through the pages until he found the chapter about the flower, and he scanned the sentences with his gaze, trailing a finger under the words. "Right. Discovered by Slytherin…first to use it as an ingredient… it's full name is Verus-cruor Egerianus…. named by him… Verus-cruor, meaning 'true blood' in Latin-" his eyebrows shot up at that "- because for the flower to have heightened magical properties it should not only be picked at midnight during a full-moon, but should also be given a drop of blood from a pureblood witch or wizard, as Slytherin discovered. Well," he added in a wry mutter, "that explains where the True Blood Alliance's name came from and why they use the flower as a symbol of blood purity."

His gazed focused back on the text, becoming intrigued by the revelations, as he kept reading. "Slytherin named it Egerianus too, after Egeria, a water nymph who was a willing servant and used her magical powers to aid the famed witch Diana of Roman Times, who did great wonders by using her knowledge of Healing and Midwifery to help witches give birth to healthy infants. Diana became a legend to muggles, who now think she was just some mythical deity - Goddess of the Moon, Fertility, and Hunting."

Tom interrupted with a contemptuous scoff. "One more proof of muggle stupidity."

"Well, yes, I suppose, in this case," muttered Harry, his forehead then scrunching up at the next part. "The Verus-cruor Egerianus is a flower indigenous…" He trailed off, frowning deeply, raking his brain. "That means that - that…"

"That it can only be found in that area," said Tom, shooting him a snide look. "That it is a native, local plant, you dimwit."

"Right. I knew that," mumbled Harry, his cheeks turning bright red. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, so it's indigenous to – Ha!" He whooped triumphantly, pointing a finger at the page. "It's indigenous to Lancashire and Yorkshire county, only varying in color!"

"So?" drawled Tom unimpressed. "I don't see how it has to do with anything-"

"I has to do with _everything_," interjected Harry adamantly. "Don't you remember? You said Slytherin was from Woodcroft – a town that today would be in Lancashire county-"

"And?" demanded Tom sharply, glowering with vexation. "He went back, obviously. I read he travelled widely across the whole of England after founding Hogwarts with the others, because in the Forbidden Forest he didn't find any magical plants that would serve as a base for creating a Fertility Potion." He waved a hand airily. "Evidently, he discovered the Egeriana Rose when he went back to what remained of Woodcroft, since it's hardly likely he had discovered its magical properties when he had been a child before Cliodna took him away."

"Yes, yes, that sounds possible enough," said Harry, before he carded his fingers through his hair with exasperation. "But don't you understand? The Egeriana Rose looked so familiar to me when I saw it on Maximillian Malfoy, Slytherin's portrait, and Professor Merrythought, because I had seen it before – because the Egeriana Rose is the Tudor Rose!"

He plucked out Alice's newspaper clipping and briskly flattened it right next to the book's picture of the flower, pointing at the muggle photo of the article, right at one of the shop's decorations depicting the royal emblem of the Tudor House, as he added, "Part of it, that is. Look at the number of petals of the Egeriana Rose, and their shape – it's exactly like the one in the Tudor Rose, Tom!"

Frowning, his brother brought up his chair to be next to his, to then gaze at the pictures with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps. It must be a coincidence, clearly-"

"No, it's not," gritted out Harry. He shook his head, and added impatiently, "Don't you remember what Old John Bryce told us, about his days as a soldier during the Great War?"

Tom shot him a scathing look, as he said contemptuously, "I never paid any attention to that stupid, blabbering oaf. He hardly knew anything about the politics involved-"

"Don't insult him," bit out Harry instantly, angrily glowering at him. He then huffed, as he added sharply, "Well, if you had listened, you would remember he said, that during the Belgium campaign, he was part of the British 55th Infantry Division." He grinned widely in remembrance. "Their motto was 'We win or die, us who wear the Red Rose of Lancaster!'. And he was part of that division because he was a 'Lancastrian at heart', as he put it, born and raised in the city of Preston."

He shook his head with fond affection, before he continued quietly, "And I remember clearly because, days before, Alice had been teaching us about the War of the Roses-"

"I hardly believe that you really remember her lessons," interjected Tom, giving him a look that patently showed Harry just what his brother thought of his mental capacities.

Deciding to let it go and not get drawn into a fight of spitting insults, he finally admitted grudgingly, "I remember because by then you had started tutoring me after Alice's lessons." He glared at him. "And you were so harsh and nasty about it that I had no choice but to learn."

"Ah. That explains it," drawled Tom superiorly, smirking.

Harry merely rolled his eyes at that. "My point is that the War of the Roses ended when the Lancasters' Henry Tudor married Elizabeth of York, uniting the two Houses under one throne. Alice said that was when the Tudor Rose was made up: a combination of the Lancasters' Red Rose and the Yorks' White Rose, you see?" He excitedly gestured at the book. "And this says the Egeriana Rose is indigenous to those counties – being red in Lancashire and white in Yorkshire! Its two variants form the Tudor Rose!"

"I don't see the relevance," said Tom in a bored tone of voice. "It just means that muggles of those two lineages chose the Egeriana Rose as a heraldic emblem for their Houses, obviously without knowing it was a magical flower." He waved a hand dismissively. "It wouldn't be the first time a flower or plant was used as a symbol. The Scots have the thistle as their national emblem, the Irish the shamrock, and the Welsh the leek. Not to mention the French Royal House of the Anjou, who used the Fleur-de-lis."

Harry reined in his urge to yank his hair in exasperation, and heaved a deep breath, before he said pointedly, "Yeah, alright, but are the thistle, shamrock, leek, or lily magical flowers or plants? I've never heard anything of the sort. So are they?"

"No," conceded Tom grudgingly, his tone acerbic.

Harry grinned at him widely. "And do they have any significance in the Wizarding World besides the one they have in the Muggle World?"

"No," snapped Tom, his eyes narrowing.

"Exactly!" said Harry triumphantly. "But the Egeriana Rose does! And things get leaked between Muggle and Wizarding World all the time, don't they?" he added animatedly, rushing out, "Take the Hogwarts Express –it's a muggle train! And gramophones and photograph cameras and indoor plumbing - all copied from muggle inventions and then adapted. And it's the other way around too. Look at all the famous wizards and witches and creatures of the Magical World that are part of muggle fairytales and myths. And the-"

"Yes, I get your point," interrupted Tom caustically, his expression reluctant and increasingly turning darker with each passing second. "Just tell me whatever idiotic speculation you believe as true."

"Not yet," said Harry coolly. "When did the War of the Roses happen?"

"You should know yourself-"

"I do," cut in Harry, toothily grinning. "But I want you to say it and realize what it means."

Tom shot him a glower, as he bit out impatiently, "From 1455 to 1485. And that's pertinent because?"

"Because Sherisse Slytherin gave birth in 1340!" said Harry enthusiastically. "It all adds up! From when her baby was born to 1455, there was plenty of time for her descendants to have gone to-"

"No wizard would have gone to the Muggle World," hissed out Tom, glaring darkly, looking personally insulted.

"They would if they had no other choice," retorted Harry vehemently. "According to The Pink Quill, M.G. fled from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, didn't he? He left Sherisse to die, took the baby, and supposedly the Slytherins' possessions too, and he fled."

His green eyes flashed with the excitement of his own discoveries, as he continued, "But someone must have witnessed some part of it, right? Mortimer Mullhorn must have found something – a written record, a piece of parchment, a letter, part of a diary- something that a witness must have written down, because if not, he wouldn't have found out about M.G.. That means someone knew and they must've alerted others, and M.G. fled because he didn't want to be caught. He was a criminal after all, at least for having stolen Slytherin things. And having done something like that to such a famous family, where could he go but to the Muggle World?"

"That's utter nonsense," said Tom bitingly, a fierce scowl on his handsome face.

"No, it's not," snapped Harry decisively. "Everyone thinks Sherisse was the last Parselmouth and Slytherin because M.G. and his descendants hid in the Muggle World and never dared to show their faces in the Wizarding one. Because they must have feared that people would know what their ancestor, M.G., had done – surely because at the very least, the things they had stolen from Sherisse and her dead parents would be taken back. They hid, and that's why no one ever heard about any Parselmouths after Sherisse."

"What are you getting at?" demanded Tom sharply, his dark blue eyes narrowing.

"My point is," replied Harry in a victorious tone of voice, "that they went to the Muggle World, lived amongst them, and they must have known they were descendants of Slytherin - whether M.G. told his child that or either because they realized it themselves." He waved a hand dismissively. "After all, according to the tree-lines you showed me, all of Salazar Slytherin's descendants were Parselmouths. The trait never even skipped one of them. The same must have happened to Sherisse's descendants. Since they were Parselmouths, they must've realized they were Slytherins, and as such, they would have felt the right to use the Egeriana Rose, wouldn't they? It has such significance in the Wizarding World -because Salazar used it as his personal symbol, because his descendant and founder of the True Blood Alliance used it as the emblem of his group too- that they would have displayed it, proudly, as a mark of their ancestry – yet safely, because they did it around muggles."

Tom's eyes narrowed further, now mere slits, as he hissed out angrily, "If you're implying-"

"I'm not implying but saying!" snapped Harry, furiously slamming his hands on the table. "It all fits together and it can't all be a series of coincidences, Tom! You're just being pigheaded because you despise the idea that our ancestors were cowards and mingled with muggles. But as soon as I saw the Tudor Rose-" he gestured briskly at Alice's newspaper clipping "- and recognized it as two Egeriana Roses put together, I realized that they were directly linked. That Sherisse's and M.G.'s descendants, at least one of them, passed himself off as a muggle and he used the Egeriana Rose. Whoever was the first Lancaster or York to use the Rose as a 'heraldic emblem', as you called it, wasn't a muggle but a wizard – a Slytherin and a 'G'."

He pushed himself off the table, rising to his feet, and demanded sharply, "Do you know which Lancaster or York was the first to use the Rose as a symbol of 'their House'?"

"No," bit out Tom poignantly, glowering at him, looking indignant, revolted, and clearly too disgusted with the possibility of Harry's speculations being true.

"Exactly as I thought," said Harry nonchalantly, "because Alice never went into that." He skewered his brother with a piercing gaze, as he concluded firmly, "But that 'Lancaster' or 'York' is Sherisse's and M.G.'s descendant. He's our clue. We find out who he was, and we'll find our father." He gestured pointedly at their surroundings. "We'll not find books about Muggle History here." He shot his brother a large grin. "We can only find that information in London. So we must go to the orphanage for Christmas Holidays and I'll ask Robert Hutchins to take us to a public library. That's where we'll find our answers."

"I'm not going to the orphanage," spit out Tom harshly, his dark blue eyes flashing and his face contorting with rage.

Harry cast him a long, slow glance, before he shrugged his shoulders impassively. "Fine, stay here. I'm off. Got some packing to do and a train to catch."

He spun around, only taking Alice's letter and newspapers clipping with him, and sauntered away.

He counted one second, two seconds, three and-

"Harry!" he heard Tom's hissed out, infuriated shout behind him, along with the sound of scrambling, hurried footfalls rushing up to him.

Harry devilishly grinned to himself, feeling vastly smug, and kept walking, coolly ignoring when Tom caught up to him and briskly matched his pace, seething by his side, but silent.


	28. Part I: Chapter 27

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers! Your comments are what keep me going : )

I must warn you that not much happens in this chapter. But I had to mention several little things that will be relevant for the plot later on, so it had to be done.

Next chapter will be much more fast-paced and interesting, I promise.

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 27**

* * *

Tom and Harry finally arrived to the front steps of the orphanage.

The trip back had not been particularly pleasant.

After leaving the library, they had reached their dormitory in order to pack their things and change into muggle clothes. Tom had still been in an acerbic, moody disposition, dragging his feet as if hopping to delay them and make them miss the train. So Harry had taken matters in hand and had made use of his ample array of Charm spells to swiftly pack all their things in their trunks.

Thankfully, they were just in time to catch the last of the carriages that left from Hogwarts' entrance to take them to Hogsmeade's Station.

With much on their minds, they chose a secluded, empty compartment, all to themselves, in the Hogwarts Express. For the whole duration of the trip, Tom had not spoken a word to him, only looking out through the window, his face increasingly turning darker the closer they got to London.

Once they arrived at King's Cross Station, it had been easy, at least. One of the spells Harry had cast on their trunks was the Feather-Light Charm, so that they would have no problem pulling them around. And Tom hadn't brought Lord Horkos.

"At least I can spare him from suffering two whole weeks at the orphanage," Tom had said crisply before they left Hogwarts, when his brother was still speaking to him. "He'll be fine in the Owlery. He likes it." He had smirked at Harry, looking highly pleased. "He's always screeching, attacking, and intimidating the other owls, and already got for himself the best niche in the place."

Thus, only carrying trunks that weighted nothing, they had taken a series of double-decker buses to reach their neighborhood. The sky had already turned dark by the time they made their way to St. Jerome's, leaving tracks on the snowed streets.

At present, they were climbing up the doorsteps of the orphanage, with silence still reigning heavily between them.

For a moment, Harry paused before knocking, as he frowned, puzzled.

The house looked a mite blurry to him. He took off his eyeglasses, inspecting them, but he saw no smudges on the lenses. Releasing a sigh, he put them back on, realizing what it must mean.

As he rapped his knuckles on the door, he could hear a loud mix of voices coming from within the house, all sounding cheerful and excited, and he smiled with anticipation.

They didn't have to wait for long. The door was drawn open and Magda peered down at them, surprise painted on her face. She and another one called Karen were the two girls who had replaced the odious Mr. Jenkins as caregivers, a long while back.

"What are you doing here?" She blinked at them bemusedly. "Alice said you were staying in your boarding school."

"Evidently not," said Tom caustically, glowering up at her as if a greater fool he had never encountered, before he snapped angrily, "Are you going to let us in or not?"

"No need to get nasty," Magda huffed out, moving to a side to allow them in.

Tom shot her one last glare as he stepped inside, briskly dragging his trunk after himself, and Harry merely followed at his heels, shaking his head.

Harry was assaulted by all sorts of sounds when they entered the playroom, where all the orphanage seemed to have gathered to spend their last hours together before having to turn to bed.

The room was already decorated for Christmas. There was a rather scraggly, small pine tree at one corner, with paper decorations that seemed to have been cut out from newspapers and colored with crayons. The brick fireplace had countless of ordinary grey socks hanging from the mantelpiece, though they looked to be stuffed with candies. And the walls were given a festive touch with garlands and wreaths pinned here and there.

Moreover, the voices of children were meshed with the Christmas carols that came from the radio at one corner of the room, and the ensuing cacophony was loud.

It was Alice who saw them first. Her look at first startled at the sight of them, then beaming with happiness as she rushed up and pulled Harry into an embrace, making him drop his trunk.

"Oh, you came back home!" she gushed joyously, before she released him and gazed down at him, looking worried. "But why didn't you write to let us know? I would have waited for you at King's Cross. You didn't have any problems, did you?"

"It was a last minute decision," said Harry, smiling up at her, "so we didn't have the chance to let you know beforehand." He then rolled his eyes. "And of course we didn't have any problems. We know our way around London."

Alice didn't seem to be too mollified by that, still looking apprehensive that she hadn't been there to accompany two little boys.

"Well, I'm glad you changed your minds," she said at last, her tone warm, as she then glanced at Tom to give him a welcoming smile. She clearly knew better than to try to hug him.

It was then that his friends caught sight of Harry, bubbling with enthusiasm as they rushed up to their little group.

"I knew you would come for Christmas!" said Amy Benson, giving him a tight, lingering hug, blushing as she looked into his eyes and added tentatively, "You missed me, didn't you? Tell me you did. That's why you came, right?"

Harry heard Tom hissing something under his breath, and he glanced at his brother to see him darkly scowling, his eyes narrowed at the girl. Well, no surprise there. Tom had always hated his friends.

"Let the boy have some breathing air, Amy," said Eric Whalley, rolling his eyes, before he patted Harry on the back. "Good to have you here." Then he added in an excited rush, "You gotta tell us all about your prissy school for stuck-up rich kids. You never say much in your letters-"

"Oh, yes," breathed out Amy, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. "Did you meet the sons of Lords? Are they really very nasty? What do they wear-"

"Look what I got for my birthday!" piped in Billy Stubbs, apparently unable to contain his excitement for much longer.

The boy held up a large cat that had missing tuffs of hair and a rather vicious air about him, as evidenced by all the scratches on Billy's hands and face.

"Alice found him in the streets. He was starving, poor thing!" said Billy, looking down at his pet with a soft, adoring expression on his face.

Just then, Harry heard Alice muttering under her breath, "… more trouble than it's worth… wouldn't have brought it in if I had known…"

"I've named him Puff!" declared Billy proudly. "After Puffy the Bunny, you know-" He clamped his mouth shut, paling, as he shot Tom a terrified look, before he quickly looked away and swallowed, remaining silent.

Tom, for his part, smirked widely at the boy, the dark expression on his face vanishing to be replaced by a smug, self-satisfied look.

"Er, yes," said Harry quickly, forcing a smile to stretch on his lips. "So Puff, eh? He looks very nice, Billy." Though he made no attempt to pet the thing.

"He's a wild beast," snorted out Eric.

"No, he's not!" snapped Billy, bristling defensively. "He just needs time to get used to other people." The boy glanced down at the cat in his arms with loving, misty eyes, as he reached out a hand to pet him. "Don't you, Puff?"

As soon as they boy touched him, the cat spit out a dangerous hiss, flung out a paw to slash the boy's hand with its claws, and then jumped out of Billy's arms, dashing away.

"Puff!" cried out Billy, vanishing from their side as he scrambled after the cat.

"See what I mean?" said Eric in a suffering tone of voice as they observed their friend disappear through a crowd of children.

Abruptly, a loud wail rose above all other sounds and voices, and Harry glanced around, startled. "What's that?"

"A baby," said Amy, pointing a finger towards the other end of the room. "Karen found her two days ago at the doorsteps."

Indeed, Harry saw the caregiver with a baby in her arms. One of Amy's friends, Matilda, was with her, cooing and making faces at it.

"Mati has taken a shine to her," piped in Amy, not looking too happy that her friend had abandoned her for a baby. She huffed. "She even goes to the nursery to watch over her. So Karen allowed her to name the baby. She's called Mottie."

Harry winced. Ouch. Poor thing. His expression must have been very telling because Amy giggled, as she said, "I know. It's an awful name."

"Who cares about the baby," said Eric, rolling his eyes, before he added enthusiastically, "Tell him about all the other things that have happened!"

"Like what?" prompted Harry, intrigued.

Eric shot him a large, wide smile. "Look around. Notice anyone missing?"

Frowning, Harry scanned the room with his eyes, and then, "Where's Dennis?"

Amy giggled happily and Eric toothily grinned at him, as he said with much relish, "You should have remembered the date of his birthday. We noticed you didn't say anything in your letters so we didn't tell you. We wanted it to be a surprise." His grin widened and became so large that it seemed to occupy the entirety of his freckled face. "Dennis Bishop turned eighteen just two weeks after you left. And Jake last month. So-"

"They've left!" exclaimed Harry exultantly as the realization struck him.

He hadn't even thought about his childhood tormentor when he had been at Hogwarts. And much less about Jake, one of Dennis Bishop's friends who liked to say cruel things to the younger children and make them cry. Though the boy never bullied them physically as Dennis did, nor had he targeted Harry, surely because he was already Dennis' exclusive prey.

The news decidedly put him in a very cheerful, festive mood, and he beamed back at his friends.

"Yup," said Eric, his eyes glinting. "They're gone and good riddance to them."

"Oh, but that's not all," said Amy enthusiastically. "We've got new children-"

A group of little children came careening, bumping into her and nearly knocking her over if it wasn't for Eric's fast reflexes, who quickly grabbed Amy to steady her, as the runts took no notice and kept running and happily shrieking as they chased each other.

"Watch where you're going, you midgets!" shouted Eric angrily, as he finally released Amy's arm.

"Who are those?" said Harry, utterly gobsmacked as his gaze followed the little children around the room.

Tom and him had always been the youngest in the orphanage. Even as they grew up, St. Jerome's hadn't received any new children, because they already had a full house.

That the orphanage had taken in a baby left at their doorsteps, that was understandable, since the nursery had been empty for as long as he could remember, so they had the space for it. But having new little children?

Alice, who had thus far been content to let Harry have his reunion with his friends without budging in, was who replied, clearing her throat.

"They are John, Matthew, Anne, and Peter," she said. "They are from another orphanage that had to close due to lack of funds from the government. They sent their children to other orphanages in the country and four came to us."

She paused, looking anxious and fretful as she glanced at Tom and him.

"We didn't know you were coming for Christmas Holidays," she began, her tone apprehensive. "So we…" She sighed heavily. "Well, come and you'll see, and I'll think of something."

With that, and calling out, "Magda, will you please come along to help?", Alice made her way out of the room, with Tom and Harry following her as they pulled their trunks after them: Harry bemused, Tom looking incensed.

After climbing stairs and reaching the floor of the boys' quarters, Alice opened the door of their bedroom.

Harry gaped, releasing the handle of his trunk, at the sight. The room was an utter mess: their closet was wide open with all sorts of things sticking out; their two beds were a mass of disorderly bed sheets, blankets, and pillows; there was a new cot in the middle; and someone had drawn all over their walls with crayons - there were colorful squiggles, doodles, stick figures, suns, flowers, butterflies, other incomprehensible swirls and lines, and whatnot.

"Peter likes to draw," said Alice in a small voice, looking deeply apologetic.

"You gave our room to others?" hissed out Tom, his voice so furious, sharp, and incisive that it sounded like a whiplash.

Alice flinched, before she glanced at them beseechingly, and said softly, "We didn't have anywhere to put them." She shook her head, looking angered. "Kathy wrote, saying that we didn't have space for extra children, but they didn't care. All orphanages are in our situation. So we had no choice but to put Peter, John, and Matthew in your room. And little Anne in the one Dennis Bishop shared with Jake."

Harry sighed, before he gave her a gentle smile. "It's alright. Tom and I can just sleep in the…" He frowned uncertainly. "Um, in the…"

"What – in the kitchen?" snarled Tom, to then lower his voice and whisper poignantly in his ear, "Like house-elves?"

Harry winced, and then bit his bottom lip, saying nothing to that.

"You see? We should have never come back here," continued Tom in a venomous, furious whisper. "We're not wanted."

As if to prove his point, Tom then turned around to skewer Alice with a dark gaze as he sneered, "What were you going to do when we came back for summer holidays? Kick us to the curb?"

"Of course not!" said Alice, shocked. She gestured at their bedroom anxiously. "This is only a temporary solution. We would have restored your room to how it was before, by then." She gazed at them entreatingly. "You must understand, we didn't think it would affect you. We didn't know you would be coming for Christmas."

She shook her head, distressed, before she tapped a finger on her chin.

"Oh, I know!" she said suddenly, her eyes bright. "We'll move Peter, John, and Matthew to little Anne's room, and she can sleep with me in mine, for the time being. And so," she added, giving them a big smile, "you can have your room back."

"We better," bit out Tom acidly.

Alice engaged the help of Magda to tidy their room up, pull out the extra cot, and then move the three little boys' things from their closet. They travelled up and down the corridor, carrying things, from their room to the one that had once been Dennis Bishop's.

It didn't take that long, though all the while Tom's expression darkened like gathering clouds in a storm.

When Alice and Magda were finally done, and left them alone in their bedroom, Harry released a sigh as he plopped down on his bed.

"This is horrid," said Tom angrily as he kicked a leg of his bed. He caught sight of a bright pink and yellow butterfly with a smiley face, drawn on the wall just above his bed, amidst beaming suns and flowers, and his scowl turned even darker.

He spun around to glower at Harry, as he spit out, "Being back here is like being in prison, for life! I can't stand it. We cannot even do magic!"

Harry could do nothing but give him a sympathetic look. It did feel a mite strange to be back after having experienced Hogwarts for some months. Oh, he was happy to see Alice and his friends again, but the orphanage suddenly seemed so lackluster and grim in comparison.

And he was well aware of their limitations regarding magic. Horace Slughorn had called them into their office, during the first week at Hogwarts, to explain about the Statute of Secrecy and the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. They had already known quite a bit about such things, from their Hogwarts letters that had also included a long list of rules they had to follow and laws they were subjected to.

To Harry's surprise, though, their Head of House had also revealed to them that when Dumbledore had visited the orphanage, he had cast a ward on the house, following Ministry Law regarding the homes of muggleborns. Apparently, if they did magic in the orphanage, the ward would instantly alert the Improper Use of Magic Office of the Ministry and they would be punished with expulsion from Hogwarts.

"Can you see it?" snapped Tom, who was now piercing him with his eyes.

Harry blinked. "See what?"

"The ward Slughorn told us about, you fool!" snapped Tom impatiently. "Is it there?"

At that, Harry glanced around, and said hesitantly, "Um… I don't really know… I see nothing, except…"

"Except what?" demanded Tom instantly.

Harry sighed wearily. "It's nothing. The walls just look a bit blurry." He gestured sadly at his eyeglasses. "I think I need new lenses."

"The walls?" said Tom frowning, to then add pointedly, "Just the walls?"

"Oh." Harry shot him a bewildered look before he glanced all around their room again. "Um, yeah, I think so. But surely it's just because my eyesight got worse. I don't see anything glowing. Nothing like what I see in Hogwarts-"

"Do your eyes hurt?" pressed on Tom insistently. "Do you feel a headache?"

"No," replied Harry frowning.

"Then it's not your eyesight," said Tom slowly, a pensive look on his face. "If you see the walls blurry, it must be the ward."

"You think?" muttered Harry, as he turned his face to inspect the wall at his side.

He peered closer at it, frowning when he thought he saw something. He couldn't quite tell. It was blurry, but for a moment something had appeared: fade, little marks that had vanished in the next second, he believed.

It disquieted him. After Dumbledore's visit to the orphanage they had had several weeks before going to Hogwarts and he hadn't seen anything blurry then – not the walls nor the orphanage from the outside.

And suddenly he could see traces of the ward now? In the months he had been at Hogwarts, his strange ability had grown?

One thing was to see Hogwarts' wards, that were known to be very powerful, or the glowing magic of the horn of the unicorn they had been shown during Care of Magical Creatures, and such, but to start seeing magic in wards that were not that powerful was another matter altogether.

What would happen later? Would he start seeing magic in every little thing of the Wizarding World? It would be very bothersome - horrible, in fact. He would only find reprieve in the Muggle World. Or perhaps he could turn it off, somehow?

Harry shook his head, casting aside such gloomy thoughts. He was making a storm in a teacup. Surely it wouldn't come to that.

"This is just great," said Tom acerbically, scowling darkly. "So Slughorn was right and Dumbledore did cast a ward on the orphanage."

Pulling out of his musings, Harry glanced at his brother, his expression quizzical. "What about outside? The Ministry of Magic can't have a way of knowing if we use magic outside the orphanage."

"They do," grumbled Tom angrily. "Because of The Trace."

"Trace?" Harry frowned, nonplussed. "What trace? Slughorn didn't say anything about any traces."

Tom scoffed loudly. "Of course he didn't. They don't tell children - especially not muggleborns, like we are supposed to be." A disgusted expression crossed his face. "Of course, halfbloods and purebloods are surely told by their parents."

"Will you just tell me what it is?" urged Harry impatiently.

Tom shot him an annoyed look. "The Trace is a charm put on underaged wizards. When any magic is performed in the vicinity of the underaged wizard –outside of Hogwarts, evidently- the Ministry of Magic is alerted to the spell that was used, the location of the caster, and the time. Once the wizard becomes of age, the charm vanishes by itself." His expression darkened considerably. "Dumbledore must have cast it on us when he came here, and we didn't notice." He then added with a sneer, "So no, we can't even use magic outside the orphanage."

Frowning, Harry shook his head. "If we have this Trace thing on us, then why did Dumbledore also cast a ward on the orphanage? It's rather pointless, isn't it? The Trace would already tell the Ministry if we used magic."

"It's because we're supposedly mudbloods," said Tom crisply. "And the Ministry likes to have a tight leash on them. They take no chances, just in the eventuality that The Trace on one of them could weaken or go faulty. I read it happened once, some years ago, when the electricity in a mudblood's house somehow interfered with the charm. So that's why the Ministry also requires that a ward is cast on mudbloods' homes."

"Oh," said Harry, his shoulders slumping.

After that, Tom went back to scowl at his surroundings -particularly at the bright doodles on the walls- and it was then when Harry suddenly noticed the absence.

Feeling a frisson of alarm and anxiousness, he turned to his brother. "Where's Nagini?"

Clearly utterly unconcerned, Tom waved a hand dismissively. "She's a smart little snake. She must have slipped out and gone back to the backyard. We'll look for her in the morning."

* * *

Nagini was not a happy little snake when they found her under the bushes of the backyard, the next day. No, she was in a decidedly tempestuous, foul mood.

After they had gone around, hissing her name, she had only replied with a waspishly hissed, _"I'm here!"_

Following the direction of where the hiss had come from, they had finally crouched before the shrubbery to see her yellow eyes glaring up at them from amidst the branches of a bush.

At first, she didn't seem in a disposition to come out from her hiding place, surely because she was too miffed at them.

Though, before they could speak another word, her eyes vanished, and then they saw her quickly slithering out from under the branches, to then pull herself up to her full height, supporting and balancing herself with the end of her tail, as she began ranting angrily.

"_They came into my domain-"_ Harry didn't have to ask to know that Nagini considered their bedroom _her_ territory _"-and moved things around, making a mess, and nearly stepped on me! And then they shrieked when they saw me – as if I was the ugly, smelly one and not them!"_

She let out a hiss, that somehow sounded indignant and furious to his ears, as her thin body vibrated with anger, swaying and undulating.

"_You've left me alone for - for…"_

Well, Tom had taught Nagini how 'humans' measured time with the positions of the sun in the sky and the passage of sunsets, and about clocks and calendars and such, but Harry could hardly expect her to have a gadget that told her how many weeks had gone by.

"_Four months,"_ he supplied helpfully.

"_Four months!"_ she hissed accusingly. _"All alone, with no one to pet me and rub my scales and tell me how beautiful and wise I am!"_

She flicked the tip of her tail at him, as if to denote how lowly he had become to her eyes, by being so cruel as to not be around to cherish and pamper her like she deserved.

"_I've been very cold too!"_ she hissed crossly, now dragging her tail across the snow, as if to make her point of all the awful things she had been subjected to. _"Out here, with no warm things, and this nasty, prickly white thing that gets in between my scales-"_

"_Enough complaining!"_ hissed Tom sharply. _"You're not a nestling anymore. And we'll not put up with your temper tantrums!"_

Nagini let out a vibrating, angered hiss.

'Master' or not, as she called Tom, she wasn't one to cower before him. She was too spirited and temperamental for that, much to Harry's satisfaction.

"_I am a nestling!"_ she hissed, sounding as if she had been deeply insulted and offended beyond measure. _"I'm still little and small and young. I demand care and worship! And you're not a good Master. You're not worthy of me!"_

And with that, she flung around and quickly slithered back to her bush.

"_Then freeze out here,"_ hissed Tom furiously,_ "and see if I care!"_

Harry sighed as his brother rose to his feet and swiftly made his way back to the house, looking as if he had been both deeply hurt and affronted by his snake's words.

"_Nagini,"_ hissed Harry, his tone soft and cajoling, _"come back with me, please-"_

"_No!"_ came from the bush.

"_You don't want to stay outside for longer, surely,"_ hissed Harry persuasively. _"Let me take you back to my room, where it's warm and comfortable."_

"_No!"_

"_I'll let you sleep on my pillow,"_ offered Harry entreatingly, _"and I'll fluff it up for you, and I'll scratch your scales for as long as you want."_

Yellow eyes suddenly appeared in the bush, peering out. _"What else?"_

Harry's lips quirked upwards in amusement, before he coaxed some more, _"I'll praise you every day. I'll tell you how smart and pretty and wonderful you are, because it's the truth. And you're right and Tom is a git, but you know we adore you."_

"_How much you adore me?"_

"_We revere you,"_ hissed Harry softly. _"We treasure you, because we're yours and you're ours. And we love you, and only you."_

After some more persuasions, flatteries, and promises spoken, Harry returned to their room with a Nagini under his sleeve, who would demand a whole day of constant petting and praise before she was ready to remotely begin to forgive them.

* * *

Christmas passed by in a flash, as happened with all good things and times of much fun.

Harry played around with his friends, and helped Billy Stubbs to chase after his infernal cat the many times Puff made a bid for escape from the boy's lovingly yet suffocating clutches, and he sang Christmas carols at the top of his lungs with Amy Benson, along and in tune with the radio, and he spun the wildest of lies as he answered all of Eric Whalley's questions regarding his fellow classmates of his 'boarding school' –what their names were, sons of that Lord or politician or banker or other, what they wore, how they spoke and such- and how many times he had been canned on the hands or buttocks, as was expected from a British school, and even what his subjects were –History of Magic became History of England, Charms, Transfiguration and Potions morphed into Natural Sciences, Astronomy transformed into Geography, and so on.

And he smacked his lips and licked his fingers with contentment after the feast they had for Christmas Day - roast turkey covered in bacon, with cranberry sauce and roast potatoes, and pigs-in-a-blanket with hot gravy, with a delicious fruity pudding for dessert. Harry had stuffed himself silly and reveled in the feeling of a full tummy.

Kathy Cole had become the Matron years ago, but her cooking skills were unparalleled and she still took pleasure in exercising them for Christmas Dinner, especially since she saved money during the whole year in order to give the children at least one full meal at Christmas.

Harry thought that not even Hogwarts' food could compare to her Christmas cooking, so suffused he was with the lively, festive, affectionate mood of the orphanage.

And after that, he had happily hoarded the candies from the grey sock they gave him, and he had flushed and beamed and smiled when he had been given a Christmas present, for which all the caregivers had pitched in.

Kathy Cole, Alice, and Magda had bought the balls of yarn of some pricey kind of wool which was so very warm and soft, and Karen had made use of her knitting skills and had woven a jersey for him.

"It's emerald green, see?" had said Karen proudly when Harry had joyfully put the jersey on, marveled. It was the nicest piece of clothing he had ever seen. "To match your eyes." She then handed over another brightly wrapped up box, as she added, now quietly, "Your brother's is midnight blue. Like his eyes, too. Will you give it to him?"

Harry had nodded and taken the gift, his smile wilting a bit. Indeed, the one thing that had dampened his spirits had been his brother's attitude. Tom had refused to take part of the celebrations. The boy hadn't even attended Christmas Dinner.

"Everyone here is nothing but a muggle," Tom had sneered with revolted contempt when Harry had been attempting to persuade him to leave their bedroom and come down with him, to join the rest. "They're worthless and insignificant. I have no wish to be around them. It's unbearable."

"Suit yourself," Harry bit out crisply. "Just stay here and sulk and brood while I have fun with 'the muggles', then."

"I won't be sulking," drawled Tom arrogantly. "I can't do magic but that doesn't mean I can't read magical books." He gestured at his trunk and smirked self-complacently.

Harry had merely shot him a disgusted look before he left, loudly slamming the door shut behind him.

Tom was missing from the festivities, but at least his absence had been filled by the one person outside the orphanage who had been invited to spend Christmas with them.

With much interest, Harry had closely observed Robert Hutchins. After all, that day when they had gone to King's Cross Station with Alice and Bob in order to take the Hogwarts Express, his brother had told him a load of surprising revelations.

Thus, wanting to confirm Tom's words, Harry had watched how Robert Hutchins seemed to be very attentive to Alice, solicitously refilling her glass of punch, gently touching her arm as he spoke to her, seating himself right next to her during Christmas Dinner, whispering things into her ear, gallantly asking her to dance with him when the radio played a slow-paced, mellifluous tune… and all the while, Alice blushed and looked flustered, but also beamed and smiled and softly laughed with much joy.

Was that how grown-ups who fancied each other behaved? Harry certainly wasn't an expert on the matter. He knew he was quite clueless in that regard, in fact. But perhaps Tom was right and Robert Hutchins had every intention of popping the question soon.

The other caregivers certainly seemed to believe it. Magda and Karen had kept shooting glances at Robert and Alice, whispering amongst themselves, giggling, while Kathy Cole merely sighed now and then, looking as if she had given up on the whole matter and had simply decided to allow it to happen.

It left Harry feeling exultant and deeply cheerful. If his two favorite people on the whole world got together, it would be fantastic. Especially because Tom had said that Alice and Robert wanted to adopt them after they got married. And even if they were currently trying to find their father, Harry could think of no one else he rather have as parents than Alice and Bob.

Nevertheless, even when his mind had been filled with dreamy possibilities of his life with Alice and Hutchins, he hadn't forgotten his plan.

Thus, that night, when Robert gave his farewells and went to fetch his coat and bowler hat from the hanger at the entrance of the house, Harry made his move.

"Wait!" he called out, just as the man was opening the front door.

"Yes?" said Hutchins gently, one hand on the door as he wrapped a scarf around his neck with the other. "What is it, little fellow?"

"I wanted to ask a favor from you," said Harry slowly, as he quickly thought of a way to explain his request. "Um, Tom and I have to work on an essay during the holidays. It's for our History of England class."

Hutchins quirked an eyebrow. "I see. Do you want me to help you with it?"

"Er, no," said Harry, before he sighed. "Well, yes, in a way. We need to go to a library." He shuffled his feet, nervously. "And we were hoping that you could take us to one. If it's not asking too much."

"Certainly," said Hutchins, smiling warmly at him. "I'll be glad to take you anywhere you want." He paused, a pensive expression spreading over his face. "If you need to go to a library, we could go after New Year's Eve. By then, they'll be open again." He shot him an inquisitive look. "Or do you need to go sooner-"

"No, that's perfect," said Harry beaming. "Thanks!"

"Good, then. We'll make plans in your birthday," said Hutchins, before he waved a hand in parting. "Cheerio!"

Vastly satisfied, Harry had proceeded to enjoy the following week at the fullest, particularly the day of his and Tom's birthday. As always, it was celebrated along with the end of the year, with cone paper hats and trumpets, and a huge chocolate cake that Alice had baked especially for him, knowing it was his favorite.

He had even managed to convince his brother to attend and participate. Though he knew Tom had only agreed because of the presents. Indeed, Robert Hutchins gave the boy a ton of new books, while Harry got from the man a wonderful aircraft model, of one type the Germans had invented and used in the Great War. From the caregivers, they received new second-hand clothes, which were much needed since Tom had grown up quite a bit and Harry's old clothes were too tattered from rips that had been mended too many times.

It was after a whole day of cheer, games, and fun -for Harry, that is- when he received an unexpected surprise when they were in their room, about to get ready for a night of sleep.

Tom was on his bed, with Nagini on his lap -petting her, since the snake had finally forgiven the boy just the other day- while he flipped through his new books with the other hand.

Harry, for his part, was happily playing with his airplane. So it was him who first heard and noticed something rapping against their window.

Carefully leaving his treasured new toy on the bed, he stood up to see an enormous bird impatiently tapping on the glass with its beak.

In a moment, he opened the window and the bird quickly flew inside, dropping a basket on Harry's bed. The owl looked as intimidating and vicious as Tom's Lord Horkos, and after dropping his package, he seemed to shoot his surroundings a disgusted look before swiftly flying away.

Nonplussed, Harry blinked.

"What's that?" demanded Tom, closing a book shut as his gaze zeroed in on the basket on Harry's bed.

"Haven't the foggiest," said Harry, utterly puzzled as he approached it.

He had just flicked the lid of the basket open when something dashed out from it, so fast that it was nothing but a blur to his eyes.

Then, he stared at the tiny thing crouching on his bed. It could fit in an adult's hand, and at first, it looked like a kitten, with dark grey fur and eyes of a light grey shade that seemed very familiar to him. Though, as he inspected it closer, Harry saw that it couldn't actually be a kitten. There were some differences. It had no whiskers, the tips of its tiny ears were bent down like a puppy's and its muzzle wasn't flat like a cat's but a bit protruding, like a puppy's as well.

The little creature would look very adorable and beautiful if it wasn't hissing, with its tail puffed and the hairs of its spine standing out, bristling. It looked ready to strike out at the smallest incitement.

"It's a – a…" Harry stuttered, baffled. "Um…"

"_Another usurper!"_ hissed Nagini furiously, uncoiling herself from Tom's lap to threateningly sway from side to side, her yellow gaze fixed on the little creature on the other bed. _"I will not share my humans with another beast!"_

Just then, as if egged on by her hisses, the little creature seemed to morph. It arched its spine, let out a dangerous hiss that clearly wasn't like a snake's because Harry didn't understand it, and its tail hooked forwards as it changed. A series of clacking sounds issued, like metallic pieces clicking together one after the other, as the tail progressively transformed from base to tip, fur changing to hard husks that snapped together and ended with a stinger. It had become a tail of a scorpion, ready for attack.

"Holy cricket!" Harry exclaimed as he jumped backwards, so shocked they could have knocked him over with a feather.

"What the hell is that!" said Tom in alarm, instantly jumping to his feet and whipping out his wand to aim straight at the creature. His face darkened and his fingers clenched around his wand, as he spat, "It must have been sent to kill us!"

"Kill us?" mumbled Harry disbelievingly, as his surprise started to recede away. He shook his head and shot his brother a look of warning. "You can't use magic, remember!" Then he frowned as he glanced again at the bristling and hissing little creature, noticing its eyes once more.

"_Is it not wanted?"_ hissed Nagini demandingly, her gaze flickering from Tom and him and back. Her tone turned gleeful and giddy as she added, _"Can I eat it, then?"_

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Harry muttered in a hiss for both Nagini and his brother, _"Wait. Do nothing yet."_

He inched closer to the basket on his bed, careful not to make any sudden moves. The little creature spat out a hiss and seemed to tense further, but it didn't jump at him or attempt to strike him with its stinger. Thus, Harry slowly peered into the basket. He saw a book there, but more importantly, a scroll of rolled parchment.

He slowly took it out and read it quickly.

_Happy Birthday! I didn't forget, see? Oh, so many things have happened during the hols, but I'll get to the point and explain my present._

_Remember that I told you Father was negotiating Dorea's marital contract with the Potters? Well, they finally reached an agreement, and Dorea and Charlus announced their engagement during our Wild Hunt Party. We were all so very happy for her. Most of us, that is. Not my vile sister, of course. Walburga got very nasty. Remember all the things I explained?_

_Well, 'Burga was furious because she doesn't like the Potters and she thinks it's unfair that Dorea isn't paying the Malfoys the bride-debt we owe them, so she went and told Father a bunch of things. All lies, of course! _

_Dorea wouldn't be so stupid as to lose her maidenhood before she was married. But 'Burga told Father that she had seen Charlus and Dorea doing stuff at Hogwarts… you know what kind of stuff I mean… and Father was very angry and alarmed, so he went and forced Dorea and Charlus to wear the Black Chastity Rings until they got married when they left Hogwarts. _

_I think it's pointless, because Dorea wouldn't do anything silly, but still, it's an insult, you see? It made people wonder and gossip. And that kind of thing isn't good, even when I understand that Father did it because he wanted to protect Dorea. _

_Anyway, it was all my sister's fault. Charlus thought the whole affair was very funny. He took a glance at the Chastity Rings and laughed, putting them on their fingers while he made a speech. It was quite good and it served to restore their good reputation, but still, Dorea was furious at Walburga._

_But clearly, Aunt 'Rea couldn't do anything in retaliation to 'Burga, because if not Father would have suspected that my sister's lies were true, so I did, instead. _

_That night I slipped into Walburga's bedroom. She sleeps like a Mountain Troll, nothing can wake her up, so it was very easy and so much fun! I used my collection of magical, venomous beetles and let them run amok inside her bed. And I used a Balding Brew from our Potions Storage and spread it on her hair – there's no way to reverse that by magic, you know?_

_It was fantastic! Fifteen minutes after I left, her screams woke up the whole house. We all rushed to her bedroom and saw her covered with boils and rashes caused by the beetles that were climbing all over her, and with her head completely bald! She will have to let it grow back naturally!_

_She was furious, and of course that they all knew it had been me, and Walburga was quick to accuse me, but it was so worth it! I even took a picture of her. I'll show it to you when we're back at Hogwarts. You'll laugh so hard, just like I do every time I glance at it!_

_Anyway, Walburga wanted retribution, as I had anticipated. But I hadn't expected she would do something so vile. She had been trying to convince Mother to kill my crup for ages, and I handed over the perfect excuse. Apparently, what I did to 'Burga was the last straw, according to Mother. I knew then that they were plotting to murder my crup for real, this time._

_I will miss him terribly, but I rather he's with you and alive than with me and dead. You'll love him! And you can take him with you to Hogwarts too. Walburga might suspect but he'll be different, so she'll have no evidence that he was my crup. _

_I just told them that I let him go. And you'll have to say that your muggle parents bought him for you, from the pet store in Knockturn Alley, Beasts & Vermin._

_I've sent a book that explains everything about his kind. I severed the magical link that bound him as my familiar, so to make him yours, you just have to give him your finger. Then, you'll see what I mean about 'Burga not being able to tell if he was my crup or not._

_Oh, give him a new name too!_

_Your best friend,_

_Alphard Black_

Harry blinked and he shot a bewildered look at the little creature on his bed. "It's a crup, apparently."

"That's no crup!" hissed out Tom angrily, wand still pointing forward. "I've read about them and seen pictures. They look like a Jack Russell terrier with forked tail - not like a kitten with a scorpion's tail!" His dark blue eyes then narrowed on the scroll of parchment in Harry's hands, as he demanded sharply, "Who wrote to you? Who has sent this?"

"Um... well…." Harry trailed off, blanching.

Evidently, his secret friend hadn't thought about Tom when sending him the crup. Perhaps Alphard thought that his brother and him had separate bedrooms and thus that he would have the chance to tell his 'muggle parents' to lie to Tom about where the crup came from.

"Never mind about that," he finally said loftily, as he approached the creature. He was quite nervous at first, as the little thing kept bristling and spitting out hisses, its scorpion tail swinging forward from side to side.

Arming himself with valor, he bit his bottom lip as he presented a finger, just like Alphard's letter had said.

The little creature cocked its head to a side and then tentatively sniffed at it. Expecting the worse, Harry tensed, but the crup then licked his finger, and for a moment Harry thought the little creature was thinking matters over, as if trying to decide if he was worthy or not.

In the next second, Harry felt a stabbing pain and winced as the little creature sank its tiny fangs in his finger pad. It all happened in an instant: the crup's tail changed back, its dark grey fur became pitch black, its eyes went from light grey to bright green just like Harry's, and it purred loudly as it kept licking Harry's finger, looking up at him with big, glowing cat-like eyes.

"Well," said Harry sighing with relief. "He's not dangerous anymore." He chuckled happily as the crup kept purring and licking him, now looking like an innocent, cuddly little kitten. Harry smiled down at it as he tilted his head to a side. "I wonder what name I should give you."

"Give me that!"

"No – wait!" Harry shouted as Tom ripped the letter from his hand. "It's private – it's mine – you've got no right!"

He furiously attempted to get it back from his brother, but Tom was having none of it. Harry was brusquely shoved away as Tom started reading, his expression turning darker and angrier with every passing second.

"What's this?" snarled Tom the moment he finished, waving the piece of parchment in front of Harry's nose. "Alphard Black – 'your best friend'? Since when!"

"None of your bloody business," snapped Harry angrily, his eyes narrowing.

"You better start explaining, little brother," said Tom in a dangerously low tone of voice, his expression looking murderous. "I was under the impression that you didn't have any contact with him after the way he ignored you in the Hogwarts Express, when we were kicked out of their compartment!"

Harry crossed his arms over his small chest and glared. "Well, you were wrong."

"Explain!" commanded Tom harshly.

Harry gritted his teeth but in the end saw no way around it, so he fully revealed all matters regarding how he had ended up being 'secret friends' with Alphard Black.

"So," bit out Tom when Harry finished his tale, "Dorea Black persuaded you to give her nephew another chance. The Comet 180 you use during your secret Quidditch practices isn't Dorea's, as you told me, but Alphard's. And the pouch of galleons you gave me to buy potions ingredients isn't Dorea's but Alphard's as well." His eyes narrowed to slits, as he added furiously, "You've been friends with him during all these months! And you've been lying to me all this time!"

"So what?" snapped Harry crossly, as he jutted his jaw out.

Looking incensed beyond measure, Tom spat, "You're my brother! You should never lie to me!"

"That's rich coming from you!" scoffed out Harry, glowering darkly. "You keep plenty of secrets from me, I'm sure."

"That's not the point!"

It all got worse from then onwards. They shouted at each other, traded accusations and threats and old resentments, and they were both as furious with each other and as stubborn.

"Fine," said Tom poignantly, in the end, "I will tell no one about your secret little 'friendship'-" he contemptuously sneered the word out "- with Alphard Black." His eyes narrowed, as he added sharply, "But at the very least you'll make full use of it and take advantage of the boy and ask him for certain things I want-"

"I'm not going to take advantage of my friend!" shouted Harry furiously, glaring daggers at his brother.

"You had no compunction in accepting his broom and pouch of galleons," sneered Tom acidly.

Harry stiffened, feeling deeply insulted, as he spat, "That was different! They were gifts and favors from a friend. I was not ripping him off!"

"Same thing," said Tom curtly, waving a hand dismissively. "I've heard about certain books the Blacks have in their library. You'll ask Alphard to borrow them-"

"I will not," bit out Harry angrily. "If you want books, you ask him!"

"See if I don't," snapped Tom, before a devious smirk spread on his lips. "He's your so-called friend and I'm your brother. I'll ask and he'll have no choice but to comply."

Harry snorted loudly at that. "You're an idiot if you think he'll do whatever you want. He's not stupid and he doesn't like you."

"We'll see," snarled Tom, before he threw the letter back to Harry and briskly turned around to reach his bed.

Nagini, who had remained tensed and coiled as if ready to spring upon the new creature in the room, was only pacified when Tom went back to pet her. The little crup, for his part, had been contently licking its paws, clearly no longer finding any threats in the occupants of the room and wholly ignoring the snake that had been furiously hissing at it.

Thus, Harry simply placed the basket on the floor and took the book out, leaning on his pillow as his little crup climbed onto the nook between his neck and shoulder, purring loudly as he gave Harry's neck affectionate, little licks. Amused and already beginning to feel quite fond of the little animal, Harry caressed its black fur as he began to read and inform himself.

The book Alphard had sent was called 'All You Need to Know about the Magnificent Scorcrups', and it explained much and Harry's puzzlement slowly began to vanish.

'Scorcrups' were no ordinary crups but a cross of three magical creatures, especially bred by wizards: of a Crup, inheriting from that breed a deep sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards its owner, being those creatures the best and fiercest of guardians; of a Black Scorpion of the Gobi Desert, having the tail of such creature when sensing a threat or danger, along with the venom in its stinger that was of a magical kind, that could either paralyze its victim or kill in instants, depending on the Scorcrup's sense regarding the degree of danger presented to its owner; and finally, of an Egyptian Kneazle, gaining its 'sleek beauty, figure, and elegance of appearance', along with a sharp, deeply intelligent mind that could understand human mannerisms, breed as they were to be the companions of wizards and witches.

Quite fascinated, Harry went on to discover that his Scorcrup wouldn't grow any bigger. They were always small, a trait inbreed on purpose, so that they could be quick and inconspicuous when protecting its owner. Furthermore, they bonded with their owner through the taste of blood, their coloring of eyes and fur changing to mimic that of its master.

Harry peered at the cat-like eyes that were as green as his, and chuckled as he gently carded his fingers through the little creature's soft, black fur, making it purr even louder.

He then shut the book as he glanced at it again, and mused. "All you need now, to be fully mine, is a name."

He heard a snide scoff coming from Tom's side of the room and wholly ignored it as he kept gazing at his crup with deep affection.

"Oh, I know!" he said joyfully, as he brought up the crup to his face, inquisitively peering at it. "What do you think of 'Ulysses'? Like the muggle warrior of Robert Hutchins' tales. He was real, you know? I found that in a History of Magic book. The man came across all sorts of magical creatures in his travels, like Cyclops, Sirens, Lamias, a six-headed Cerberus, and even the famous sorceress Circe and the enchantress nymph Calypso!"

The little creature licked Harry's nose, and he chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

That night, he placidly slept with little Ulysses nuzzling and snuggling his neck, feeling vastly content with his new familiar. He owed Alphard Black a big one.

* * *

At first, Harry had been a bit concerned about going around the orphanage with his Scorcrup, but the book had said that the little creatures didn't do well in small enclosures and so Harry had decided it was best to take Ulysses out of his bedroom.

He had been a mite apprehensive, since if the crup suddenly decided there was a threat to him, its tail would change into a scorpion's, and how would he explain that?

Nevertheless, the book had said that Scorcrups were very intelligent and could somehow understand its owners, thus Harry had talked to Ulysses at length, giving him firm instructions of how to behave.

Tom had said nothing to that, and Harry had the inkling that his brother was gleefully expecting him to mess things up, surely because it would mean a load of trouble for him and it could end up with him having to get rid of his new pet.

His brother could be nasty and jealous just in such ways. Regardless, Harry had faith in little Ulysses and he took the chance.

The first to see them was Kathy Cole as she came out of her office. She took one glance at Harry, with Ulysses happily perched on his head, and the Matron grumbled under her breath, "… orphanage's turning into a zoo…. I'll have a word with Alice about bringing in strays all the time… I'll have to put my foot down… "

Harry had inwardly grinned at that, giving the Matron a cheery wave of the hand. It perfectly suited his purpose: that Ulysses was some stray he had found on the streets was the perfect excuse.

Furthermore, his friends had mostly loved the little 'kitten', and Ulysses had behaved admirably, allowing himself to be petted and pawed at without complain, merely purring contently and licking cheeks.

"He's so adorable!" Amy Benson gushed as she took Ulysses into her arms and snuggled her face on his soft fur.

"He's nice, I suppose," said Eric Whalley, squinting at the Scorcrup. "But he looks a bit weird, doesn't he? Must be from a cross with some strange cat, with those funny ears and no whiskers…" The boy shot Billy a glance, and added tartly, "At least he's better than Puff, that's for sure."

"Shut it," grumbled Billy Stubbs, though his voice lacked force. He looked mournful and dejected. Having given up on his unruly cat by then, the boy had stopped looking for it and had left the vicious Puff in peace. He had been sniffling and moping around for days, due to that.

Inevitably, Billy brightened in the next second and extended his arms towards Amy, as he urged, "Give it here. You had him long enough."

A brief quarrel ensued between boy and girl, which quickly ended with Billy lovingly cradling Ulysses and softly cooing at him, while Harry watched with an amused and satisfied grin on his face.

After that, he happily went around the house with Ulysses on him at all times. The little creature had a distinct preference for either sitting on his left shoulder or lying on his head. And no matter how much Harry moved around, shrugged or bobbed his head up and down, the Scorcrup seemed secured on his place of choice and effortlessly hanged on. Harry didn't know how the little creature managed that, because he was never clawed at.

"Must confuse your scarecrow's hair with a nest," Tom had remarked snidely at the sight.

The only other one who wasn't happy with the new arrangements was Nagini. She was a very possessive little snake, and after Lord Horkos, the appearance of yet another pet hadn't pleased her one bit.

Harry had tried to explain, but in the end it was Ulysses who had resolved the matter. Every time Nagini viciously hissed at the little Scorcrup and made an attempt to strike, Ulysses had been quick to change his tail into his lethal, hooked one.

He did just that: no hissing, bristling, or spitting, just the flash of a tail of a scorpion and Nagini was wise enough to clamp her maws shut and back off. Oh, she grumbled much and complained and demanded to be petted even more, yet she began to wholly ignore the 'new usurper'. She had a very developed instinct of self-preservation, that one.

It was just three days before they had to return to Hogwarts that Robert Hutchins finally turned up in his motorwagon. As they had planned in secret during New Year's Eve, Harry had been prepared for the expedition. He had warned his brother and managed to cajole him into wearing the jersey Karen had knitted for him, along with the pants they had been given for their birthday.

Harry himself was proudly wearing his green jersey and his new pair of second-hand knickerbockers, along with cap on head and Slytherin scarf around the neck – he didn't have anything nicer than that.

"You'll have to dress smartly," Hutchins had pointed out. "I'll be taking you to the best public library there is in London, and we'll all have to be in our best or we'll be kicked out."

Robert Hutchins was quite the picture himself. Harry had never seen the man with anything other than working clothes. It was quite a change to see him in suit and tie, no stubble along the jaw and with hair neatly groomed.

He had the feeling that if Alice had been there, she would have flushed at the sight of the man. Thankfully, she wasn't, because Harry had asked Bob to keep their little trip to the library a secret, because if Tom and he were successful, he knew what it would lead to and he didn't want to hurt Alice's feelings.

Hutchins hadn't pressed him about his need for secrecy. The muggle was nice and respectful in that way, and he had merely winked conspiratorially and ruffled Harry's hair.

Thus, with no observers lurking from the windows of the orphanage –Alice being too busy with taking care of the laundry- Harry was quick to pipe in excitedly as soon as his eyes landed on the motorwagon, "Can I drive?"

"Sure thing," said Hutchins, grinning like mischievous little boy himself. "Let's hop on."

And thus, they made their way to central London, with Harry beaming as he sat on Bob's lap, since he didn't reach the pedals and needed the man for that, but the wheel was all his and Hutchins aided him with making the shifts with the stick. Tom merely sat at the passenger's seat, scowling in silence as Harry fully enjoyed himself and honked all the way out of their neighborhood.

That little trip would trigger a series of events that would end by shocking him deeply, leaving him wholly unprepared for it. Harry would later look back at that day as the moment when it had all truly began for him, and he would rue it, because if he had known the consequences, he would have never gone into that thrice-be-damned library.


	29. Part I: Chapter 28

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

**Thanks for the uplifting reviews! It makes me very happy to know that you liked the last chapter! : )**

This time, I only need to address one point some reviewers have brought up:

I know that many are fed up with Tom's bad mood and nasty attitude towards Harry. But it's just the kind of stage in which they are right now: as quarrelling, twelve-year-old brothers who bicker and snap constantly at each other.

I simply wanted to reflect that, so we'll then see how their relationship matures and progresses as they get older.

Nevertheless, don't expect Tom to ever be nice and warm with Harry, he just isn't the type.

He has already shown, in some scenes, jealously over Harry and much protectiveness as well, even though he wouldn't openly admit it. That gives us a glimpse of how he feels for 'his brother' and shows how he has been affected by Harry's companionship.

As Santi pointed out to Julian Erlichmann, this Tom Riddle, unlike the original one, has a deep attachment to someone other than himself –Harry– for the first and only time.

So Tom does care, but his moodiness won't change until he becomes more assured of himself in his new surroundings and 'place in the world', so to speak. His bad temper reflects his childliness, in my view. He can be adult-like in many ways but not in that, yet. Also, be being his bad-tempered self around Harry, without repressing his true nature, denotes that he trusts him and is comfortable around him. I think that's important.

Tom will become more suave when he grows up, but I won't make him the cuddly, loving type. It would be too out of character and I don't like Tom Riddles like that, or Voldemorts.

He'll still be dominating, arrogant, and a jerk, the only difference is that he'll come to openly show affection for Harry, from time to time, and that Harry will grow up and pull his weight around, being able to match him.

The changes will take time, though.

That said, enjoy this chappie!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 28**

* * *

Harry felt very proud of himself when he perfectly parked the motorwagon along the curb, with little help from Bob. He even shot his brother a smug smirk, but Tom didn't seem to notice. The boy had remained quiet for the whole duration of the trip and now looked to be in deep, contemplative thought.

He harrumphed, peeved, at his brother's lack of attention to him. Nevertheless, as they climbed out of the motorwagon, such thoughts vanished as he glanced around their surroundings.

Tom and him had never been in that part of London before. The broad, stately street was filled with imposing, solemn-looking buildings that had flags, statues, and monuments here and there.

"Well, here we are," said Robert Hutchins, as he started gesturing at some buildings across the street. "That over there is the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Next to it, is the Ministry of Defense, and further along, the Cabinet Office." He shot them a smile as he turned around and gazed up the building in front of them. "And here's the best and largest library in London."

It looked just like the other buildings, though inside it was even more awe-inspiring.

It was huge and everything looked pristine, dignified, and elegant. The walls were paneled with dark wood, with some large portraits decorating them, depicting very grave-looking muggles who must have been important political or historical figures of past times. There were grand chandeliers hanging high up in the ceiling, nice desk lamps on tables here and there amongst the innumerable rows of bookcases, along with majestic sofas, winged armchairs and low tea tables. There were also many display cases with tops made of glass, protecting what seemed to be old historical records and documents.

Harry saw people too. They looked like bankers or government officials, given their top hats, expensive-looking pinstripe suits, and their chained silver or gold clocks hanging from their vests. Some were smoking pipes or had tumblers filled with some liquor, as they read newspapers or talked amongst them. It looked more like some sort of social club than a library, at least in the area that those men were hanging around.

Right in front of the middle of the vast library, there was a ring-like high table, with a woman inside, taking tomes from a column of books as she briskly stamped them, one after the other.

She was a rail-thin woman, with stringy brown hair tightly pulled into a strict bun, sallow-faced, wearing a pair of black-framed, squared eyeglasses.

As they approached her, she glanced up and her expression soured.

"No children are allowed here," she said sharply, to then glance away and continue with her stamping.

Robert Hutchins cleared his throat, and said gently, "Please, ma'am, if you will-"

The librarian gave a loud stamp on a book, and then grabbed a fountain pen to point with it at a plaque hanging from the edge of her desk. It read in big bold letters: NO CHILDREN ALLOWED.

She waved off a hand impatiently as if dismissing them from her sight, without another word.

Unflappable, Hutchins persisted, stepping closer to the woman's desk, as he began softly, "Please, missus, these are my nephews and it's their birthday today." The man placed his hands on Tom's and Harry's shoulder, pointedly pulling them against his sides in an affectionate gesture, as he continued entreatingly, "There's nothing they like more than books, so I promised I would bring them here. It's my birthday present for them, so just for once, couldn't you make an exception?"

"I don't intend to ever make any exceptions," said the woman curtly, without looking up from the books she continued stamping. "I kindly ask to remove yourselves from this library."

Hutchins frowned, before he bent down to Harry and whispered urgently, "Do your thing."

Harry blinked up at the man, bewildered, as he whispered back, "What thing?"

"What you do when you want to get out of trouble with Alice," clarified Hutchins in a hasty whisper, grinning, "and when you wheedle your twin into doing what you want."

Harry felt his face go red. It was like suddenly being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He hadn't thought anyone had noticed his tricks.

The man knowingly winked at him, and Harry almost huffed, before he quickly complied.

He stood on his tiptoes and clutched the edge of the woman's high table with his fingers, to pull himself upwards so that his head could be seen. Blinking several times, he made his eyes turn watery, and he made them big and 'adorable' as people often said, as he peered up at the librarian.

"Please, nice lady," he said in a small, childish, soft voice, "let us stay. My brother and I will be very good. We just want to read some books because we love them so much and don't have the money to buy books for ourselves. We won't take long…"

The woman paused in her stamping and gazed down at him, her lips pursing into a flat, thin line as she began to shake her head.

Though before she had a chance to open her mouth, Harry continued, now sniffling piteously, pulling a vulnerable expression on his face as his bit his bottom lip and made it tremble, "We are very well behaved. We will cause no trouble. Promise."

"I'll watch over them," said Robert Hutchins firmly. "We will not bother anyone."

To wrap up the act, Harry let out another sniffle and peered up again at the woman with wide, bright, tearful eyes, as he whimpered, "Please…."

She glanced down at him and her expression softened marginally. She dropped the stamp in her hand and released an annoyed sigh, before she said briskly, "Very well, then."

And with that, she came out from her table and placed her hands on her narrow hips, as she asked impatiently, "What kind of books are you interested in?"

"About History of England," piped in Harry quickly. "The Houses of the Lancasters and the Yorks, in particular, before they were involved in the War of the Roses. Their origins and stuff."

The librarian arched a surprised eyebrow at that, clearly startled that two little boys could be interested in such things.

"I see," she muttered, before shaking her head. "Follow me, if you will."

She marched off and they quickly sped up to match her brisk pace. They went along rows upon rows of shelves, turned corners, made twists, and kept walking and walking through what seemed like an endless, orderly maze.

Finally, the woman abruptly halted and gestured at the enormous bookcase before them. "The books you're looking for are in the third to fifth shelves." She shot them a stern look of warning, as she added sharply, "Keep your voices down and don't put a toe out of line or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Harry nodded firmly, and the woman gave him one last glance before she flounced away.

They settled their things on the nearest table, and Hutchins offered gently, "Would you like my help with your homework?"

"Um, no, thanks," said Harry, warmly smiling up at the man. "We're supposed to do our essay all by ourselves. And we can manage."

Hutchins nodded and ruffled Harry's hair, grinning, "Good." He then gestured at a distant table as he added, "I'll be over there reading the newspapers. When you're done, let me know."

After the man left, they took a seat and started taking out papers and pencils from the rucksack they had brought along.

"Quite a performance you gave back there," suddenly gritted out Tom, piercing him with a dark gaze as he paused in his shuffling of papers.

"Huh?" said Harry pulling a dumb expression on his face, just as he was grabbing a pencil. "What d'ya mean?"

"It reminded me," continued Tom, his voice dangerously lowering, "of the several times you've done something similar to me."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Harry blinked, his expression utterly baffled. "I've never done any 'performances', as you put it. I was truly very worried and sad when the librarian told us we had to leave-"

"Don't lie," spat out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits as his fingers clenched on his sheaf of papers. "You've done the same to me as you did to that muggle woman! You manipulating, little-"

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about," interjected Harry, puffing out his small chest and looking deeply insulted and indignant. "I have never manipulated anyone." Then he waved a hand dismissively. "And enough chattering. We have work to do."

Tom shot him one last dark, suspicious look before they rose to their feet and started taking books from the shelves the librarian had indicated.

"It's going to take us ages," grumbled Harry under his breath, as he began flipping through the first thick tome, looking with dismay at the countless other books left.

And indeed it did. His eyes got watery and blurry from so many paragraphs of useless information and so many pictures of this and that Lancaster or York, who had no relevance to their quest. It was an endless, tedious perusal, and Harry missed magic so much just then. If they could flick out their wands, a simple Electus Charm would spare them much time and trouble.

They both kept making notes, jutting down the information of possible candidates, but none seemed to fit the requirements. All the pictures of portraits they saw were of men of the House of York or Lancaster, with doublets or shields or capes with the Red or White Rose – but it was always an emblem, carved or forged in iron, woven with thread, and such, always depicted and represented, never displaying the real flower itself.

"There has to be someone who wore the Egeriana Rose like Salazar Slytherin did," groaned Harry about an hour later, slamming shut the latest of books that had yielded no results. "He has to be in these books, somewhere!"

"This is pointless," groused out Tom, looking tired and vastly annoyed. "It's evident. You were wrong-"

"I'm not!" snapped Harry, glowering at him. "I know I'm right. Everything I said made sense." He shook his head, sighing wearily, before he added gruffly, "Let's keep looking."

He didn't know how much time passed, but as he was gloomily muttering to himself, briskly flipping pages after pages of useless information, he suddenly caught sight of something.

His heart skipped a beat and he quickly flipped back to the page where he had seen a flash of a picture, and he stared.

"Tom," Harry breathed out, his eyes wide, fixed on the page of the book in his hand. "I think I found him."

His brother instantly brought his chair closer to his, and gazed down at the book as he demanded in a rush, "Who? What is it? What did you find?"

"Look," whispered Harry quietly, pointing at the picture of a man's portrait.

He was dark haired and black-eyed, with beard and moustache, of plain features, wearing chainmail and black armor, with gauntlets and a magnificent jeweled sword, along with a small crown on top of his helm. The tunic covering the armor depicted squared sections: ones with red background, the others with black, with emblems of his House woven in golden thread.

Nevertheless, it wasn't any of that which had caught his attention, but what he had pinned on his tunic.

"It's the Egeriana Rose," he murmured breathlessly. "He's wearing the flower itself, right in the middle of his chest, like Salazar Slytherin."

Tom frowned as he inspected it, and muttered uncertainly, "It could be a coincidence… It wouldn't entirely prove he's the one we're looking for-"

"No, look, look!" interrupted Harry excitedly, his eyes roaming a paragraph. "It says here that this man, the First Duke of Lancaster, was the first to adopt the Red Rose as a heraldic device which became the emblem of the House of Lancaster following the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. He was also the first one to use it, you see!"

"Even so," began Tom tartly, "it's not evidence enough-"

"He was born in 1340!" gasped out Harry as he caught sight of the man's birth and death dates. He shot his brother a dumbfounded look. "Sherisse Slytherin gave birth to her son in 1340…" He shook his head, dazzled. "I thought he would be some descendant… I hadn't imagined it would be their son!"

"Let me see that," snapped Tom shortly, quickly pulling the book towards himself, frowning as he began reading. "John Gaunt, or John of Gaunt-"

"Exactly!" piped in Harry, marveled and brimming with triumphant joy. "Gaunt as in the 'G' of M.G., Tom!" He gestured wildly and animatedly with his hands. "This is it – this is him, their very own son!"

Tom's frown deepened as he glanced back at the page. "He was the First Duke of Lancaster, member of the House of Plantagenet and the third surviving son of King Edward the Third of England-"

"He must have hoodwinked the muggles, clearly," interjected Harry vehemently, before he paused, hesitant. "Though I don't know how he could have done it. The Prewett twins told me about the Obliviators that work in the Ministry of Magic, but erasing the memories of muggles wouldn't have done the trick, would it? What did he use, then?"

"I think I know," muttered Tom pensively. "I've read about spells and magic that are called the Mind Arts, about Legilimency and Occlumency in particular. A wizard that can master those can do all sorts of things, even implant thoughts and fake memories in the minds of others."

Harry gawked at him. "Really? Are you sure such things can be done-"

"Of course I'm sure!" snapped Tom waspishly. "I even have proof. I know that Dumbledore can do it, for instance!"

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry stared at him, flummoxed. In the next second, he deeply frowned and demanded sharply, "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"Never mind about that," said Tom coolly, waving a hand dismissively. "It lacks importance. The point is that such things are possible, and he can do it." He then glowered at him, as he added venomously, "I would even know more about the subject if you hadn't flapped your gums and told Dumbledore my owl's name! When he raided the Restricted Section he didn't leave any books about the Mind Arts either. They are considered Dark, because, for instance, a wizard who yields Legilimency can violate another person's mind against their will."

"Are you telling me," said Harry slowly and disbelievingly, "that Dumbledore can read people's minds?"

"It's not reading minds, exactly," retorted Tom superiorly, "but yes, he can do it. Legilimens need to stare into someone's eyes in order to access their mind. I even read that those powerful enough can cast the spell wandlessly and nonverbally."

"And you think Dumbledore can do that too…." Gobsmacked, Harry trailed off, before a wave of deep alarm swept over him. "Hang on! If he can read minds, he could know everything - he could have seen in our minds about Grindelwald's letter and the books!"

"Don't be a dimwit!" bit out Tom with vexation. "Do you really believe that if he had, he would have just left us alone?" He shook his head, as he said fiercely, "No, I don't think he's used Legilimency on us." He scoffed snidely. "He probably thinks that using it on students is ignoble and below himself." He skewered him with his eyes, as he added crisply, "But it doesn't mean that he wouldn't in the future, if he has grave, pressing reasons with which to mollify his conscience. So I don't trust him and I rather be prepared. That's why I want the books about the Mind Arts that the Blacks have in their private library, because by mastering Occlumency you can shield your mind against a Legilimens!"

"Oh," said Harry blinking. He then huffed. "You should have explained that before! If it's for that, then I can ask Alphard." He shot his brother a warning look. "To borrow those books for a couple of weeks, not steal them, mind you."

"That's good enough," said Tom pleasantly, widely smirking at him.

Harry shook his head, and then frowned, musingly. It would be a good idea to be able to 'shield one's mind', as his brother put it, though not from Dumbledore. He was more concerned about any possible interaction they could come to have with the Dark Lord Grindelwald, given the wizard's unexplainable interest in them.

Furthermore, he had given his oath to Tom that he wouldn't say anything to Dumbledore about Grindelwald's letter and books, but now there was another way in which he could let Dumbledore know about their predicament without breaking his promise to his brother.

Indeed, if Tom was right, then he could just stare into Dumbledore's eyes pointedly and let him know that he wanted his mind to be read. And then Dumbledore would know about Grindelwald, and the wizard could help them!

Harry immediately decided he would do precisely that, but after March the fifteenth. He couldn't go and bother Dumbledore before then, when he knew the wizard must be very preoccupied and busy with planning things to prevent Grindelwald and the Nazis from conquering Czechoslovakia. Thus, after Dumbledore did his stuff and saved the country, he would definitely go to the man.

Satisfied with his resolution, he glanced back at his brother. "What else does the book say?"

Tom frowned as he continued reading. "He was called John 'Gaunt' because he was born in a Belgium town named Ghent-"

"Oh, but then, I don't understand," interrupted Harry, puzzled. "Gaunt fits with the M.G. initials, so it must have been his true surname, right?"

"Yes," drawled Tom, casting him an arrogant look. "It's obvious that he was skilled in the Mind Arts and used them widely to plant memories about his birth and about himself in all the years in between before he appeared before the muggles, passing himself off as the son of the English King."

"That's a lot of work," remarked Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Tom scoffed loudly. "He had the incentives for it, didn't he? Why, living as a King's son and a Duke – he must have had a very lavish and comfortable life."

"True," said Harry thoughtfully, nodding. "A much better one than the one he could have had in the Wizarding World, because of the things his father M.G. had done."

"Precisely," said Tom tersely, before he returned to the book. "He had many children with his two wives and mistresses. His legitimate male heirs included Kings Henry IV, Henry V, and Henry VI. His legitimate daughters became Queen of Castile and Queen of Portugal…"

Harry shook his head, bemusedly. "They couldn't have been his. I've heard that there isn't a drop of magical blood in any of the Royal Houses of Europe." He grinned at his brother. "I asked the Prewetts twins about that because I wanted to know if-"

"Of course they weren't his children!" interrupted Tom impatiently. "John Gaunt was a Slytherin and he knew it. As you said, he proudly used the Egeriana Rose and made it an emblem. A Slytherin, proud of his ancestry, as he was, would have never bedded filthy muggle women."

Harry decided not to remark on that 'filthy' comment and simply let it go, as he pressed on, pensively, "So he tricked his wives and mistresses as well?"

"Obviously," said Tom tartly. "He wouldn't have had any other choice. Given his position as a duke, it was his duty to have heirs. It would have been demanded and expected of him." He glanced down at the book, tapping a finger on it, as he mulled, "John Gaunt must have used the Imperius Curse on men of the Court… perhaps he even gave them Polyjuice Potions with his hair, so they would look like him when he made them bed his wives and mistresses… yes, that's very plausible."

"The Imperius Curse?" mumbled Harry, his features turning pale and sickened.

Tom shot him an annoyed glare. "It's a dark curse that-"

"I know what it is!" snapped Harry bristling, his face gaining back its color in indignant anger. "Alphard told me all about the Unforgivable Curses, thank you very much!"

"At least he's useful for something," retorted Tom acidly, giving him a snide look.

Harry glowered at his brother, and then huffed impatiently. "Let's get to the point. He didn't have children with his muggle women, but he must have had children with a witch, because we're his descendants. So, when did he die, supposedly?"

Tom glanced at the page, and replied shortly, "In 1399, he was fifty-nine years old, and died of old age."

Harry snorted loudly. "Right, sure. As expected, it's utter rubbish. We know wizards can live for two hundred years." He glanced musingly at his brother. "So he faked his death and returned to the Wizarding World, wherever he had hidden before, and had children with some witch."

"That's a valid supposition," conceded Tom as he nodded magnanimously.

Widely grinning, Harry declared with much self-satisfaction, "So there we have it! Wizards don't tend to move around much. They like to stay in the houses and towns and such of their parents, grandparents and forefathers - especially purebloods, from what Alphard has told me. And John Gaunt was a pureblood and a Slytherin, and the Duke of Lancashire, to boot, precisely of the same county Salazar Slytherin came from."

He rested his back on his chair and his grin widened even further, as he concluded exultantly, "So that's where we have to look for Gaunts. In muggle towns and cities of Lancashire. And probably Yorkshire too, since it's a neighboring county and also the place of the Egeriana Rose. So we're done here!"

"Not even remotely, you little twit," said Tom caustically, as he gestured at the blank papers in front of him. "Even if what you said makes sense, we still have to-"

"Tut-tut," Harry interrupted, clucking his tongue tauntingly as he grinned toothily. "I'm not a 'twit', am I?"

Tom stared and frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Harry, grinning with much smugness and vindictive pleasure, "that I was right about every little thing! It was thanks to me that we found John Gaunt, not you. So you can't call me stupid anymore, can you?"

Fiercely scowling and glowering at him, Tom turned silent for a moment, as if trying to devise a way in which to give Harry a devastating retort.

"Come, come, dear brother," drawled Harry mockingly, his lips quirking upwards. "Why do you look so sour? You've done exactly this, plenty of times to me. Now it's my moment of glory and revenge. So say it! Say I was right and say 'thank you for all your wisdom and brilliance, dear brother'."

Tom's glower turned murderous and Harry happily chuckled at the sight, before he prodded his brother with a jabbing finger on the ribs, as he intoned cheerfully, "Come, come, it's not so hard, just slooowlyyy move your lips and say it."

"I will not say anything of the sort!" snapped Tom acidly, glaring daggers at him, before he lifted his chin up and added superiorly, "And if you had let me speak before, you would know that my point is that we're not done here!" He gestured angrily at the blank papers before him. "Hutchins will want to see the essay we're supposedly writing for school. So we still have to do that before we can leave!"

"Oh no," said Harry indolently, comfortably sprawling on his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "I've made all the important discoveries. So I'm going to rest now while you work. I deserve it. This part is all yours, dear twin of mine."

Tom shot him a seething glare and spat, "You'll pay for this!", before he violently grabbed pencil and paper, and began perusing at books as he scribbled with jerky, stabbing motions, even piercing through the paper once or twice.

His brother only paused to shoot him venomous glowers now and then, as he worked at a furious pace.

And Harry, for his part, chuckled under his breath. Why, he could almost imagine he could see dark clouds gathering and smoldering above his brother's head.

It all made Tom look like a thwarted little boy throwing a temper tantrum in silence.

At the sight, Harry's devilish grin widened, stretched, and turned into a full-blown smirk.

* * *

When Robert Hutchins took them back to the orphanage, Harry had already formulated his plan – for the next stage of their quest and for something else he needed to speak about with the man in private. And he had to get rid of Tom for that.

Thus, as soon as they climbed out of the motorwagon, he was quick to turn to his brother, ordering shortly, "Get in the house."

"I beg your pardon?" snapped Tom, looking affronted, as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry shot him a frustrated look. "We know what our next step has to be. I'll take care of it! And it's best if I speak to him alone. So just go away!"

"Watch how you speak to me, you uppity little runt," hissed out Tom, seething. "That you managed, for once, to show a spark of intelligence doesn't mean that-"

"Oh, just go away and let me do my stuff," bit out Harry with exasperation. "We'll talk later!"

He quickly swirled around and started to approach Robert Hutchins, leaving his brother behind. Thankfully, he soon heard Tom furiously stomping his way up the steps and then slamming the entrance door shut behind him.

Hutchins' gaze flickered from Harry to the orphanage and back, looking concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, everything's just fine," said Harry, smiling up at the man. He had already decided there was no convincing lie he could tell about the matter, so he didn't beat around the bush. "The thing is that we want to ask another favor from you."

"Yes?" prompted Hutchins gently.

"We're looking for our relatives," said Harry in a hushed tone of voice. "They're called Gaunt – that's their surname, I mean, and-"

"Relatives?" interjected Robert, frowning at him with puzzlement. "But I thought you boys had none. Alice told me your mother died in the orphanage after she gave birth to you both, and that your father was dead too-"

"Our father?" interrupted Harry, staring at him befuddled. He then shook his head. "No. We have no way of knowing that, do we? We think he could be alive and we want to find him. And we have reason to believe that some Gaunts could be relatives of his and so, also ours."

"I see," murmured Hutchins softly. "My apologies, then." He gave him a warm smile. "Of course that I'll be glad to help you in any way I can, but I don't see how I could be of much use."

"Well, we think the Gaunts could be living in Lancashire or Yorkshire," said Harry hastily. "And I know Old John Bryce is from Preston, so I was hoping you could ask him to write to people he knows in Lancashire, to see if any of them have heard of any Gaunts living in those parts."

"Ah," said Hutchins, a wide smile spreading on his face, "of course I will. But I can be of further use to you as well. I'm from Yorkshire myself."

Utterly surprised, Harry stared at him. "You are?"

Robert grinned. "Yes, I'm from Leeds. As a matter of fact, it was when I was working in a factory there that I met Old John – he was a fellow worker. And we both have many acquaintances there, so we can help you with that as well."

"That would be great!" said Harry joyfully, beaming at him. "Thanks!"

"It will take a while, you understand?" said Hutchins quietly, now looking worried. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as he added in a low, gentle voice, "And I don't want you to get your hopes up. I truly wish we manage to help you find these relatives, but if it happens to be that there're none, the disappointment could be crushing for you. So you must accept the possibility beforehand."

Harry nodded at him with a grave expression on his face. "I do."

"Good," said Hutchins, warmly smiling.

"I don't want you to tell Alice about this," said Harry abruptly, gazing up at him imploringly.

The man frowned and then his expression softened, as he shook his head. "It wouldn't hurt her feelings, Harry. She wouldn't begrudge you your desire to find relatives. On the contrary, she would understand and she would encourage you."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Harry, fretfully scuffling his feet, "but it's not just about that." He bit his bottom lip nervously. "It's because… um, well… I've been watching you two and I think that…" He sighed and peered up at him with big eyes, as he rushed out, "Well, if it's true that you are planning to marry Alice, I know that you're also considering other stuff…. I mean, I want to find my father, because I want to know about him, I want to ask him questions, I want to understand, but if he knew Tom and I were here and didn't care, it changes things."

He shook his head, exasperated at himself, as he jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, trying to find a way to express his thoughts and wishes. "But not really, you see? Even if he hadn't known, he's a stranger to me. Of course that I would care for him, if we find him, but he would still be a stranger." He gazed up at the man again, his cheeks flushing, and just blurted out very quickly, "But you're not, and I like you and I rather have you as a dad than anyone else, so if its true that you and Alice were thinking about adopting Tom and me, then I want it to happen even if I find my father, because I love Alice and you and I want you to be my parents!"

And with that, he turned tail and dashed into the orphanage, too mortified to stick around and with no wish to see how his declaration had been taken.

Unbeknownst to him, he left behind a Robert Hutchins who at first looked thoroughly startled and surprised, and then smiled widely, with deep warmth, affection, and contentment.

* * *

… _once upon a time, there was a good little wolf mistreated by all the lambs…_

He was dreaming, enfolded in cotton waves of warmth and love as a beautiful voice sang Alice's lullaby, the tone soft, worried, and concerned as it rose and fell like a placid, slow tide stroking a beach, the sound lulling and cradling, making him contently sigh in his sleep.

…_. once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon... _

The song echoed in his mind, as the face of the woman of his dreams, hallucinations, and imagination formed from amidst fogs and clouds. Her hair golden, long, and soft. He stretched out a hand and touched it, giggling at the sensation. She was so beautiful, like an angel. Her eyes, pale blue, were gazing at him with such warmth and love. Her features delicate and breathtaking, so very familiar to him.

… _there was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate... _

He knew her and loved her, and he touched her cheek and she smiled as she continued singing.

… _there were all these things, once upon a time, when I dreamed of a world turned upside down…_

She held him in her arms and stroked his hair, as she rocked him, murmuring his name, telling him secret things that only they shared.

…_Antares…_

They weren't alone, a glowing ghostly form was with them, observing, smiling, whispering, as they floated, surrounded by mist and rays of sun.

His hair was caressed, a lingering touch on his scar and the fingers trailed down to his cheek, lovingly, tenderly, and so longingly, as his name was called again, with yearning.

…_Harry…_

He pressed his cheek against the warm hand, contently nuzzling it, wanting more of that feeling of belonging and love.

"Harry…"

He floated as his name echoed in his mind, parting through fogs and clouds, surging upwards and rolling along waves of warmth, as the hand cupped his cheek.

"Harry!"

His eyes slowly parted open, heavy with sleep. He was surrounded by darkness except for the light that came from a shimmering, glowing figure.

"What?" he said groggily and disoriented. Someone had called his name, hadn't they?

He blinked confusedly until he noticed the warm hand on his cheek.

Startled, he jerked backwards, and instantly grabbed his eyeglasses from the rickety nightstand. As soon as he put them on, everything came into focus, and he gasped at the sight of the man seated on his bed.

"You!" he spluttered incredulously. "What are you doing here!"

"Lower your voice," said the strange Santi person.

Bewildered, Harry sat up straight on his bed and glanced around. He was in his room but he could barely see much, the curtains of their window were drawn shut and there was utter darkness except for Santi who seemed to be glowing with an inner light of his own.

"You don't want to wake up Tom, do you?" said Santi, as he rose up. "Let's go outside."

The young man didn't wait for him. He glided forward and went through the door, as if it was made of nothing but air.

Utterly perplexed, yet also mystified, Harry quietly followed and carefully closed the door shut behind him.

In the middle of the corridor, he spun around to see Santi waiting for him, calmly leaning against a wall.

Harry blinked, shook his head, and then snapped, highly miffed, "How did you get in here? I've been looking for you, for weeks, in Hogwarts-" he gestured wildly with his hands at their surroundings "-because you said you would come back and explain things to me, and you end up showing up here?"

"I wanted to see you," said Santi simply, giving him a wide, gorgeous smile.

Harry scowled, as he demanded curtly, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Santi arched an eyebrow at him. "You already know who I am."

"I know your name," bit out Harry impatiently, "but not much else." He ran his fingers through his hair, briskly, as he added, "You told me a bunch of stuff that makes no sense, and you gave me the 'task' of making the Grey Lady speak to me, and that's it!"

"And you haven't fulfilled your task yet, have you?" retorted Santi in a chiding tone.

"I tried!" huffed out Harry, peeved. "But she always flees from me." His green eyes narrowed. "And I still don't understand why it's important that she tells me stuff about herself!" He pointed an accusing finger at him. "I don't know you, I don't know her, and I'm not interested."

Santi released a heavy, weary sigh. "You will come to understand much, but first you must learn about her story, and you can only do that if you manage to convince her to tell you." He pierced him with his strange, glowing milky eyes, as he added, "I told you I am your protector. And I told you that what she has to reveal is important. That is enough-"

"No, it's not," gritted out Harry with exasperation. "I'm not your lackey. I want answers-"

"That's why I came," interjected Santi, grinning widely. "Precisely to do that – give you some answers. You have just discovered John Gaunt, haven't you?"

Harry's eyes went wide and he gaped. "How can you know that!"

"I know many things," said Santi, chuckling merrily. "I did tell you that I can bend Time at my pleasure, if you'll remember?"

"And that's a load of codswallop!" said Harry, irked. "I've never heard of something like that being possible, not even in the Wizarding World!"

Santi shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. "You'll soon start to believe me." He then smiled. "Now, wouldn't you like to know more about John Gaunt? Or, better said –since you already discovered what you need to know about him – wouldn't you like to know about his father, the elusive M.G.?"

"Well, yes," stammered Harry, taken aback. "I would like to know, but-"

"Then I'll tell you," said Santi cheerfully, his milky eyes sparkling. He then tapped a finger on his chin, musingly. "Where to start? I suppose the basics are required, first. He was called Morgon Gaunt, an ordinary wizard in all aspects, from a pureblood family that had never distinguished itself in any way. The Gaunts had no great fortune, no high social standing, all their members hadn't been particularly intelligent, powerful, resourceful, nor socially or politically skilled. They were mediocre, below the mark, and as such, ignored and spurned by other pureblood families of higher standing." He shot a sharp grin at him. "The one thing they had, was ruthless ambition. They coveted what other pureblood families possessed –fortune, prestige, respect, status, and such. And it was Morgon Gaunt who decided to get it, no matter the cost."

"I see," muttered Harry, staring at him. "It's good to know his full name, but I already know what he did."

"But you don't know the details, do you?" interjected Santi, indulgently smiling at him. "And it's in the details that the truth lies."

"Um, alright," said Harry slowly, bemused. "So what are those details?"

"The first relevant one, is that Morgon Gaunt was the Caretaker of Hogwarts back in those days," replied Santi placidly. "As all the rest of his family members, he wasn't particularly skilled in magic, and he had worked as the caretaker of the castle for many decades. He was around his eighties, when he took action." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can imagine the situation. And embittered wizard, with a job he considered to be below him, resentful and jealous of the students that surrounded him, and most of all, envious of the Slytherins."

"Of Sherisse Slytherin and her parents, you mean?" piped in Harry, now gazing at him with deep curiosity.

"Precisely," said Santi, his tone of voice low. "Back then, the Slytherins held much social and political power, being the descendants of one of the Founders and having lived in Hogwarts since the days of their ancestor. Hogwarts was their dominion, so to speak. Those who didn't revere them, feared them."

"I understand," said Harry, nodding, to then add with a pinch of impatience, "But what about Sherisse? I would like to know a bit about her."

"I was just getting to that," said Santi, his lips hitching upwards in amusement. "Sherisse was a nice girl - there's no other way to describe her. Her mother had only been able to give birth to her, and so Sherisse was greatly coddled and treasured by her parents, to such point that their overprotection resulted in her being naïve and innocent. She had a sweet disposition, and was liked and loved by all. Her beauty and kindness, along with her name, meant that she had many friends and admirers. She was the little princess of Hogwarts, in short."

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling his stomach rolling sickly, as he whispered, "And Morgon Gaunt, then… he…"

"Morgon Gaunt," said Santi with a grim, grave expression on his face, "hungered for her. During his duties as the Caretaker, he would watch her, laughing with friends, being fawned over and adored, and he hated, resented, and despised her, just as much as he coveted her. He wanted what she had and what she could give him. So one night, when young Sherisse was in the dungeons, making her way to her family's chambers, Morgon assaulted her. He dragged her into an empty room and forced himself on her."

He paused, before he added quietly, "I'll spare you the grisly details. After that, Sherisse was left so traumatized that she changed, understandably. She shied from the company of others, she became quiet and taciturn, and of course, her belly started to grow. The moment her parents took notice, they demanded to know who had done it. But Sherisse wouldn't say a word. Morgon Gaunt was still lurking, and she was terrified of him after the horror and violence of her rape. But then, her parents began to see how Sherisse blanched and trembled at the sight of the Caretaker of Hogwarts in the corridors. It was then that they knew. Her parents were about to take full revenge on Morgon, to torture and kill him, in short, when-"

"The outbreak of Dragon Pox," mumbled Harry, his face pale and drawn out of all color.

"Yes," said Santi tersely. "Her parents were two of the first to die. Thus, she was left alone and unprotected. Moreover, Morgon Gaunt had been no fool. When he had assaulted her, he had made her disclose many secrets, particularly how to take care of the wards of her family's chambers. It was so, that when she was giving birth, Morgon easily pulled down the wards and entered her room. He had known she was due soon, and he wanted to be there to reap his reward. While she was in labor and screaming in pain in her bed, unattended, Morgon went around the rooms, taking everything of value – their galleons, heirlooms, books, jewelry, and such. He used their own trunks to put the things inside, and then shrunk and pocketed them. After that, he simply stood and watched from one corner of the bedroom, as Sherisse finally gave birth to a baby boy. Morgon instantly took his ill-begotten son and fled, leaving her there, dying from blood loss."

"But who saw him?" said Harry hoarsely, his throat dry and tight. "I'm sure there was someone who saw what happened. There had to be a witness."

Santi shot him a large smile, looking proud of him. "Indeed, there was."

"Who?" pressed on Harry, half intrigued and half angered. "And why didn't they stop Morgon? Why didn't they do something? Why didn't they help her!"

"He didn't help her because he didn't have the time for it," replied Santi, his lips twisting. "He came into her room because he heard her crying out for help, when Morgon was taking the baby from her. She was a Slytherin, but she was also good and innocent, he would have saved her, but she died too quickly. The childbirth hadn't been easy, it had ripped her body - she bled to death in seconds, as Morgon was fleeing from her room. The one who answered her call for help was only able to get a glimpse of the fleeing Morgon with baby in arms. After that, the witness was quick to alert one of the teachers he was… acquainted with, let us say, and he communicated what he had seen. The teacher alerted other professors and they gave chase to Morgon Gaunt all the way down to Hogsmeade, casting spells at him, trying to stop him. But Morgon apparated away, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him."

"But who was it?" said Harry insistently. "Who was the witness?"

Santi grinned widely at him. "That's for you to find out. That's your second task."

Harry shot him a look of utter disbelief, and then snapped angrily, "What? You must be joking!"

"I'm not," said Santi, chortling and chuckling. "All the tasks I give you are important, for your own sake." He shot him a jaunty wink. "So I do hope you succeed in them."

And with that, he gave him a cheery wave of the hand. "See you soon. Ta-ta!"

"You come back here!" bellowed Harry furiously at the suddenly empty corridor. He then stomped a foot on the floor out of sheer frustration, violently carding his fingers through his hair, grousing darkly under his breath, "Shows up out of the blue, tells me a bunch of stuff, and gives me more tasks! As if I hadn't enough on my plate-"

"What are you doing?" said a vexed, demanding voice.

Startled, Harry nearly jumped in the air. He swirled around and saw his brother peeking out from the parted door of their bedroom, in his pajamas, with disarrayed, tousled hair, and eyes heavy with sleep.

Tom shot him a bleary glower. "Why are you out here?" He glanced around the corridor, frowning. "I heard you shouting. Who were you talking to?"

"Um, it was nothing," said Harry quickly. He shook his head and mumbled, "Erm… I think I was sleepwalking."

Decidedly looking more awake and alert, Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "You have never sleepwalked in your life. I should know." He released a heavy sigh and added with annoyance, "Was it the red eyes again?"

"Huh?" Harry stared at him.

"Your stupid nightmare," bit out Tom impatiently. "Was that what woke you up?"

"Oh. Yeah!" said Harry instantly. "It woke me up and scared me, and then I couldn't get back to sleep so I came out here to… um, well, just spend some time and talk to myself until I got sleepy again." He ducked his head down in contrition. "Sorry that I woke you up."

"I can't believe you're still such a baby… frightened of silly, little nightmares," said Tom, casting him a disgusted look. He shook his head and grumbled darkly, "Fine, come along then. I'll let you sleep with me so that you don't have that nightmare again."

"Really?" said Harry, perking up.

Ever since they had started Hogwarts, his brother had refused to let him sleep with him, as they always used to do when Harry had his nightmare of the red eyes and the flash of green light, because it always made his scar hurt and when Tom touched and caressed it, for some reason the pain always went away.

But Tom had decided that they were not little boys anymore, and hadn't allowed the tradition to continue, much to Harry's sorrow.

"Yes, really," snapped Tom shortly. And he spun around and went back into their bedroom, leaving the door open for Harry.

Beaming happily, Harry rushed inside.


	30. Part I: Chapter 29

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all of those who reviewed! There were some questions but none that I can answer at the moment, to not spoil the plot, so I have nothing to say this time, except: Enjoy! : )

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 29**

* * *

They arrived at King's Cross Station with all their things: their two trunks which were now quite heavy given that the Featherlight Charm had worn off, and the basket containing little Ulysses.

Leaving his friends behind at the orphanage hadn't been that much of a sorrowful experience, since Harry had missed Hogwarts much, despite everything, and couldn't wait to see his good friend Alphard Black again. Parting from Nagini had been another matter altogether.

Harry had felt very guilty for having to leave her alone for many months, once more. It saddened him greatly, and the little snake hadn't taken it well.

"_Why can that thing,"_ she spat in a furious hiss when Tom and him had been getting their things ready that morning, her yellow eyes glaring at the little Scorcrup that was placidly curled up on top of Harry's head, _"go with you, and I can't? It's not fair!"_

_"As you well know, it's because you're a snake and snakes aren't allowed at Hogwarts,"_ hissed Tom curtly, before he shot Harry a narrowed-eyed look. _"Nor are Scorcrups, for that matter-"_

"_Ulysses is like a kitten!"_ interjected Harry defensively, crossing his arms over his small chest. _"And cats are allowed, aren't they? They can't tell me I cannot have him!"_

"_We'll see,"_ said Tom caustically, though his dark blue eyes had a certain gleeful glint in them, as if he thought Harry's beloved little pet would be kicked out of the school and he couldn't wait to greatly enjoy the event.

After that, the conversation had progressed to become a loud match of angered hisses between Tom and Nagini, and Harry had left his brother to deal with her.

Tom had promised her all sorts of things for when they came back for summer holidays, in repayment for abandoning her for the next months, but the little snake was utterly unimpressed and unmoved, only turning more enraged.

"_Perhaps I won't be here when you return!"_ she had hissed in the end, her tone both furious and sounding deeply hurt. And without another word, she had flung herself out the window.

They had seen her quickly slithering down along a pipe, and then crossing the backyard to end up vanishing into the shrubbery.

Harry shook his head sadly at the recollection, but he was pulled out of his musings when Robert Hutchins placed a hand on his shoulder.

Alice had already fetched a trolley and both muggles had helped load their trunks and Ulysses' basket on it.

"Why don't you go on ahead with Tom, Alice?" said Hutchins gently. "I would like a word in private with Harry, if you don't mind."

Harry tensed at that, biting his bottom lip in apprehension. Alice gave them a curious look but was quick to comply, taking the trolley with her, and even though Tom followed, the boy shot them a suspicious, narrowed-eyed glance.

The moment they were left alone in front of the train station, Robert glanced down at him. "I'd like to discuss what you said the other day-"

"I'm sorry!" blurted out Harry, flushing and fretting nervously. "I know I shouldn't have said those things-"

"There's nothing you should be sorry about," interjected Robert, giving him a warm smile. The man then crouched on the sidewalk to be at his eye-level, putting his hands on Harry's small shoulders, as he added softly, "Everything you said is true. Alice and I have been talking about getting married, and about…" He trailed off, to then smile widely at him. "And we have every intention of adopting you and Tom the moment we are husband and wife. We've already talked about it to Mrs. Cole, and after many lengthy discussions, she saw things our way and has agreed to it. She already has the adoption papers prepared-"

"Oh, thank you!" cried out Harry joyfully, leaping forward to hug the man with all his power and love, feeling as if all his dreams were suddenly becoming true. His brother and him would finally have a family, and better parents than Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins he couldn't imagine or wish for.

The poor man had to stick a foot back to retain his balance and stop them from tumbling over on the street.

"You won't regret it!" promised Harry fervently as Hutchins chuckled and affectionately embraced him tightly.

"Of course we won't regret it," said Robert in amusement, gently pulling Harry backwards to gaze at him with eyes sparkling with fondness and contentment. "You must already know that Alice and I love you boys very much." His expression then turned grave, as he added quietly, "You must understand, it won't happen immediately. I have many things to settle beforehand. It will take me several months to have everything in order."

The man paused, and suddenly grinned. "I want to buy her a nice engagement ring for when I propose, and to get her a beautiful house as well." His lips twisted wryly. "The house I have at present at the back of my store is only fit for a bachelor, not a large family. So I still have to save money for a couple of more months…" He trailed off and chuckled under his breath. "Indeed, I've been saving for many years. I think I started in earnest since the first time I saw Alice. My heart must have known what I desired even before my head did."

A mite befuddled, Harry could merely blink at him. "So… um…"

"What I mean," said Robert, smiling warmly, "is that I've been looking at cottages for sale in Southend-on-Sea." He shot him an inquisitive look. "You boys like it there, don't you? You, at least, have much fun when we visit Old John. Would you like to live there?"

"Yeah!" breathed out Harry, his eyes wide with surprise and happiness. "It's great! I love the beach and the sun, and I could swim every day!"

"Thought so," said Hutchins, chuckling indulgently. "Alice likes the town too, and she enjoys the seaside just as much." He ruffled Harry's hair, as he added with a conspiratorial wink, "But let's keep it a secret between us, yes? I want the house to be a surprise for Alice. It's going to be my wedding present for her." He paused, his expression turning serious. "And don't tell your brother either. I know he can be a tad difficult. After I've proposed to Alice, I would like to tell him myself that we want to adopt you both." He shot him a concerned, quizzical glance. "Do you think he'll agree?"

At that, Harry bit his bottom lip anxiously. He hadn't even stopped to consider what Tom would think about the whole affair. In fact, he was quite certain that his brother would furiously refuse to be adopted by muggles, even if it was Alice and Robert.

A determined, fierce expression crossed Harry's face in the next second. It didn't matter. He would make Tom agree, or else. He wasn't going to allow his brother to spoil things for them. Alice and Robert were the best and kindest people they knew. And they even put up with Tom when he was in his nasty moods, with much patience and understanding, to boot.

"Don't worry," Harry vouched firmly. "Tom will agree."

"Let us hope so," muttered Hutchins quietly under his breath, before he smiled gently. "But yes, I'm sure that between you and I, we'll be able to convince him."

The man rose to his feet, to then give him a wide grin. "On another note, you'll be happy to know that Old John and I have already written to our acquaintances in Yorkshire and Lancashire. Our friends will start asking around about the Gaunts soon. I expect we should have some results in a couple of months."

"That's fantastic, thanks!" piped in Harry, giving him a beaming, grateful smile.

"It's our pleasure to help you, little fellow," murmured Robert softly, ruffling Harry's hair. "Now let's get going, or they'll start to wonder…"

After that, Harry felt as if he was walking on glorious clouds of sheer bliss.

Even Alice must have noticed something was up, because when they parted ways at the train station, Harry had given her a kiss on the cheek when she had leaned down to hug him.

She had blinked at him, looking both bemused and tickled with pleasure at the unexpected show of affection. Harry hadn't been able to help himself, feeling so filled with brimming love and gratefulness for her and Robert.

It wasn't until they were in the Hogwarts Express itself that his feet landed on earth once more. As they went down the corridor of a wagon, hauling their trunks, he noticed the many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that greeted Tom from their compartments, waving and inviting him over.

Whether they were those to whom Tom had sold essays or acquaintances the boy had made for self-interested, devious reasons of his own, Harry didn't know. Regardless, he was quite satisfied and content when his brother gave them charming, gorgeous smiles but nevertheless made his excuses and kept following Harry. And at least they wouldn't be crossing paths with Olive Hornby and her flock of Ravenclaw friends, since those girls had remained at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball.

They even passed along one of the compartments occupied by some of their housemates. Only two of them took notice. Amidst Orion Black, Thaddeus Avery, Neron Lestrange, Priscilla Pucey and Capricia Carrow, Alphard Black and Abraxas Malfoy were the only ones who glanced at them through the window of their compartment's door.

Harry had let out little Ulysses from his basket by then, and the Scorcrup had been happily perched on his left shoulder when those two boys caught sight of them. Alphard shot him a covert grin, looking vastly satisfied at the sight, his expression softening as he glanced at his former familiar, while Malfoy blinked and then arched a pale eyebrow, curiosity and intrigue clear on his perfect, handsome features.

It was when Tom and he finally found an empty compartment for themselves that Harry realized why his brother had been so keen to stay with him instead of mingling with 'useful connections'.

"What did Hutchins want with you?" demanded Tom shortly, as soon as they stowed their trunks away and sat down, pinning him with a narrow-eyed gaze.

Harry huffed at that, before he said loftily, "Oh, nothing much. He just wanted to tell me that he and Old John Bryce have already written to their friends for the Gaunt thing."

"Nothing else?" pressed on Tom, eyeing him very suspiciously.

"Nope," said Harry with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, to then wholly ignore his brother as he played with Ulysses, chuckling when the little Scorcrup pawed and chased after the thread Harry had yanked out from his Slytherin scarf.

* * *

The first months back at Hogwarts flashed by in a flurry of activity.

The news of Dorea Black's betrothal to Charlus Potter had spread like wildfire. It seemed that the couple was on the lips of everyone in the school during the first few weeks, as the couple went around, openly hand-in-hand for the first time: Dorea Black looking quite self-satisfied and smug, her beauty resplendent with inner joy as well, while Charlus Potter looked mightily proud, strutting around with squared shoulders and swelled chest, when he wasn't carrying an absolutely besotted, dumb smile on his face, as he if didn't yet give credence to his good luck and couldn't quite puzzle out how he had managed to finally obtain his heart's desire.

The flutter of gossip that followed them was plentiful and expressed all sorts of sentiments.

"… Must she have everything? She walks around as if she was the prettiest and smartest girl in Hogwarts, and she's not! And she's a Slytherin to boot – she shouldn't be with a Gryffindor, it's not right…."

"…. I don't know what he sees in her. He's so handsome and brilliant, and such a fantastic Quidditch player, and wealthy and a pureblood too, he could have anyone! And he chose a Black? They're all mad and dangerous those, always doing all kinds of evil Dark Arts…"

"…. I heard they've been a couple in secret for ages! They had to, because Abraxas Malfoy's grandfather wanted Dorea Black for himself and the old wizard threatened he would kill anyone she married!"

"Oh no, it was her father who wanted her for himself! It's him who vouched to kill her and anyone else she chose! You know how those Blacks are, marrying each other, and doing incest left, right, and center - it's disgusting! Someone like that shouldn't be with our housemate, we must make Charlus see reason!"

"… What's so good about Potter, I would like to know! I've been courting Dorea for ages, sending her all sorts of gifts – I've spent a fortune, and all the while she rejected me because she wanted Potter? He's an idiot – not good enough to even wipe her shoes! Myself, on the other hand…"

"They make such a nice couple! They really look good together, and it's clear they love each other greatly!"

That last comment Harry had overheard from a group of Hufflepuffs. It had already become evident to him that even though some students of other Houses spurned them for being too good-natured, kind and simple, lacking ambition and wit, supposedly, they were nonetheless the only ones in the Castle that apparently could see the reality of the situation, instead of being misguided by prejudice, envy, or resentment.

Meanwhile, Charlus Potter seemed happily deaf to all criticism while Dorea seemed to vastly enjoy it, shooting vicious, smug smirks at the girls that glowered at her.

Thankfully, gossip about the couple was soon replaced with excitement due to the beginning of the Quidditch Season of Hogwarts. The House Teams had been arduously training during the first term of school and were finally prepared to start the competition for that year's Quidditch Cup.

The first match was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Dorea had instructed Harry to watch the game so that he could see Gryffindors' Quidditch strategies and how their Chasers, especially Charlus Potter, played. He had orders to keenly observe and learn their flight maneuvers and Chaser tactics and formations.

Not that Harry needed any additional incentive; he wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Finally seeing a Quidditch match for the first time left him breathless and filled with awe, joy, and exhilarated thrill.

He hadn't been at the Slytherins' stands, since his housemates were cheering for Ravenclaw. Instead, he had been right smack in the middle of the Gryffindors, plenty of which had at first glanced at him suspiciously and with much mistrust, being Harry the only one in green and silver amidst gold and red. But as he yelled out encouragements and jumped up and down with Felicity and Felix Prewett, waving banners of Gryffindor House that depicted a ferocious roaring lion and such, the rest of the Gryffindors soon forgot his presence and cheered along with him, boisterously and so rowdy and loudly that Harry didn't think he had ever had so much fun in his life.

It was when he was making his way back to the Castle, with the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom by his side, all of them excitedly discussing every little move made during the match and filled with pride and joy since Gryffindor had beaten Ravenclaw spectacularly, that two of Abraxas Malfoy's lackeys made their presence known.

Neron Lestrange and Thaddeus Avery used their big bulks to slam into the Prewetts and Longbottom, sending them tumbling down on the ground as they caged Harry in between them, while they began to spit out insults.

"Rooting for the enemy, Riddle?" snarled Neron Lestrange furiously, jabbing an elbow into Harry's ribs, so hard and violently that Harry didn't see it coming and gasped in pain. "And I thought that a filthy mudblood like you could sink no lower, you little traitor-"

A loud, spiting hiss resounded and little Ulysses instantly leapt from Harry's head to his shoulder, his spine arching and his puffed out tail instantly transforming. With a series of clacking noises, his tail changed into hard husks that clicked together, hooking forward, stinger poised and menacingly swaying.

"That's a – a …" spluttered Thaddeus Avery, instantly jumping backwards, his eyes wide with fear.

Neron Lestrange didn't look much better, the boy had paled and quickly withdrawn.

"I knew it!" Walburga Black was suddenly before him, her face twisted with rage. "I knew it was no mere kitten!" She fulminated Harry with her gaze as she demanded in a furious screech, "Where did you get a Scorcrup from?"

Harry didn't fail to notice how the girl shot a glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowed with much suspicion and anger, her gaze directed at her brother Alphard, who was several feet away with another group of Slytherins.

"It's none of your bloody business," retorted Harry coolly, as he grinned at little Ulysses and gave him a grateful pat on the head. The Scorcrup had now focused all his attention to the girl before them, tail still like a scorpion's and ready for attack. "But if you must know, my parents got him for me from Beasts and Vermin in Knockturn Alley."

Walburga narrowed her dark grey eyes at him, as she spat out, "You're lying! Scorcrups are very expensive and everyone knows that your disgusting muggle parents are paupers-"

"They've been saving for the whole year to buy me a good birthday present," interjected Harry airily, before he narrowed his eyes at her and bit out acidly, "Not that it's any of your damn business-"

"I don't believe you!" she hissed out venomously. "I think that-"

Harry snorted scathingly. "And I care about what you think because? Sod off, Black!" He made a move to bump his shoulder against hers so that he could help Felicity Prewett, who was still wincing on the ground from the hard shove Avery and Lestrange had given her.

He was yanked around when Walburga grabbed him by the arm, her eyes glinting viciously, as she snarled, "Even if he's yours, only cats, owls, and toads are allowed at Hogwarts. Not Crups and even less _Scor_crups." She shot him a vengeful, nastily gleeful look, as she added poignantly, "I'll be telling Professor Slughorn and you'll have to get rid of it!"

And with that, the girl whirled around and made a mad dash towards the Castle, clearly with every intention of fulfilling her threat right away.

"Go ahead!" yelled Harry after her, chortling unconcernedly, as he then offered a hand to Felicity, which the girl took to pick herself up from the ground, blushing and softly thanking him.

Not that Harry noticed. He was crowing triumphantly inside his head, instead. He had been no fool. The first thing he had done when stepping into Hogwarts was to go straight to his Head of House's office.

He had already been there once before, when Slughorn had explained to Tom and him about the Statute of Secrecy and such.

The wizard's 'office' –an understatement if he had ever heard one– was very vast and spacious, filled with plush settees and sofas, and lavish tapestries and paintings and drapes of velvet cloth that hanged from the ceiling, arranged grandiosely, and with nice vases and all sorts of other decorations and trinkets.

Horace Slughorn was a creature of comforts, clearly, and his 'office' was certainly much different from Professor Tilly Toke's, which was small and simple.

The vast room even had a large cabinet of shelves filled with framed magical photographs, signed, displaying this or that famous figure of the Wizarding World: the inventor of that Potion or other, a Chief Editor of The Daily Prophet or famed columnist, owner of such and such racing-broom company, wizards or witches that had this or that influential or high position in the Ministry of Magic or Wizengamot, and so on and so forth.

Hearing the wizard speak of them, one would think their success in life had all been thanks to Slughorn, since the Slytherin Head of House gave much credit for his former students' triumphs to himself, and had carried on to blabber about all the nice gifts they sent him yearly, in gratitude, allegedly.

Slughorn had taken one look at Harry with little Ulysses perched on the top of his head as they entered the office, and the wizard had excitedly rushed around his desk to peer at them.

"Oho! A Scorcrup, I believe!" boomed Slughorn cheerfully, eyeing Ulysses with great interest, probably noticing their same coloring of eye and hair. "They are quite unique, fascinating little creatures." His eyes suddenly sparkled, as he rubbed his hands together. "I wonder if you would allow me to extract some of the poison it holds in its stinger. The venom of the Black Scorpion of the Gobi Desert is quite a rare, expensive-"

In that instant, before Harry could say a word, his familiar somehow got a drift of what the wizard's intentions were, because Ulysses jumped from Harry's head to his shoulder and arched his spine, spitting out a loud hiss as his fur stood up and his tail puffed out.

"Ah! I see the books didn't lie," said Slughorn, letting out a nervous chuckle as he quickly stepped backwards, safely away from Ulysses' range. "Has the intelligence and perceptiveness of a Kneazle as well!" He then shot Harry an entreating, persisting glance. "But perhaps, if you asked him nicely to allow me to-"

Another spit of a warning hiss, and Ulysses' tail swiftly transformed into a scorpion's, pointedly flashing the wizard with its stinger.

"I see. I'll take that as a refusal," mumbled Slughorn, his tone despondent and vastly disappointed, casting one last covetous look at Ulysses' stinger before the little creature regained his usual appearance and hoped back on Harry's head to calmly curl himself up in a satisfied manner.

The wizard released a mournful sigh before he beamed at Harry jauntily. "Well, m'boy, what do you require of me?"

"I want to make sure that I can keep him in the castle," said Harry at last, to then add vehemently, "He's really just like a kitten. He's harmless, truly!"

Slughorn gave him a skeptical glance at that, but Harry was quick to peer up at the wizard with big, teary green eyes, as he said piteously, "You and the rest of professors know that Tom and I are really orphans, Sir. We have so very little. And Ulysses here was a present from a good friend I have in Hogwarts. And I can't return him." He made his eyes go huge, as he added with a sniffle, "Surely I can keep him, please? He's the only thing I have."

"Yes, the Staff knows about your situation," said Horace Slughorn, his expression softening with sympathy as he patted Harry on the shoulder. He looked to be musing things over, and then he merrily winked at him. "I'll have a word with Headmaster Dippet to let him know about your request and sincere motives for it. I'm sure he'll agree to make an exception in your unique case."

And apparently Dippet did, because the following day Slughorn told him he would be allowed to keep his familiar at school, albeit with some stipulations.

"It's known that Scorcrups follow their owners' instructions to the letter, m'boy," said Horace Slughorn with a wizened air, before he added in a stern voice, "As long as you tell him to never attack a student or professor, no matter the circumstances, it will be quite alright."

Thus, Harry did as required, though it didn't stop Ulysses from spitting out threatening hisses and flashing his scorpion's tail when the situation warranted it. But the little creature only did that to bullying Slytherins, for the rest, the Scorcrup had become some sort of mascot, vastly fawned over.

Indeed, after he had been given permission by Dippet and Slughorn, he had carried Ulysses around wherever he went, and it had gained him an unexpected surge of popularity.

Girls and even some boys would stop him in the corridors, to giggle and croon at little Ulysses and pet his soft fur. And the little creature seemed to bask in the adoring and gushing attention, always pulling cute little stunts like mewling and purring and curling up or prettily yawning to show his tiny fangs and pink tongue or using his paws to softly pat at caressing fingers and coil his tail around wrists.

Moreover, the Scorcrup seemed to have taken an instant liking to Felicity Prewett. Every day in which Harry spent some time with his friends in Gryffindor Tower, little Ulysses immediately jumped into Felicity's arms and started licking her nose and cheeks, tickling the girl with his tiny rough tongue, making her giggle as she cooed at him, looking utterly enchanted and enamored, as she pressed her face on his soft black fur and scratched the back of his tiny ears and petted and coddled him.

Little Ulysses became like a loud purring machine at the mere sight of the girl, fact that seemed to delight everyone who witnessed it.

His Scorcrup was quite the little charmer, who clearly knew what he was about.

Furthermore, in exchange for Harry learning German, Tom had fulfilled his end of the bargain and had begun brewing the eyesight-correcting potion of Dorea Black's book. With the pouch of galleons Tom now knew came from Alphard, he had purchased by owl all the necessary ingredients, most of them from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. The eyes of a magical creature near extinction Dorea Black had once mentioned, had come from one in Knockturn Alley.

Then, with his own potion supplies of weighting scales, cauldron, and stirring rod, Tom had chosen one of the numerous empty rooms in the maze of corridors of the dungeons and had proceeded to begin brewing.

It would take six months, so Harry was well aware he would be taking the potion just before the school year ended. Not that he was in any hurry. Given the potion's rate of success and possible harmful consequences, he was in no rush.

And since Tom had been nice and taken care of the potion, Harry had further repaid him by asking the favor from Alphard.

"You want the Mind Arts books my parents have in their library?" said Alphard dumbfounded, blinking at him.

"Not all of them!" clarified Harry quickly. "Just one or two – whichever are the best. And I just need to borrow them for some weeks, nothing more."

Alphard shook his head, as he said, mystified, "But how did you know my parents have such books?"

Indeed, how did Tom know everything? His brother just seemed to have a knack for it. Though Harry suspected the boy must have been doing some heavy eavesdropping around their common room, and probably one of the Blacks had boasted to their friends about the libraries in their homes.

"Dunno," mumbled Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "I just heard someone saying so, I think."

Alphard shot him a piercing glance but didn't press the matter. His expression turned pensive, as he said quietly, "Well, we have many of those kinds of books. What are you interested in, exactly?"

"Legilimency and Occlumency," replied Harry promptly.

At that, Alphard's eyebrows shot upwards. "Gulping gargoyles! What on earth for? I haven't read about that myself but I know what they are!" He gave him an anxious look, as he added in a hasty whisper, "They are considered Dark, Harry. If anyone saw you studying those things it could mean trouble for you."

"We'll be careful, don't worry," said Harry soothingly.

"We?" echoed Alphard, before he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face. "Ah, now I understand. It's for your brother that you're asking!"

"It's for both of us!" interjected Harry vehemently. "Fine, so he was the one of the idea. But he's told me that they are very useful so I agreed to ask you and to study them." He peered at his friend entreatingly, as he added in a soft voice, "Please, Al. It's me that's asking for the favor, not Tom."

Alphard deflated, his lips twisting wryly. "Alright, alright." Then he frowned and shook his head. "But I cannot possibly write to my father asking for those books. He treasures the Black Collection greatly and he would never send me one of its books to Hogwarts. Not to mention that if he knew I was lending them, he would have my hide."

"Oh," mumbled Harry in disappointment, his shoulders slumping. He released a heavy sigh. "I understand-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't get them for you, though," piped in Alphard, mischievously grinning at him. "If you don't mind waiting, I can get those books when I go back home for summer holidays."

Harry gazed at him, concerned. "But if you take the books without asking for permission first, won't your dad notice anyway?"

"Oh, certainly," said Alphard unperturbed. "But I plan to take them just before I have to leave for Hogwarts for our second year." He shot him a very toothy grin. "So by the time my father finds out, I'll already be back here. And he cannot punish me when I'm in Hogwarts, can he?" He rolled his eyes, and flapped a hand dismissively. "I'll get a Howler and that's it."

"Um…" said Harry hesitantly, shooting him a worried, rueful glance. "But I don't want to be the reason you get in trouble with your dad…"

Alphard let out a guffaw and then sniggered. "I'm always getting in trouble with my parents! One more time will be of little consequence." He patted Harry on the shoulder, and winked at him. "Don't worry. Everything will work out just fine, you'll see. I'll lend you those books next year and then I'll return them to my father by owl along with words of deep repentance and such." He chuckled under his breath. "I'll get a slap on the wrist and that will be the end of it."

"If you're sure," said Harry slowly, to then beam at him, "then thanks!"

Furthermore, soon after that, Harry was apprised of other good news.

One day during breakfast at the Great Hall, when he was seated amidst his first-year housemates, a flock of owls swept in, dropping newspapers as usually happened.

Given the sudden stream of gossipy whispers and animated voices that rose in the Hall, Harry took an interest and peered with curiosity at The Daily Prophet in Tom's hands.

At the front page there was a big moving picture of the Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen, with a forced smile on his face, yet his expression was clearly pinched. Right above it, in black, bold letters, the title of the article read: 'Dumbledore Wins Plebiscite! New Law Passed!'

Harry was instantly reminded of what Alphard had told him when they had been under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak in Hogsmeade and had seen the Minister and Aurora Bones in The Three Broomsticks. Just as he recalled all the angry comments the Slytherins had made during the first term of school, regarding all the things that the law Dumbledore had been striving to pass in the Wizengamot entailed.

Apparently, through the plebiscite, the British wizarding community had voted in favor of Dumbledore's suggestions and the wizard had finally triumphed, trumping and thwarting McLaggen.

As the article explained, following the Law, a new department had been created in the Ministry of Magic: the Muggle Liaison Office, that had already placed a portrait of an inconspicuous wizard in Downing Street Number Ten, to take notice and hear everything that went on in the Muggle Prime Minister's office. The fireplace there had been connected to the Floo Network as well, and Minister Charlemagne McLaggen had already made use of it to pay a visit to his muggle counterpart and reveal the existence of the Wizarding World to him.

Harry almost choked on his bit of toast as he read that over his brother's shoulder, breaking into guffaws and sniggers. He could almost imagine it, Neville Chamberlain gawking and gaping as his fireplace suddenly burst into green flames, to then spit out a wizard covered in soot, with robes and yielding a funny-looking stick in hand.

It was a wonder he hadn't received a newspaper clipping from Alice with the news that the Prime Minister had kicked the bucket from a sudden nasty shock. Poor sod.

Harry shook his head in amusement and kept reading. Though the article didn't explain what Neville Chamberlain's reaction had been or what had been discussed between the two Ministers. It was just tilted as a success and 'the beginning of new era of Muggle-Wizarding Cooperation'.

Dumbledore's Law required all that, as well as-

"This is not to be borne!" spat Capricia Carrow angrily, throwing her newspaper with disgust on the table. "There goes the Statute of Secrecy! Now all those filthy muggles will know about us and they'll-"

"Only their Minister has been told," interjected Abraxas Malfoy coolly, arching a pale eyebrow at her. "It's not the end of our world as we know it."

Before her friend could retort, Priscilla Pucey said acidly, "It's as close as it can get." She glanced around and then lowered her voice to a mere whisper, hushed yet furious, "We all know what Dumbledore's Law's true purpose is. Now McLaggen will have no choice but to help muggles in case of war. It won't be as easy for him to make an allegiance with the Dark Lord. And we were counting on that - that his fear of the Dark Lord would make him cower like the pathetic, powerless wizard he is, and agree to a peace treaty!"

"What makes you think the Dark Lord wants peace with England?" drawled Abraxas placidly, his silver eyes glinting as his lips quirked upwards. "Truly, Pucey, I thought you had much more sense."

"What do you know?" breathed out Capricia Carrow, as she, Priscilla, and Druella Rosier leaned forward, as if they wanted nothing more than to pry all his secrets from his lips. "What has your grandfather told you?"

"I know much," said Abraxas, smirking at them widely, clearly savoring their desperation, "that I'm not allowed or willing to divulge."

Then the boy covertly shot Harry a glance, with silver eyes that seemed to be gleaming with a knowing, satisfied glint in them, as if Abraxas had come back from Winter Holidays with a wealth of new secret information and it was somehow related to him. Harry could only frown at the boy, puzzled and miffed.

Clearly not noticing the silver and green gazes briefly locking together in a silent battle of wills, the girls shot Abraxas a vexed glare at his response, before they returned to their Daily Prophets as they angrily whispered amongst themselves.

"I'm more annoyed about the changes in Hogwarts' curriculum," remarked Orion Black then, glowering at the newspaper article as his handsome features twisted with anger and contempt. "Care of Magical Creatures to be really left as a third-year elective? I thought they wouldn't dare! I enjoy that class. I don't see why I should suffer the lack of it just so that stupid mudbloods aren't shocked during their first year by knowing about 'dangerous' magical creatures. If they can't take it, then they shouldn't be here in the first place!"

"It isn't going to affect us," piped in Alphard Black, rolling his eyes at his cousin as he finished munching down a sausage. "The article says that those changes are only going to be implemented next year. So it's the new students that will have that class as an elective, not the rest of us."

"That's beside the point, Alphie," groused out Orion darkly, glaring at him. "It's the principle of the matter. New pureblood students will be affected, won't they, and all future generations as well - and all just to coddle mudbloods! As if their vile presence among us wasn't already harmful enough!"

Harry knew that if it had been a couple of months ago, Tom and he would have been the recipients of pointed Slytherin glowers at Orion Black's last comment about mudbloods.

However, it was clear to him that after Tom had carried on the 'first stages' of his 'plan' –the whole issue of selling essays to students of other Houses to prove to the Slytherins that it was smarter to have Tom working with them rather than against, besides having attacked Walburga Black with some unknown Dark Curse that not even Dorea had been able to heal easily, along with threatening their housemates with bodily harm if they kept bullying Harry– had changed things for them.

The additional presence of Ulysses, who had already proven his worth against the thickheads of Thaddeus Avery and Neron Lestrange who apparently hadn't taken Tom's words too seriously about not touching Harry, had become a further incentive for the Slytherins to watch how they treated the two 'mudbloods' in their midst.

Their housemates wholly ignored them for the most part, if they weren't approaching Tom for essays and tutoring sessions, gritting their teeth yet paying for in full. Tom was no altruist, after all.

Thus, the Slytherins acted as if Tom and he weren't seated at their sides, and carried on to discuss at length all the possible political ramifications of Dumbledore's Law and how it would affect their families' positions and clout, and whatnot.

From Tom, Harry only heard some words muttered pensively under his breath, "… this changes much…"

Not that Harry had any idea what his brother meant, because Tom wouldn't say, and Harry had other matters to deal with so he hadn't cared much.

Indeed, by the second week of March, just after the second Quidditch match in which the Hufflepuffs had pummeled the Ravenclaws –the Huffs weren't so kind after all, at least not in the Quidditch Pitch– he finally completed his map of Hogwarts.

Only a few finishing touches were required but he didn't want to make those in the presence of Professor Tilly Toke, who had helped him much and further taught him the rest of the charms he would be needing to tweak his map in private.

It was thus, that he was in the kitchens, staring proudly at his map. Ulysses was on the table, on top of a slab of meat much bigger than himself but which he was nonetheless attacking ferociously with claws and tiny fangs, hissing with pleasure at the taste and with tail happily swinging.

The house-elves had already become used to his familiar and were always quick to present a plate of juicy raw meat when Harry showed up with Ulysses.

At the moment, Harry was gazing at his map with a satisfied, smug grin on his face. It was perfect. As soon as he had opened it, the large piece of parchment had rippled and began to shift and morph, forming a model of Hogwarts' Castle.

Just how he had seen some people do with a sheet of paper with which they formed the shape of animals and such –the caregiver Karen was always doing that, to then gift them to the children of the orphanage– the parchment folded itself to become Hogwarts, as large as two heads put together, and turning nearly transparent so that everything inside could be seen: all the classrooms and floors, the small moving staircases, the Great Hall, the towers, the dormitories of the Four Houses, and such.

There were many labels that indicated what was what, as well. And small black crosses made of magic floated inside some small rooms – those that Harry had already checked for the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. Those that he remembered, that was, because he had inspected plenty more but couldn't precisely tell, in the model, which rooms they had been.

Now that he was alone, he flicked his wand and uttered a charm. In a flash, a pale cord-like coil of magic appeared sticking out from the castle from the third floor, attached to a lump of parchment labeled as 'Gunhilda of Gorsemoor Statue'.

With another charm cast, the label 'Tunnel to Hogsmeade' appeared above the cord. Harry had every intention of being very thorough in completing his map. He expected he would be adding quite a bit as he continued his exploration of the castle.

All that he needed for the time being was a name for the map and key phrases to open and close it. Tilly Toke had said that all good mapmakers always enchanted their creations in such ways, so that they would only work for them. Harry had thought it was a rather brilliant idea. He didn't want anyone else knowing the secrets of Hogwarts he could come to discover.

He was precisely musing about what name and phrases he could use, when a voice startled him.

"I thought you'd be here! You weren't in the common room."

"Al!" gasped out Harry, scrambling to hide the map in time.

He wasn't successful, since Alphard instantly appeared beside the table and pounced, asking with much curiosity, "What's that?"

Harry ceased his attempts, and sighed as he presented it before his friend's gaze. "Erm… well, it's a map of Hogwarts."

"Really?" said Alphard excitedly, perusing it with his light grey eyes, before he gave him a quizzical glance. "What are you planning to use it for?"

At that, Harry stared at his best friend. Because, truly, Alphard Black _was_ his best friend, even if they had known each other for just a couple of months. It was funny how those things worked.

Before going to Hogwarts, he would have said that Eric Whalley and Billy Stubbs were his closest friends, having known them for years, but things had changed now that he couldn't talk to them about the Wizarding World or Hogwarts. He had felt it, a sort of wall between them, when he had been in the orphanage for Christmas Holidays.

On the other hand, there were the Prewett twins, and even though he felt very close to them as well, Felicity and Felix had other friends, in Gryffindor, and couldn't spend all their spare time with him.

Alphard was different. The boy didn't have any real friends except him, and though they met in secret in the kitchens and couldn't openly go around the school having fun together, they still spent most of their time with each other, when Harry wasn't with Tom in the Dueling Chamber practicing Dark Curses from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks or studying German.

Moreover, Alphard had done plenty of things for him, asking for nothing in return except his friendship. And it wasn't fair that Abraxas Malfoy, of all people, knew more about Harry than Alphard did. Granted, Malfoy had discovered the secrets all on his own, but still, it wasn't right.

Thus, he now peered at his best friend, giving him a long, considering look. In the next second, he made up his mind.

Harry gestured at the chair beside him, as he said gently, "Take a seat. I wanna tell you some stuff."

Alphard cast him a curious glance and was quick to comply, then gazing at him with much intrigue and interest.

"Tom and I don't have muggle parents, Al. We're orphans…" began Harry in a quiet voice.

And he told him everything he could.

About what Tom had told him about their mom, how she had given birth to them in a muggle orphanage and gave them their names to then die. How Tom had one day showed him a little snake he had found some years ago in the backyard of their orphanage, how Harry had realized that it wasn't that the snake could speak English but that he could understand her hisses. About Dumbledore's visit and how the wizard had reacted when he had seen Nagini and had heard them speak to her. About what the Sorting Hat had told Tom –he left out his own experience with the Hat because he still didn't understand much of what the Founders' judgments had been blabbering on about.

He also told Alphard about the magic he could see in the Castle and in some of the creatures they were shown during the class of Care of Magical Creatures, and then about The Pink Quill's article in The Witch Weekly and Mortimer Mullhorn's unfinished book, which all had led them to finally find out about John Gaunt during Christmas Holidays.

He left out any mention of Santi and the Grey Lady, because he didn't quite know how to explain that.

Throughout it all, Alphard gawked and gaped and choked and gasped, but didn't interrupt.

And Harry finally finished by telling him what had happened with Abraxas Malfoy and how the boy had realized that Tom and he were Parselmouths, looking for the Chamber of Secrets.

"He thought you were a golem!" cried out Alphard just as soon as Harry said his last word, as he choked on peals of guffaws and sniggers. Then the boy suddenly clamped his mouth shut and stared at Harry, with an astonished, dumbstruck expression on his face. "Then… you really are a Parselmouth?"

"I haven't lied!" snapped Harry, bristling defensively. "Everything I said is true!"

"I know," mumbled Alphard under his breath. "I know you wouldn't lie." He shook his head, looking dazzled. "But it's a lot to wrap my mind around, you know?"

And then the boy went back to stare at him with big grey eyes, still looking baffled and flummoxed.

Harry squirmed on his chair, feeling anxious and awkward. "Um… that's all I had to say."

Alphard blinked at him, and said very slowly, his tone of voice bewildered and perplexed, "So you and your twin are really descendants of Salazar Slytherin and you're looking for these Gaunt relatives that are also Slytherins-"

"Yeah," said Harry quickly, before he waved a hand dismissively. "But a good friend of mine is already helping us with that."

Alphard stared some more, then shook his head as if he was trying to sort his thoughts into some measure of order, and muttered pensively, "And Abraxas Malfoy saw how the Bloody Baron touched you without going through, and you have Magic-Sight-"

"Magic-Sight?" interrupted Harry, gazing at him nonplussed. "You mean that what I can do has a name? It's not some freakish ability, but a known one?"

"Of course," said Alphard matter-of-factly, perking up, "it's a magical trait, just like Parseltongue, and just as rare, at that." He shot him a befuddled, quizzical look. "Maybe that's why you went through the painting of the bowl of fruits. Maybe that's some other strange ability."

Harry blinked at him, to then shrug his shoulders. "Could be. I don't really know."

Alphard shook his head, muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and then his eyes suddenly sparkled and his face brightened as he piped in excitedly, "But, then, this is awesome, Harry! You're a true Slytherin and a Parselmouth and you're looking for the Chamber of Secrets!" He leaned forward to peer at Harry's map, as he added animatedly, "That's what all these black marks are for, right? Places you've already checked for the secret entrance?"

"Um, yeah," said Harry, a bit disconcerted by his friend's abrupt reaction.

Alphard beamed at him, shooting him a large grin. "Then I want to help! It will be so much fun!"

"Really? You do?" said Harry surprised, then widely smiling at him with much fondness.

"Of course!" said Alphard excitedly. "And Ulysses here can be of much help too." He affectionately patted the head of the little Scorcrup that was happily munching down what was left of his slab of meat. "The three of us can look for the Chamber of Secrets together!"

Harry's green eyes widened, and he gasped out happily, "The three of us! I know just what name to give it!"

In a flash, he whipped out his wand, gave it a flick, intoned the enchantment, and declared, "The Three Musketeers' Map!"

The words floated in beautiful silver letters just above the model of the Castle, baptizing it.

"The what?" Alphard stared at silver letters with a blank expression on his face.

"The Three Musketeers!" said Harry effusively, to then look at him with utter disbelief and groan, "Don't tell me you don't have those books in the Wizarding World?"

It had been one of his favorites stories. Back when Robert Hutchins had started bringing books to the orphanage -to read them to the boys putting it in his own words- and after having told the tales of The Iliad and The Odyssey, one of the many other books had been about the adventures of The Three Musketeers.

Harry even remembered how in those days he had played with his friends, breaking branches from the bushes so that they could yield the sticks as if they were rapiers.

Amy Benson had been Queen Anne, and at first, Eric Whalley, Billy Stubbs, and he had all wanted to be D'Artagnan. They had quarreled and bickered until Harry decided that, to be fair, none would be D'Artagnan, and that they would be instead the three brave musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. They had even convinced other children to play with them and had prodded each other with their sticks and shrieked and laughed as they all fought; Eric, Billy, and Harry against the other children who were the bad musketeers loyal to Richelieu.

In fact, Harry had even tried to rope his brother into their game, so that they could also have the evil Cardinal Richelieu. Really, Harry had thought his brother was perfect for the part. But Tom had shot him a look filled with scathing contempt and had gone back to his boring, stupid textbooks.

Pulling out of his reminiscences, Harry piped in excitedly, "They're fantastic! They're three men that guarded and fought for the King and Queen, and they had these funny-looking thin swords that were called rapiers, and they saved plenty of times the French Queen and King and the whole Kingdom from the evil Cardinal Richelieu's plots! They had loads of adventures and stuff."

"Oh!" said Alphard brightening. "Sounds good, I guess."

Harry nodded repeatedly, grinning widely. "You, Ulysses, and I will be like the Three Musketeers, because we'll go exploring together, having fun, helping each other, and things like that! And they had these words they always said before going to fight. Watch!"

Giddily chuckling, he tapped his map with his wand and cast a series of charms, muttering the phrases under his breath.

When the map had folded itself to look like a blank parchment, he gave it a tap, exclaiming excitedly, "All for one and one for all!"

It worked perfectly and the parchment rippled and morphed and shifted until it formed the model of Hogwarts, with the map's new name floating above in silver letters.

Harry gave it another tap, as he intoned merrily, "Adventure accomplished!"

And the Castle unraveled itself to become once more a blank piece of parchment.

"Nice!" breathed out Alphard admiringly.

Harry beamed proudly. "Pretty wicked, eh?"

"So when do we start looking for the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Alphard, so enthusiastic that he was almost jumping up and down on his chair.

"Tomorrow night," decided Harry, his green eyes sparkling and with a wide, happy grin on his face.

Alas, they hadn't been able to use the map then, because the next day March the fifteenth arrived, and left Harry devastated.


	31. Part I: Chapter 30

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This is a very long chapter, with many things happening as we approach the end of first year, finally!

ENJOY!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 30**

* * *

On the morning of March fifteenth, Harry woke up feeling full of excitement and in a very cheerful disposition. He donned his Slytherin uniform and followed his housemates into the Great Hall for breakfast with much enthusiasm.

Nearly bouncing on his seat as he munched down eggs and sausages, he waited for The Daily Prophet. Alas, he was greatly disappointed when the flock of owls swept in and dropped the newspapers to their subscribers. Tom's copy of The Daily Prophet had no newsworthy article on the front page.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't fail to notice that there were several students around him who had also waited for the newspaper with great expectations. Alphard's brother who was in third year, Cygnus, had looked extremely disappointed when reading his Daily Prophet. Similarly, Abraxas Malfoy had a displeased, impatient expression on his pale, handsome face. Both boys had clearly been informed, during their Winter Holidays, of what would be happening on that day.

The other two boys who had read their newspapers with great intensity were Tom and Alphard, which hadn't surprised Harry one bit.

After all, he had been the one to tell Tom about the things he had overheard when he had been in Phineas Nigellus' portrait in the Blacks' townhouse of Grimmauld Place, while Alphard had been with him under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak when Dumbledore had his conversation with Minister Charlemagne McLaggen in the middle of Hogsmeade's main street.

After that day, Alphard and Harry hadn't discussed again all the things they had overheard when Dumbledore had spoken to his brother Aberforth, or with McLaggen afterwards. The first conversation had left them too flummoxed and uncertain about what to truly believe, while the other had greatly satisfied and calmed down Harry.

However, it seemed to have left Alphard a tad worried and apprehensive, but Harry hadn't pressed his friend to know the reason for it and the boy hadn't offered an explanation either.

It was thus that in the two classes he had following breakfast, Harry had been very absentminded and distracted.

For the first time, he barely paid attention in Charms, and in Potions he had nearly made his concoction explode if it wasn't for Tom, who had instantly grabbed his wrist when Harry was about to throw fairy wings in his cauldron instead of beetle eyes.

"Focus on what you're doing!" Tom hissed out under his breath as he pulled Harry's hand away from the cauldron. He shot him an extremely annoyed look as he added in sharp whisper, "We won't know what has happened today until later in the evening or tomorrow, at best. So concentrate on your task, you dimwit!"

Harry hadn't retorted. His brother had been in a foul mood since crawling out of his bed, surely because Tom had noticed, just like Harry, how Dumbledore had been missing very frequently from the Great Hall in the last couple of weeks, which they both knew had to mean that the wizard was very busy in making preparations to thwart Grindelwald.

Harry didn't fully know what to expect. But after hearing about the so-called 'Order of the Phoenix' that McLaggen had mentioned so angrily, it was evident that Dumbledore had followers and fighters of his own.

So perhaps Dumbledore and his Order were out there, battling against Grindelwald and his forces. Maybe, just as he was stirring his brew with a rod, Dumbledore was engaged in a full-blown duel with Grindelwald. Perhaps the wizard would even kill Grindelwald! That's what Dumbledore's brother had wanted, wasn't it? And Harry wouldn't mind, for once, that someone was killed.

The Prewett twins fully believed that Grindelwald was evil, a danger to everyone, and thus had to be stopped. On the other hand, Tom admired the wizard greatly and thought that Grindelwald's ideals -about wizarding superiority and his intention of subduing muggleborns and muggles to establish wizarding kind as the masters and rulers of the world- were great, 'logical and very sensible', as Tom had once put it. His brother was just weird in that way.

Harry, for his part, was simply worried about the fate of those whom Grindelwald was trying to conquer and about the man's weird interest in Tom and him. Hence, if Dumbledore offed the dark wizard, he would have one less concern on his mind.

Moreover, if Dumbledore just thwarted Grindelwald it would be good enough as well, since Harry had every intention of asking Dumbledore to Legilimize him so that the wizard would know about Grindelwald's letter and books, and could thus help Tom and him to get out of that trap.

It was during lunch that he was finally apprised of what had occurred that morning.

Dumbledore was still missing from the Staff's Table -which Harry optimistically took as a good sign- and most students were utterly startled when another flock of owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping 'The Daily Prophet: Special Edition!'.

Harry choked on his goblet of pumpkin juice as he caught sight of the front page's title of his brother's newspaper: 'The Dark Lord Strikes Again!'.

"Dark Lord! What Dark Lord?" was the first cry, sounding shocked, alarmed, and full of disbelief, that broke the silence of the Great Hall as students stared dumbstruck at their Daily Prophets.

The flabbergasted yell seemed to break the dam, and screams and shouts and cries meshed together in an incomprehensible cacophony. Even the Slytherins looked surprised and had much to say.

"He's taken over Czechoslovakia…. but why so openly?"

"Oh, so now the Daily Prophet says that they knew all along that Grindelwald wasn't just the German Minister of Magic but also a new Dark Lord with 'heinous intentions'?" said Orion Black with a scathing snort. "As if they hadn't been calling the fool of Dumbledore an alarmist warmonger who was only making up stories about a Dark Lord because he was after McLaggen's job…"

"The Hungarians have allied themselves with the Dark Lord – he struck with joined forces!" breathed out Capricia Carrow, looking ecstatic with joy.

"This doesn't make any sense," muttered Priscilla Pucey, frowning deeply as her gaze scanned the article. "I thought it would be like what he did in Austria. Why reveal himself as the Dark Lord so soon?"

"Because he wants open war to begin," drawled Abraxas Malfoy in his lilting voice, his silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "This was his plan all along, Pucey. He has finally upped his game."

Meanwhile, Harry was nearly on top of Tom as they both read the article. With his face drawn out of all color, his heart suddenly thundering hard in his chest to then drop, and his stomach twisting and coiling sickly, feeling such a surge of crushing emotions that he couldn't even speak, just feverishly read with wide eyes, he learned about everything that had happened.

The Daily Prophet began by stating that they had always believed Dumbledore's claims regarding the German Minister of Magic. That they had always thought it was very suspicious how Austria had willingly annexed itself to Germany; that they had known there had been foul play when the Austrian Minister of Magic suddenly dropped dead from some illness and the Ministry was quick to allow Grindelwald to become their Minister as well as Germany's.

Yes, The Daily Prophet had known all along and were now bringing the exclusive news that the Dark Lord had struck again and conquered Czechoslovakia in a few hours, making use of his muggle German forces, his countless followers, and the Hungarians –since the muggles of that country had allied themselves with the Dark Lord's 'minion, a funny-looking muggle called Adolf Hitler', while their Ministry of Magic had made a treaty of allegiance with Grindelwald.

The Germans had invaded the regions of Bohemia and Moravia, which had become part of the Third Reich, whilst the Hungarians had taken over the Carpatho-Ukraine region and were moving onto the Slovakian one. Czechoslovakia had thus been divided between them and ceased to exist as a country.

All done in one morning, which proved Dumbledore's claims in the Wizengamot that Grindelwald had been breaking all sorts of international laws by infusing Pepper-Up and Strengthening Potions in the food and water supplies of muggle German soldiers – which, of course, the Daily Prophet had believed all along.

Thousands of muggles who resisted the invasion had been killed and about a hundred wizards of the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic who, unlike the Austrians, hadn't surrendered but battled fiercely. They had been no match against the numbers of Grindelwald's followers and Hungarian wizards, even though one Ministry of Europe had answered the Czechoslovakians' call for help.

Indeed, while the Slytherins quietly whispered amongst themselves with much excitement, as the rest of the students broke into a pandemonium of terrified yells, tearful or dismayed cries, and shouts of disbelief, fear, and alarm, the teachers at the Staff's Table looking too shocked and surprised to do anything other than murmur hastily, discussing the article among themselves, Harry kept reading, petrified, feeling as if he had been struck by a lightning bolt, and learned more.

It seemed that Mr. Jerabek, the Czechoslovakian Minister of Magic, had been making Floo calls to his counterparts in Europe for the last couple of weeks, desperately trying to form allegiances.

The Daily Prophet claimed it was due to Dumbledore's instigation, since the wizard had been seen visiting every Ministry of Magic in Europe to convince them of the danger posed by the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Jerabek had been one Minister to believe him and the wizard had attempted to take measures to be prepared for an invasion. The article speculated much of how Dumbledore could have known about the attack on the country beforehand.

At that, Harry's heart skipped a beat with frantic apprehension. He knew the answer to that: he knew who was working as Dumbledore's spy in Grindelwald's ranks. And his anxiousness, distress, crushing guilt and devastation only increased as he frenziedly wondered what could have happened to the young wizard he had never met but couldn't stop thinking about.

Had Julian Erlichmann's role as a spy been discovered after this? Was he still even alive?

Harry's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, making them bleed, as he kept reading, his breathing haggard and slow.

Only the Bulgarians had answered Jerabek's call for help, and as Grindelwald's forces attacked the Ministry, Bulgarian Aurors had flooed into the building, lead by their Head Auror, Valko Krum. They had all been killed, outmatched and vastly outnumbered.

After over a hundred wizards and witches had died in the Ministry, Jerabek had finally surrendered to the Dark Lord.

"Oh, that's Julian Erlichmann! He's so handsome!" gushed out Druella Rosier suddenly.

Harry's heart stilled as he snapped his head up to stare at her, seeing that the pretty girl was gazing with adoring eyes at the next page of her Daily Prophet.

With his heart pumping frenziedly once more, he didn't even ask Tom if he was done reading the first page and quickly flipped the newspaper unto the next.

It was filled with moving pictures, the very first showing a wizard who could only be Jerabek: on his knees, his head hanging low, his robes bloodied and filled with gashes, as the wizard upheld a wand in his hands and broke it.

Before him stood Grindelwald, whom Harry instantly recognized from other pictures that had been in The Daily Prophet: the wizard was dressed in pristine and impeccable robes, looking imposing and magnificent, with a crooked smirk on his face as he accepted the broken pieces of Jarebek's wand, a symbolic gesture of surrender the Dark Lord must have demanded.

And then, Harry finally saw him for the first time: a young wizard standing right next to Grindelwald, with short auburn hair, sky blue eyes, and a boyishly handsome features. There were signs of battle on his robes and even face, which had a wound on the cheek, yet he wore a stoic and solemn expression as he witnessed the Czechoslovakian Minister of Magic's submission.

It had to be Julian Erlichmann, and he was alive and well.

For a moment, Harry felt he could breathe again, yet as he kept staring at the picture, replaying itself, he believed he noticed something in Julian's eyes. For a flicker of a second, they seemed to be filled with sorrow, consuming guilt, and broken defeat, as if he was a trapped man who had given up all hope. And Harry thought he understood, because Dumbledore had done nothing, and it could only mean that Julian was still required to be a spy.

However, Julian Erlichmann's sky blue eyes went back to be impassive the following instant, and Harry doubted himself. Perhaps he had just imagined it, as a reflection of the crushing emotions he was feeling.

"Very clever," he suddenly heard Tom mutter under his breath, his tone sounding admiring and gleeful, "to reveal so much to the papers… Grindelwald must have paid a journalist to bear as witness, and take pictures and notes as the attack was launched… After this, no one will dare oppose him…"

Harry understood what his brother was speaking about when he tore his gaze from Julian Erlichmann and glanced at the next moving picture.

It showed what looked like a derelict, abandoned old factory, surrounded by several tanks and many soldiers in Nazi uniforms, most of them looking bored or annoyed. The note beneath the photo explained that the factory was in fact the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic, and that the German muggle soldiers were unwittingly sieging it; 'their commanders were under the Dark Lord's Imperius Curse! Tactic first employed in Austria!'.

Then he gazed at the following picture and frowned with puzzlement, disconcerted by the weird-looking figures that seemed to be attacking Ministry officials, leaping on them so quickly that they were mere blurs in the photo. The only thing that could be seen were flashes of jagged teeth and claws ripping into wizards and witches that were attempting to flee or defend themselves with spells.

Just then, Neron Lestrange said with much vicious relish, "The Dark Lord used Inferi!"

"They don't look like the Inferi I've heard about," remarked Orion Black, frowning deeply, staring at the same picture Harry was trying to understand. "Inferi are slow, not-"

"They're a new breed created by the Dark Lord himself, it says," gasped out Priscilla Pucey, her tone awed and fascinated. "In fact, they think they were the Austrian families that had disappeared – the family members of those who had resigned or had been sacked when the Dark Lord took over the Austrian Ministry of Magic!"

"Those weren't dismissed from their jobs, and certainly didn't resign," interjected Abraxas Malfoy, superiorly smirking at them. "They were killed because they fought back." He gestured at the picture with a smooth, poised motion of a hand. "My grandfather told me the Dark Lord's followers went after their families, to make an example out of them. Now people will know - those who oppose the Dark Lord will pay the price not only with death but also by having their families end up as these new Inferi."

The Slytherins around the boy stared at Abraxas with wide, amazed, transfixed gazes, while Harry kept frowning at the picture, trying to understand what his housemates were talking about: what did they mean by 'Inferi'?

He couldn't distinguish much, but just then, one of those blurry things slowed down in the photo, snapping its head up, and Harry choked and his stomach plummeted and churned sickly when he saw some cadaveric creature of greyish skin that hung and looked rotten, with entrails spilling out from a huge gap, as if some animal had bitten out a large chunk of its belly or something had clawed its way out of it.

As ravaged as the frightening-looking creature was, it vaguely resembled a woman, with long, tangled, and dirty streaks of auburn hair hanging from a scalp that was bald in patches.

"NO! Aunt Nettie!" The distraught cry broke over all the other voices that had been filled with horror and fear and choked sobs as the students kept reading the article and came upon the pictures.

Harry glanced up with startled eyes, having recognized the voice, and his face drained from all color and his body froze as he caught sight of Felicity Prewett, looking wretched and devastated as she trembled and cried and sobbed on her twin's chest, while Felix looked shocked into speechlessness, as white as a sheet of paper, jerkily patting Felicity on the back in some mechanic attempt at comfort.

With the realization slowly sinking in his mind, Harry's horrified gaze flickered from the picture to the twins and back.

And suddenly, just as Alphard whispered under his breath in a frail, weak voice, "... but… Dumbledore knew beforehand….", voicing precisely one of Harry's thoughts that kept reverberating in his mind with hammering force, the boy gazing uncomprehendingly at Harry with big grey eyes, as if silently pleading to be given an explanation, and as Felicity's sobs became louder and more disconsolate, and just as Headmaster Dippet finally rose from the Staff's Table and opened to his mouth to calm down the students and have some order back, it all became too much, and Harry abruptly shot to his feel, dizzily swaying for a moment, before he dashed out of the Great Hall.

He heard Tom calling out after him, but he didn't stop.

He felt tears blurring his sight as he ran out the front doors of Hogwarts, as he kept seeing in his mind flashes of what the twins' aunt had become, of Julian Erlichmann's eyes and the emotions he thought he had seen there, of the details and description and account of how many had been killed, and his throat tightened into a painful knot as his chest began to heave choked breaths.

Suddenly, Harry slammed into someone hastily rushing towards the school in big strides. He was nearly knocked over but a hand grabbed him gently by the arm, steadying him.

"Mr. Riddle," said a voice, sounding concerned. "Are you quite well, my dear boy?"

Harry peered up, managing to see the wizard's face through the tears in his eyes that had started rolling down his cheeks, and he felt such a sudden surge of fury that he couldn't speak.

Albus Dumbledore was gazing down at him worriedly. And the wizard looked awful, just as when Harry had seen him talking with his brother Aberforth in Hogsmeade: with shoulders slumped forward as if he was carrying an insurmountable burden, with a pale and gaunt face, stricken by some deep emotions. Yet, there was not a single scratch on the man's face or a gash or tear on the wizard's robes. Dumbledore wasn't coming from any battle.

It was that which made Harry be able to speak through the knot constricting his throat like merciless iron claws, his anger great and fierce because he had put all his hopes on the wizard before him and had been profoundly crushed and let down.

"You knew!" Harry chocked out in a hoarse, haggard voice, glowering up at Dumbledore with an accusing, furious gaze. "I know you knew because Julian Erlichmann is your spy and he must've told you! I know you knew because you told Minister McLaggen the exact date! And you did nothing!"

Any gentleness in Dumbledore's expression vanished, his face turning grave and stern, as the wizard placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and began to herd him. "Let us get inside the castle and you and I will have a conversation that has been long due-"

"No!" cried out Harry, violently ripping himself from the wizard's grasp, instantly spinning around and dashing away as if escaping the clutches of some great monster.

"Mr. Riddle!" called Dumbledore after him, sounding highly troubled and concerned.

Yet Harry kept running because he didn't want to hear any explanations and empty excuses. He wouldn't be able to endure it. As much as he blamed Dumbledore, it had been his fault too. All those terrible deaths were on him and Dumbledore, and the thought of it was unbearable.

* * *

Harry had run and run until the tears streaming down his face and the heaved sobs choking out from his throat had been so much that he had stumbled and tripped and nearly landed on his face. He had found himself on the bridge that crossed the Black Lake and led to Hogsmeade, and he had slumped down on the wooden floorboards there, sinking his face on knees folded against his chest.

He had never felt so miserable, distraught, and wretched in his life, as if one of those Dementor creatures the Prewett twins had told him about had sucked everything out of him, any sparkle of positive feelings or lingering hope, and he had been left as a grief-stricken mass of endless shuddery sobs.

He had tried to calm himself down, to stop crying, but it had been to no avail. Those pictures of The Daily Prophet were branded with fire in his mind, and the shouts and screams of the students and Felicity's sobs rang in his ears, like hammers pounding on an anvil, every strike battering unforgiving, truthful words: 'You knew and did nothing, too'.

"It's not your fault."

Harry snapped his head up from his knees, yet didn't gasp in surprise as he would have done in any other circumstances. Indeed, he saw Santi crouching right before him, as if the strange man had appeared out of thin air, shimmering in faint golden light, but Harry merely stared at him numbly with bloodshed, puffy eyes.

"It's not your fault," repeated Santi, his expression sympathetic and his tone soft and soothing, as he sat before Harry, crossing his legs and opening his arms, the offer and appeal implicit.

Harry knew what that entreating gesture meant and for once he didn't care about how angry he had been at Santi or about how little he knew about the weird young man.

He only remembered that dream about the mysterious, beautiful woman who always cradled him with profound love and sang Alice's lullaby to him, and those fingers that had caressed his hair and scar and cheek, and he had woken up to realize that it had been Santi who had been touching him so gently and calling out his name with such longing at first, to then say it more forcefully to wake him up.

And all of a sudden, he wanted that again: that warmth and strange feeling of belonging he had felt in the dream as Santi's hand had caressed and cupped his cheek.

Without a thought, he unfolded his knees and sank forward into welcoming arms that quickly embraced him tightly as Harry choked and muffled his sobs against Santi's chest. He frantically clutched the man's shirt with his small hands, abruptly needing the close contact and solace the warm body offered, whilst Santi tenderly caressed his hair, murmuring soft, comforting words into his ear.

As he heaved out his unrelenting, distraught sobs, Harry didn't even question when Santi began to sing Alice's lullaby to him in a soft whisper. He didn't pause to wonder how Santi could know it, he just felt the assuaging effects. Slowly, he began to feel soothed, and his sobs halted to become silent streams of tears that soon dried out and merely left him sniffling and hiccupping, feeling suddenly peaceful, as if something inside him that had been frantic had finally settled itself, calmly and placidly.

Harry curled himself up in Santi's embracing arms, feeling completely languid and relaxed, as he let out a soft sigh and rested his forehead on the man's chest. He felt like in his dreams, enveloped and snuggly surrounded by warmth, tranquility, and cottony softness that simply felt so right.

"There you are! Why are you rocking yourself like a deranged dimwit?"

Harry was so startled by the sharp, angered voice that he jerked backwards from Santi's embrace, flushing with embarrassment and mortification at being caught cuddling like a toddler.

Tom was standing before them, with a darkly annoyed expression on his face, looking at him as if he was some sort of lunatic.

And then, his brother's words sank in and Harry blinked, dumbfounded. He hadn't been rocking himself, Santi had been rocking him. And yet Tom was towering over them, looking straight through Santi as if the man wasn't there, his dark blue gaze piercing Harry quizzically and with impatience.

Harry gaped incredulously, his gaze flickering from Santi to Tom and back.

"He cannot see me or hear me," said Santi, his lips tilting upwards in a shadow of a grin. Then he shot Tom a glance, looking angered or irked at the boy's presence and interruption.

"What are you gawking at?" demanded Tom frowning, following the direction of Harry's gaze and then glancing around, befuddled, before he turned back to Harry and snapped sharply, "What's the matter with you?"

Harry was struck speechless, blinking uncomprehendingly, and Santi chortled as he rose to his feet.

"I'll leave you two alone," said Santi, his lips twisting wryly, not looking too pleased with the situation.

The man then leaned down, and for a moment Harry thought Santi was going to kiss him on the head, which would have been beyond strange. Yet the man did something just as weird instead: he trailed a finger along Harry's scar, the touch caressing, tender, and gentle, yet Santi's face looked both pensive and annoyed, as if there was something about the scar that bothered him greatly.

"I'll see you soon," Santi murmured, giving Harry one last soft, lingering look before he simply disappeared in the next instant.

"It has addled your pitiful brain, I see," bit out Tom, scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Harry.

"What?" said Harry, still utterly disconcerted, his gaze fixed on the empty space Santi had left behind. It had been by far the most peculiar interaction he had had with the man - and with his brother in the mix, it felt too bizarre.

"This," said Tom impatiently, yanking out from his robes' pocket his rolled up Daily Prophet to pointedly wave it before Harry. He glowered at him as he added shortly, "You have taken the news badly, evidently." He shot him a disgusted look. "And you rushed out of the Great Hall to come here to cry like a little bitty baby."

Tom paused, leaning down to grab Harry's chin and inspect his face closely. In the next moment he let go, his eyes locking with Harry's as he scoffed snidely, "Yes, you have been crying." He shook his head angrily. "You're such a pathetic idiot. You're blaming yourself. It's not your fault!"

At that - the same words Santi had spoken- Harry let out a mirthless bout of laughter, finding the situation surreal.

"You've lost your marbles," groused out Tom under his breath, disparagingly and scathingly, eyeing him carefully as if to ascertain the degree of Harry's mental trauma, and scowling at him as if fully blaming Harry for the things he made Tom do.

Apparently, Tom came to the conclusion that the situation was dire and wouldn't be resolved with a few sharp words, since he then shot the wood boards of the bridge's floor a look of distaste before he heaved a displeased sigh and sat himself down, crossing his legs - right where Santi had been, which made Harry chuckle hollowly even more.

"Stop laughing like a loon!" snapped Tom incensed. He unfurled his Daily Prophet and slammed it on the floor. "What happened wasn't your fault!" He poked Harry's forehead with a finger, hard, as he added impatiently, "Do you hear, you thickheaded fool? "

Harry choked on his last chuckle before he fiercely shook his head and opened his mouth.

"Yes, yes," said Tom impatiently, not giving him a chance to speak, "I know you're feeling guilty." He gave him a contemptuous look. "You just love to feel responsible for things you are not!"

"I am responsible," muttered Harry quietly. He glumly gestured at the newspaper lying between them, and added with his heart in his throat, "Thousands of muggles died-"

"So what?" interjected Tom, waving a hand dismissively. "There are too many of them as it is." He scowled and sneered acidly, "They breed like rats."

Harry glared daggers at him, but ignored the comment and continued, his voice low and dejected, "And over a hundred wizards and witches-"

"Who deserved it fully for being imbeciles!" bit out Tom caustically. "They should have surrendered instantly instead of opposing Grindelwald." He gestured sharply at the Daily Prophet, skewering him with his dark blue gaze. "This was my point all along. See how easily the Dark Lord has taken over another country? See why I said that it's best for us to play his game and be on his side? What happened proves it."

"It proves nothing except that I should have done something," barked Harry angrily, his small hands clenching into fists, "just as Dumbledore should've too, because we both knew the date on which Czechoslovakia would be attacked and we didn't prevent it!"

Tom pierced him with narrowed eyes, as he hissed out poignantly, "So you blame me as well, I suppose? Because I made you choose-"

"I don't blame you," interrupted Harry, shaking his head with exasperation. "I know that when you made me take that oath it was because you thought you were doing what was best for us. You made me choose between preventing you from telling Grindelwald about Julian Erlichmann being Dumbledore's spy or try to save the Czechs by telling someone about the secret meeting I witnessed when I was in Phineas Nigellus' portrait, because you didn't want me to do something stupid."

He pinned his brother with his gaze, as he added quietly, "And I don't regret saving Julian. I would choose him all over again." He paused, to then grit out, unforgivingly angry at himself, "But don't you see? I let you convince me how silly anything I could do to prevent the attack would be – because if I wrote to McLaggen or the Ministry of Magic, they wouldn't believe a schoolboy or would ask me a load of questions I couldn't answer, and because if I wrote to Churchill, I would be breaking the Statute of Secrecy and could get expelled from Hogwarts."

"And all of that is true," said Tom sharply, glowering impatiently at him, to then add with much scornful snide, "The risks and costs to you, for just letting you feel like a little hero by saving those people, was too high."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, carding his fingers through his disorderly hair. "You and I will never see eye-to-eye about these kind of things." He shook his head mournfully and despondently. "I would have gladly put up with any consequences and costs, Tom, if it meant the attack would have been fully stopped." His jaw clenched as he peered up at his brother, and said with fierce determination, "But I've learned my lesson. Next time, I'll do what I feel is right no matter what you say, because your priorities will always be different than mine."

Tom looked troubled for a moment, his eyes narrowing with anger, but then seemed to decide that Harry's new resolve would cause no problems for them. He waved a hand dismissively, as he scoffed and drawled loftily, "You found out about the date by mere chance. There won't be a next time."

Harry said nothing to that because he wasn't about to tell his brother about the plan that had begun to form in his mind.

He had Tom to thank for the idea, due to one of his brother's bouts of envy, but Tom certainly wouldn't be too pleased if he found out what Harry was plotting. It would involve much research, but above all, a trip to Diagon Alley. And for that, he would have to wait for their summer holidays – perhaps he would tell Tom then, since he would need his brother's galleons.

* * *

The guilt weighed heavily on Harry after what happened to Czechoslovakia, but his new firm resolution served to alleviate some bit of it. Although, it was impossible for him to forget because the school didn't.

The change in Hogwarts was immediate and drastic: great fear was palpable in the air. The students didn't go about being bubbly and carefree, but were quiet and subdued, filled with anxiousness and apprehension every time owls flew in to deliver The Daily Prophet.

The news in subsequent weeks were dismal. Now the whole of Europe was aware that Grindelwald was a Dark Lord and everyone was quaking with terror: the Ministers of Magic scrambling, at their wits end, trying to devise some way for their countries to be spared.

"I bet most of them are already secretly negotiating agreements of allegiance with the Dark Lord," Tom had remarked with much smugness and glee, before he drawled contemptuously, "Politicians are just like that, little brother. Out to save their own skins, always remember that."

Harry had evidence of it when Charlemagne McLaggen had given an interview to The Daily Prophet, reassuring the wizarding community that he had always been working with Dumbledore behind the scenes. And of course that when he had vetoed Dumbledore's law in the Wizengamot and openly stated that Dumbledore's claims about the German Minister of Magic being a Dark Lord were utter lies, he had only done it to confuse Grindelwald and make the wizard believe that the Ministry was at odds with Dumbledore. It was all part of a strategic plan to outsmart and befuddle the Dark Lord!

McLaggen had attached himself to Dumbledore like a desperate leech, since in the eyes of the wizarding community Dumbledore had been vindicated and they all fully supported him now. The Daily Prophet no longer described him as a dotty, batty wizard who cried out wolf because he was an ambitious schoolteacher who wanted to become Minister. Dumbledore had become their pet mascot, the new hero, his many accomplishments now rehashed and extolled.

Indeed, one of their front page articles had cried out: 'Dumbledore will save us all!', which had apparently been said by a member of the Wizengamot, one of those who had been in McLaggen's faction and most vocal when excoriating Dumbledore with virulent vitriol.

The press had become so hungry for Dumbledore that journalists crowded the outer gates of Hogwarts during all days and hours, to such point that the trips to Hogsmeade for the upper years had been cancelled because the carriages couldn't pass through without students being assaulted by wizards and witches with photo cameras and Quick-Quotes Quills.

Through it all, Dumbledore seemed unaffected, pleasantly and politely ignoring his sycophantic fans who had started to demand and expect him to solve all the problems in the world. Even the students in Hogwarts looked at their Transfiguration Professor with new eyes, shinning with desperate hope. And Dumbledore remained his usual self, gentle and calm, teaching his class as if not noticing the tension and fear that hung above everyone like a suffocating mantle.

However, the wizard did try something out of the norm: he attempted to speak to Harry when crossing paths in the corridors or even by asking him to remain after class, to discuss one of Harry's essays, allegedly.

His hurt and fury at Dumbledore not having been abated one smidgen, Harry always churlishly ignored such attempts.

"He might end up giving you detention with him," Tom had bit out angrily, his eyes narrowing to slits, "just to force you to speak with him."

Tom was a teacher's pet with all professors, charming them by being brilliant, answering all questions, handing in flawless essays and by being noble, humble, soft-spoken and impeccably well-mannered – with everyone but Dumbledore, whom he had always treated with frosty politeness.

Harry perfectly knew why. Dumbledore had seen Tom's true self when the wizard had visited them at the orphanage and no amount of faked charming and gallant ways from Tom's part would make the wizard forget. Not that Tom had ever tried to employ such tactics on Dumbledore, as he did will all the rest. His brother had always mistrusted the wizard from the start, and it had grown into full-blown despise and hatred the more Dumbledore attempted to speak to Harry.

And Tom being Tom, had fully taken advantage of Harry's ill feelings towards the wizard and the chance of manipulation to suit his own purposes, by hissing out poignantly, "Never forget how much Dumbledore has disappointed you, little brother. All those deaths you cried about were his fault."

Harry coolly ignored such comments, as he did every time Tom gleefully rejoiced when reading news about Grindelwald's subsequent little triumphs, pointing them out to Harry to convince him they were on the 'right side'.

Nevertheless, Harry's plan of asking Dumbledore to Legilimize him had flown out the window. If Dumbledore hadn't confronted Grindelwald when the man's own brother had asked for the Dark Lord's death and when Czechs' lives had been on the line, what would Dumbledore do to help Harry break the ties Grindelwald had forged by sending his letter and Durmstrang books? Nothing, was the answer Harry was certain about. He could no longer rely on Dumbledore; he had that very clear.

From Alice's newspapers clippings to Tom, they learned that the situation in the Muggle World was just as bad. With the invasion and conquest of Czechoslovakia, Hitler had broken the Munich Agreement that Neville Chamberlain had been so proud of, and now Winston Churchill was no longer a cantankerous, alcoholic old man, and warmonger whose good days in politics were long gone, but the new rising star.

Muggle Britain was in a panic, accusing Chamberlain of naiveté, cowardice, and of having appeased the Germans without yielding any good results while they demanded for Churchill to be given a significant post in the government.

Harry rather pitied Chamberlain; the muggle now knew that all the troubles were being caused by a wizard yet couldn't tell his voters. He was certain the poor sod was going to be unceremoniously kicked to the curb as soon as it was time for new elections for Prime Minister.

Nevertheless, he stopped worrying about the muggles as Alice kept writing, insisting all was well back home, despite the current mood of anxiousness and fear in London.

Indeed, he had to deal, in his own flesh, with the changes in Hogwarts. He had had an inkling of just how bad things would become merely three days after the news in The Daily Prophet regarding Czechoslovakia.

Harry had noticed that Felicity had been absent from all the classes Slytherins and Gryffindors shared together, and one day after class, he had halted Felix, asking after her. The boy hadn't looked well: all his mischievousness and joking and carefree disposition had been gone, currently always looking pale and withdrawn.

"You know what happened to our Aunt Nettie, right?" said Felix in a small, stricken voice. He shook his head, becoming alive for one brief moment with anger. "Everyone saw the picture, everyone's talking about it – how that despicable dark wizard…." His hands clenched into fists that trembled, his teeth clenching hard, as he bit out, "How Grindelwald made her an Inferi."

After hatefully and violently spitting the words, the boy deflated, his shoulders slumping dejectedly, his mismatched eyes turning dull, as he added in a crestfallen murmur, "Felicity was very close to her and doesn't stop crying, mourning her. That's why she hasn't been coming to class." He shot Harry a desperate look. "I've tried everything! I don't know what else to do or say to comfort her. She just sits there in our common room, refusing to come out. She's only eating because I'm bringing her food!" The boy's mismatched eyes suddenly sparkled as he tightly clutched Harry's arm, frantic and hopeful. "Maybe you should go see her! Maybe she'll pay attention to you!"

Extremely worried, Harry had instantly agreed. Felix had given him the week's new password for the Fat Lady, but his attempt had been thwarted as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole. The moment Harry had stepped into red and gold common room, his path had been instantly blocked by a seventh-year Gryffindor.

The tall, burly boy had grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, without even letting Harry say a word, as he spat out with fury and hatred, "No Slytherins will ever be allowed here again! Go back to your slimy nest of snakes!"

Harry had been thrown back through the portrait hole with such violent strength that he had nearly flown through the air, smashing his wrist against the balustrade of the moving stairs opposite to the Fat Lady.

Tom's expression had been murderous when he had seen Harry's bandages. Harry's wrist had been throbbing so unbearably painfully that he had had no other resort but to go to the Infirmary. Miss Nightingale, the school's Mediwitch, had healed his broken wrist in a jiffy, though nevertheless wrapped it with a tight bandage so that Harry wouldn't move his tender wrist too much in the following days.

"Who hurt you?" hissed out Tom demandingly, looking furious beyond measure, his dark blue gaze fixed on him.

Harry shook his head, refusing to give the boy's name. He didn't want his brother to attack anyone and get in trouble, and it was his own problem to deal with. Moreover, he first wanted to comprehend what had happened.

Frowning at his bandaged wrist, he murmured quietly, "I don't get it. The Gryffindors warmed up to me after I was with them in the Quidditch stands, cheering for their team. They haven't been grumbling when they saw me with the twins in their common room, and now…" He trailed off, gesturing with a hand at the bandages on the other, as he peered up at his brother, befuddled. "I don't understand."

Tom shot him an impatient glance as he bit out tartly, "Isn't it obvious? Slytherin House has always been associated with Dark Lords. Now that Grindelwald has come into the open as a Dark Lord, the students of other Houses are scared." He tightened his fingers around his wand, his jaw clenching, as a dark gleam glinted in his eyes. "And since they're scared, they're going to take it out on the Slytherins."

Harry bristled defensively, feeling deeply insulted and indignant. "Just because Salazar Slytherin is thought by some to have been a Dark Lord doesn't mean that they should blame everyone in Slytherin House every time a Dark Lord pops up! Salazar wasn't even a Dark Lord in my view – he didn't go around gathering followers, like a maniac!"

Tom cast him a scathing look. "That doesn't matter. He was the first to uphold pureblood ideals, the first to work to give proof that they were founded in fact and research and not just baseless prejudice. Every Dark Lord that has risen in wizarding history has supported Salazar's claims regarding muggles and mudbloods, just like Grindelwald is doing at present. So of course they're going to blame us." He paused to then sneer hatefully, "And the Gryffindors will be the worst of them. They're simple-minded bullies to the core." He narrowed his eyes to mere slits, as he added sharply, "I'm forbidding you from going to their Tower ever again."

At that, Harry just nodded, not wanting to argue with his brother. He had no wish to step again into their common room but he would find a way in which to speak with Felicity as soon as possible.

Alas, he had found no way to do so in the next days because the girl remained absent from classes. In the end, he had trudged to the Owlery.

Nasty bird that he was, Lord Horkos had refused to pay attention to him when Harry had yelled at him to come down from his niche. Finally, he had employed one of the charms Professor Tilly Toke had taught him in private, and had accioed the damned bird.

Screeching furiously, Lord Horkos had tried to stab his face with its sharp beak, but Harry had been no fool. He had brought along with him his faithful protector. One spat out hiss from little Ulysses and a flash of his scorpion's tail, and Lord Horkos had settled down, shooting Harry a vicious look but grudgingly allowing him to tie a letter around its leg.

The letter he had written to Felicity was, he knew, quite awful. He was terrible at trying to comfort girls, and he was rather glad that he was writing to her instead of seeing her in person, especially if she was constantly sobbing as Felix had said – crying girls had always made him feel very uncomfortable and awkward.

Harry had simply written asking if she was well and pointing out that he was missing her terribly. For some inexplicable reason, his lackluster, rushed, scribbled sentences seemed to do the trick, because Felicity Prewett was out and about the next day, looking gaunt and downcast yet blushing and giving Harry a faint, shy smile from a distance.

Regardless, he had had no chance to speak to her because she was always surrounded by housemates who glared at him. With a sense of impending doom due to what Tom had said, Harry had seen how his brother's words turned out to be prophetic.

The Gryffindors began to move about the school in packs, like lions protecting each other wherever they went, always casting suspicious, dark looks at the Slytherins. They, above any other students of Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, were jumpy, as if expecting some Slytherin to suddenly go bonkers, cackle evilly, declare allegiance to the Dark Lord, and start casting Dark Curses left and right.

At first, Harry thought it was ridiculous, but the situation became grave as The Daily Prophet kept vilifying Grindelwald, reporting about such impossible and outlandish things that the Dark Lord was allegedly doing that Harry became convinced that the journalists really had no idea about what the wizard was truly up to and were simply making it all up to sell newspapers.

And it seemed to work, since all students were now buying The Daily Prophet, and tensions grew and tempers began to flare.

By mere chance, Harry witnessed when the situation escalated and finally exploded, one evening when he had been coming from the library with Tom after they had worked on a Potions essay.

He had no idea how it had begun, but they came upon a full-blown battle of flying hexes and hurled jinxes between a very large group of Gryffindors of all ages and a bunch of Slytherins who were decidedly greatly outnumbered.

Given Tom's bloodthirsty gleam in the eyes when talking about Gryffindors, Harry had been worried his brother would instantly jump into the fray.

He had been surprised when Tom had shoved him into a nook of a wall, instantly going into it himself, as he whispered sharply, "It's best if we're not involved."

Well, that certainly let Harry understand that smug, proud true descendant of Salazar Slytherin that Tom was, his brother still preferred to be deviously careful and keep up his untarnished good reputation with the teachers instead of helping out his housemates.

However, it made Harry hesitate when he saw Walburga Black, Thaddeus Avery, and Neron Lestrange among the small group of Slytherins. There were older Slytherins too, but even so, they were too few compared to the Gryffindors.

"It's not a fair fight," murmured Harry apprehensively, wincing when he saw Walburga take a hit and then screech like a deranged banshee as she spat out some very nasty hex. "The Gryffs are too many."

He had no fond feelings for his housemates, who had stopped bullying him but still from time to time spat out cruel insults at him for being a 'mudblood'. That didn't mean, though, that he liked to see them being hurt by others in such an unjust, uneven confrontation.

Little Ulysses, who was perched on his left shoulder, seemed to sense his anxiousness, since the Scorcrup hissed and fretted, puffing out his tail.

"That's Gryffindor bravery for you," drawled Tom sarcastically, his tone venomous.

"We have to do something to help," said Harry urgently, shooting his brother an entreating look as he patted Ulysses on the head to calm him down.

As if he had been heard, one of the older Slytherins yelled just then, "Someone go get Wilkes!"

Instantly understanding the reason, Harry dashed out of the nook like a flash before Tom could react and take hold of him. Running with all his might, it didn't take him long to reach the dungeons and their common room.

Algernon Wilkes was the Head Boy, one of The Two –leader of Slytherin House along with Dorea Black- and a seventh-year. All Slytherins of that year had been entrenched with piles of books in the common room ever since they began frantically studying for their N.E.W.T.s, thus Harry had known exactly where to look for the boy.

As he pelted into the common room, with Ulysses effortlessly hanging onto him, Harry gasped out between panted breaths, "Slytherins – attacked by Gryffindors – corridor in second floor!"

The seventh-year girls and boys stared at him and then jumped to their feet, unceremoniously flinging and discarding books to a side as if they were yesterday's rubbish, the manic gleam that had been glinting in their eyes ever since studying like possessed, foul-tempered creatures that snapped at younger Slytherins at the slightest rise of a voice, shone even brighter – all of them clearly welcoming the distraction and excited with a sudden rush of bloodlust.

It made Harry wonder if he shouldn't have just gone to fetch a teacher instead.

"Lead the way, Riddle!" commanded Algernon Wilkes enthusiastically, whipping out his wand as his yearmates followed suit.

Harry nodded, glanced at Ulysses who was still sitting on his shoulder, and instructed hurriedly, "Stay here and wait for me."

The Scorcrup meowed at him, sounding miffed, yet when Harry shot him a stern look, Ulysses jumped unto the nearest armchair in the next second, sitting up with his tail flicking to the sides with great agitation. It was clear the little creature wasn't too pleased at being left behind.

Now without having to worry that his familiar might harm someone when protecting him if he was involved in a fight, Harry swirled around and hastily broke into a run, hearing all the seventh-year Slytherins following at his heels.

When he reached again the altercation between the students, Harry was fairly certain that someone must have cast a silencing spell around the area, because given the loud screams and shouts, it was impossible that no teacher had still not heard the fight and come to put a stop to it.

It was when Wilkes and his fellows jumped into the fray with gusto, that Harry caught sight of the new participants in the battle. Alphard must have been coming from somewhere with Dorea Black and Charlus Potter, encountering the fight, because the couple was there, bellowing at each other.

Dorea was standing with the Slytherins, with hands on her hips, looking furious as she yelled at her betrothed, while Charlus was right before her but on the Gryffindors' side of the corridor, with squared shoulders, shouting back, looking mulish and filled with righteous, indignant anger.

Meanwhile, Alphard stood behind Dorea and near his sister Walburga, who was still fighting like one of the Furies, unmerciful and with much relishing and vicious glee.

The boy had his wand in his hand, yet he looked uneasy and uncertain, as if he wanted the whole thing to stop and didn't want to participate at all but loyalty to Slytherin House and family made him remain.

It was when someone shot a very nasty hex at the poor boy who had made no attempt to attack anyone -causing tentacles to spurt from Alphard's head to coil around his throat and choke him, making the boy gasp, trip, and crash to the stone floors hard, slamming his head- that Harry had enough.

It was the last straw, and seeing that his brother was still in his shadowy nook calmly observing the fight from a safe distance, Harry bellowed, "Tom, join in!", as he then let out a battle cry and leaped into the fray, furious.

He instantly jumped in front of Alphard, protecting his secret friend by standing as a shield against incoming hurled spells, having faith that the boy could deal with the tentacle-hex himself and cancel it.

With Algernon Wilkes and the rest of the seventh-year Slytherins there, the fight had become a fair one in numbers, and Harry didn't think he had ever had so much fun: his heart was pumping fast with anger and rushes of thrill, as he casted every hex, jinx, and charm he knew of.

He didn't think he had ever used so many spells, not even during Defense Against the Dark Arts when Professor Galatea Merrythought had started to teach them how to duel. The experience was gripping, riveting, and exciting, especially when Tom finally appeared next to him, shooting Harry a glower yet soon beginning to cast spells with amazing precision, aim, and speed.

It was a pandemonium and chaos of shouted and bellowed spells and streaks of light striking every which way, which suddenly halted when a Gryffindor yelled in alarm, "Pringle!"

And they saw the Caretaker of Hogwarts, Apollyon Pringle, clanking his wooden leg on the stone floors as he rushed towards them, bellowing, with his pet Rascal the Raven swooping in to viciously peck at anyone in reach.

Everyone scattered and scrambled, fleeing from being caught and getting the sadistic, torturous detentions the Caretaker was infamous for.

Harry made a dive to help Alphard, but was yanked away by a furious Tom. He nevertheless saw that Dorea Black took care of her nephew, quickly pulling Alphard along with her as everyone ran in every possible direction.

"We can't go to the dungeons," said Tom sharply, still clutching Harry's hand tightly as he pulled them around another corner. "Pringle must have seen there were Gryffindors and Slytherins. The first he'll check will be the ways that lead to the dungeons and the Gryffindors' Tower. We must go somewhere else!"

Without halting their mad dash, Harry nodded, letting his brother take them wherever he thought was safest.

They ended up in the Astronomy Tower, gasping and panting to catch their breaths.

Recovering, Tom glanced around, looking satisfied as he said superiorly, "He won't think to look here. Only couples come up to this place."

Harry let out a weary breath as he slumped against a battlements of the Tower, feeling exhausted as he took in the beautiful view of the placid, starry night, the surface of the Black Lake that sparkled with moonlight as if it was encrusted with jewels, and the tiny dots of light coming from Hogsmeade.

"Were you wounded?" demanded Tom, approaching him and eyeing him closely with inspecting, narrowed eyes.

Harry huffed indignantly. "Of course not." He shot him a toothy grin. "Didn't you see me? I gave as good as I got and then some, and I deflected all hexes with Shield Charms." He gave him a smug look, as he intoned airily, "I'm quite good at those."

"What I saw was you diving for the floor," pointed out Tom acerbically, "landing hard on your knees."

"That only happened once!" snapped Harry, highly irked. "Because I didn't recognize the color of the spell and I didn't want to take the chance that a shield wouldn't stop it!"

That seemed to satisfy Tom, since the boy then proceeded to let him fully know what he had thought of Harry's decision of getting involved in the clash between Houses. Harry had to suffer nearly a quarter of an hour of Tom's ill-humored and furious remarks, as they waited for the proper moment to go back to the dungeons.

"And you know that I want to be a Prefect," hissed out Tom acidly, "because I have every intention to be Head Boy in seventh-year. It's an important and useful position of power, you lamebrain! And I won't get it if I'm given detentions just because you decide to play the hero to help your stupid little friend!" He pointed a finger at him, as he spat poisonously, "Next time I say we don't get involved, you heed my words!"

"Yeah, yeah," yawned out Harry, flapping a hand dismissively, before he whined, "Can we go back now? It's getting chilly out here." He demonstratively shivered and peered at him piteously.

"Are you a wizard or not?" bit out Tom angrily, flicking his wand to cast a Warming Charm on Harry, as he glowered with much annoyance.

They waited for a couple of more minutes, Tom seething in silence, whilst Harry sighed, until his brother finally decided enough time had gone by to safely make their way back.

Harry hadn't expected what waited for them in their common room.

The whole House seemed to be gathered there, even those who had participated in the fight: everyone seated in settees, sofas, couches, and armchairs, leaving an open space right in the middle, where Dorea Black and Algernon Wilkes were standing and bickering.

It seemed all Slytherins had been informed of the events and they were in the midst of a collective discussion, very grave and serious given their expressions.

"Oh, you're finally here!" said Dorea the moment she caught sight of them. She briskly gestured at two vacant chairs. "Take a seat. The current conversation pertains to you as well-"

"They're just mudbloods!" interjected Algernon Wilkes glaring, with arms over his chest, apparently continuing a quarrel that had been interrupted by Tom and Harry's appearance in the common room.

"Yes, they are," she snapped impatiently, as if in that evening she had heard the remark far too many times for it to be further tolerable, no matter what well-bred pureblood politeness dictated. "And they are Slytherins too, whether we like it or not. Students of other Houses regard them as such, so they will be targeted again."

Harry had already taken his appointed seat, baffled and puzzled by the whole reunion, and Tom had followed after him. It seemed to serve Dorea's purpose, since the girl approached Harry and carefully grabbed one of his hands, startling him when she held it up in the air, displaying his bandaged wrist.

"See?" she said pointedly, glancing at the students around her. "He already had this when he jumped into the fight. I saw it." She turned to Harry and demanded shortly, "You had been previously attacked by a Gryffindor, correct?"

Harry scowled at her, not liking to be put on the spot and feeling quite peeved. The girl was scarily observant, trait that she shared with Tom and which had always irked him in his brother who always seemed to detect and know too much.

"Yes," he admitted in a reluctant grumble as Dorea pressed him by glowering at him.

She gently let go of his wrist, and swirled around to glare at her housemates. "We already agreed that the youngest are the weakest chinks in our armor." She gestured at Tom and Harry, as she added sharply, "And they are first years. Hence, even if they're mudbloods, we'll protect them as well."

The moment Algernon Wilkes opened his mouth again, Dorea snapped angrily, "Harry showed loyalty to us by helping us in the fight." Her eyes narrowed pointedly at the Head Boy. "And from what I've heard, he was the one who came to fetch you." She pierced everyone who had been involved in the clash with the Gryffindors with a hard gaze. "None of us would have made it out unscathed if the seventh-years hadn't come. And we owe Harry gratitude for that, too. We always protect our own and loyalty and aid always has to be repaid, or have you forgotten our ways!"

"He did it on purpose," spat Walburga Black, glowering at her aunt before she turned her vicious, enraged glare to Harry. "He surely realized that if he did something to help, we would then feel obliged to repay the favor, as per Slytherin House rules-"

"He's a mudblood, he couldn't have possibly known about our set of rules, 'Burga," interjected Dorea with vast annoyance. She then gestured at Alphard, who was sitting at the other end of the room with a bandage wrapped around his head. "And he helped your brother, even though Alphie has insulted and mistreated him as the rest of us have."

The lie to cover up Harry's actions and motives, and keep the boys' friendship a secret, rolled out of her lips smoothly. Even Alphard managed to not show an inkling of emotion, catching himself in time without shooting Harry a grateful smile.

"I think it's quite settled and there's nothing more to discuss about this matter," said Dorea firmly. "The Riddle twins will be assigned to a group of five, and will be given escorts to move around the castle, as the rest of you will." She pointedly glanced at all the students below third year at that, before she looked at the older Slytherins, adding commandingly, "Now, let's take a look at our schedules to see at what hours and days we each have spare time to carry on our guard duties."

Harry was left thoroughly dumbfounded and astonished.

Tom and he were assigned to a first-year group consisting of Alphard, Abraxas Malfoy, and Orion Black. Antonin Dolohov, the older Slytherin whose schedule of free time matched that of when their group of five had to move around Hogwarts to go to class, was appointed as one of their escorts.

Harry disliked Dolohov immensely, having had to deal with the Keeper of Slytherin's Team every Sunday morning when he had his secret Quidditch lessons with Dorea, since they had required a Keeper and Dolohov had been in serious need of extra training. The older boy despised him openly, yet suddenly seemed to take his duty very seriously and hadn't even sneered at him when hearing he would be appointed to Harry's group.

It was in the following day that Alphard had clarified matters to him.

During breakfast, the whole student body had to listen to very stern, angered, and reprimanding words from Headmaster Dippet, who had been apprised by the Caretaker about the fight that had occurred between Gryffindors and Slytherins. He even threatened that the next time something of the sort happened, the whole school would be given detention.

Harry didn't think the speech had helped much: it only served to make the Gryffindors angrier, as if feeling they were being unjustly punished, the Slytherins turn stiffer and more suspicious and alert, and made the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws glower at the other two Houses accusingly, for causing so much trouble.

When he had skipped lunch in the Great Hall to meet Alphard in the kitchens, he had finally expressed his incomprehension.

"What was all that about – those House rules your sister and aunt mentioned?" said Harry, peering at Alphard with utter puzzlement. "About loyalty and helping each other and stuff. I thought that Slytherins never did anything in exchange for nothing, not even doing favors for other Slytherins."

"Well, that's the whole point, isn't it?" said Alphard, looking amused. "I don't know who came up with the rules, but they have been around for ages, precisely because Slytherins are self-interested and it worked against them when the House was isolated from the rest of the school, by being under direct criticism or attack from the other Houses and things like those. There are a couple of rules that specify that, in such circumstances, rivalries within Slytherin House have to be set to a side so that we can present a common, united front against enemies, and that for once, good deeds between Slytherins had to be repaid, to forge tighter ties and unity."

The boy paused and shot Harry a large grin. "Good deeds like what you did." He puffed out his chest proudly as he added, "When Dorea became part of The Two, she was the one who insisted for those old rules to be applied and reestablished. And I think it has finally paid off."

Well, Harry at last understood why Tom hadn't beeped a word or bristled with wounded pride when they had been told they needed protection. Harry had been certain Tom must have felt grievously insulted at the implication that he couldn't protect himself. Yet, his brother had coolly accepted the help offered without voicing a word against it.

"Is the situation with the Gryffindors really that bad?" Harry muttered with a uncertain frown, addressing his other concern.

"You tell me," retorted Alphard wryly, gesturing at the bandage around his head and the one around Harry's wrist. He then heaved a deep sigh as his shoulders slumped. "It was bound to happen with Grindelwald coming out as a Dark Lord…"

The boy trailed off and suddenly grasped Harry's arms so abruptly that it startled him.

"You must believe me," said Alphard vehemently, his tone of voice pleading and nearly desperate, as he shook his head fervently, "I had no idea what had happened to Felicity's and Felix's aunt! I liked her. When our families were still allies and I was friends with them, I saw her a couple of times and she was always very kind to me. I didn't know that she would be turned into one of those horrid new Inferi!"

Harry stared at him, his eyebrows shooting upwards in sheer taken aback surprise. "It never even crossed my mind, Al. Of course you didn't know!"

"The twins think I did," muttered Alphard despondently, releasing Harry's arms to lean backward, looking crestfallen. "Before, they just ignored my existence because our families became enemies. Now, it's even worse - they glare at me and I can see the hatred in their eyes."

"You're imaging things," said Harry soothingly, quite convinced of the truth of his assertion. "The twins wouldn't blame you for what happened to their Aunt Nettie. How could you have had anything to do with that!"

Alphard shot him a scowl, as if Harry was being disingenuous on purpose. "You know why, already. You know my parents support the Dark Lord. And they surely must have known something about his plans, but my parents never tell me anything about such issues! And the Prewett twins obviously think I was told!"

"Oh," mumbled Harry, not knowing what to say to that.

"I've been worried about it ever since we heard Dumbledore talking to Charlemagne McLaggen in Hogsmeade," admitted Alphard, anxiously nibbling on his bottom lip. He shot him a nonplussed look. "I've seen Dumbledore trying to speak to you. Do you have any idea why he didn't prevent-"

"No," replied Harry shortly, his tone waspishly, not wanting to discuss that particular matter.

Alphard clearly had a wise respect for Harry's moods, and didn't press the issue, though the boy looked as if he had to reign in his curiosity with much effort. Nevertheless, as open as he always was, Alphard carried on undaunted, as he voiced his concern, letting Harry finally realize why the boy had been so quiet and worried as of late.

He understood that Alphard feared for his parents and felt much sympathy for the boy due to it. But the extent of how Grindelwald's actions were becoming so widespread and far-reaching, left him stunned.

What had always concerned him was the Dark Lord's interest in Tom and him, and how the trouble Grindelwald was causing in Europe could affect the muggles he cared about: Alice, Hutchins, and his friends in the orphanage. But he hadn't realized it would be also affecting Alphard in ways he hadn't considered.

"The Dark Lord will want to take over our Ministry of Magic at some point," whispered Alphard somberly. "All his supporters in Britain have only given him financial support thus far, but when the Dark Lord comes here, I'm sure he'll demand much more. He won't be satisfied with more of my father's galleons. He will expect Father to fight when he takes over the Ministry, you see?" He shook his head gloomily. "And my father will, proudly and willingly. But the Austrians and Czechs didn't have a Dumbledore, did they? The battle for Britain will be fierce, I'm sure. And what if my father doesn't survive it?"

Harry stared at the boy, feeling utterly torn. He didn't want Grindelwald to win, yet he didn't want Alphard's father to die either – or any relatives of his housemates, as a matter of fact. He wouldn't even wish that for his worst enemy, not when he knew what it was to be without parents.

"Can't you convince your dad to stop supporting the Dark Lord?" suggested Harry musingly, trying to come up with some simple, quick solution. "You know, become neutral or something of the sort."

"No," said Alphard with a despairing, loud snort, shaking his head. "My parents wouldn't care about what I say. I'm just the spare son. Only Cygnus' opinion counts, since he's my father's heir." He sighed dejectedly before he added in a quiet, apprehensive murmur, "And Cygnus is already taking his duty very seriously."

"Right," muttered Harry under his breath, his eyes widening with understanding. No wonder that Alphard's older brother, whom Tom had once pegged as the 'silent, analytical, observant type', had suddenly become more grave, distant, and introspective, always reading every article in The Daily Prophet with much intensity, carrying a stern expression on his face, the fourteen-year-old boy looking as if he had forced himself to mature into a grownup overnight.

As Harry received news through Alice's newspaper clippings about how Muggle Britain had publicly pledged support to Poland in the event of an invasion, war seemed imminent, while the agitation and tension in Hogwarts only increased further.

It didn't help matters that Dorea Black and Charlus Potter weren't on speaking terms.

"I'm his fiancée! Charlus should be loyal to me, and only me - not to his housemates!" was what Dorea had apparently told Alphard when she had been venting her anger and frustration, since it seemed that what Harry had witnessed in the fight was a simple matter of Charlus taking his housemates' side and Dorea hers, each believing their housemates' claims of who had been the first to strike with spells when clashing in the corridor.

Indeed, Hogwarts became polarized into two sides: those who supported the Slytherins, which were few in other Houses, and those who followed the Gryffindors' lead.

The last Quidditch match for first place -Slytherin versus Gryffindor- exacerbated the already frazzled nerves, volatile high tempers, and violent rivalry.

Harry had attended, this time firmly standing in the Slytherins' stands, and even Tom had come along in a show of House solidarity, surely with ulterior motives added in the mix, as always was the case with his brother.

Throughout the whole game, Harry had gawked. He had never seen anything like it. It was fierce, brutal, ruthless, and unmerciful, with Jocunda Sykes, the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, constantly blowing her whistle and shooting red sparks from her wand the countless times a foul was committed, by both teams just as frequently.

Every dirty trick in the book was employed: Beaters slamming Bludgers into Seekers or Keepers instead of Chasers, Chasers grabbing the broom tails of the other team's players, legs kicking out and elbows jabbing into ribs when two opposing players flew side by side, Quaffle being stolen by a Beater instead of a Chaser, Seeker purposely colliding into the opposing team's Keeper just when a Quaffle was incoming towards the goal hoops, and every other thing Harry hadn't even imagined or thought possible.

Jocunda Sykes was beyond herself with fury and yelled so much that she went hoarse, having to point her wand at her throat to make her voice work and be heard.

Moreover, Dorea was by far the fiercest of them all – the girl was certainly venting her spleen in the Pitch.

With eyes as wide as moons, Harry had gawked incredulously when Dorea had ripped a bat from the clutches of one of her Beaters and slammed a Bludger right smack in the middle of her fiancé's head. And she even loudly cackled with vicious satisfaction when Charlus Potter went tumbling over his broom and landed painfully on the ground from quite a height.

Miss Nightingale was there to heal the boy in a jiffy and Dorea was heavily punished for her foul, though she certainly didn't seem to mind having to be out of the game for a full hour.

She had evidently given clear directions to her team, who completely focused in making Charlus Potter's life impossible. Oh, the boy was certainly the biggest threat, being Gryffindor's Captain and their best Chaser, but Harry had the inkling Dorea was making him sweat out of personal revenge.

However, Charlus hadn't restrained himself either. Just about fifteen minutes after Dorea had been allowed back into the game, the boy had launched himself from his broom, leaping at Dorea right when they crossed paths in the air, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down with him into the void. Gratefully, they hadn't been flying too high, so when they crashed unto the sandy ground they weren't greatly hurt – not enough to be carried away. Though they certainly had much energy and anger left.

Harry didn't think any spectator could tell what was going on down there, even if people had those crafty, useful Omnicular things, because Dorea and Charlus became a mass of entangled limbs as they struggled and rolled and rolled and kept rolling together, bellowing who-knew-what at each other.

It was the most perplexing, worrisome, funniest, and scariest thing Harry had ever seen, and for a moment he even thought Dorea would start letting her fists fly to beat her betrothed to a pulp – pureblood girl notwithstanding, Harry knew out of personal experience just how 'unlady-like' she could be.

It had finally ended when Jocunda Sykes had tore them apart, blowing on her whistle like a desperate madwoman at the end of her rope, which left half the crowd nearly deaf.

In the end, though, as brilliant as Dorea was on a broom, Charlus was better and his Seeker far surpassed the Slytherins'. The match came to a conclusion when the Snitch was caught, Charlus having already scored many points, surpassing those obtained by Dorea and her Chasers.

The boisterous cries of joy and roars of triumph from the Gryffindors' stands and the insults they bellowed at the Slytherins were so loud that flocks of birds in distant trees of the Forbidden Forest fled away into the skies, the cacophony having startled and scared them off.

With much frosty poise, the Slytherins orderly marched off from the Pitch with chins raised high, not displaying one smidgen of the crushing disappointment they felt as Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.

The Gryffs didn't waste the opportunity to rub it in and cruelly taunt and mock the Slytherins for their humiliating defeat, so Harry had been thoroughly stunned when he had come upon something three hours later after the end of the match.

It had been nightfall by then, and he had been hurrying along the maze of corridors of the dungeons, to not be caught out of his dorm when curfew struck the clock.

And there, he had seen it, right against a wall: a translucent shimmering mantle of silvery, whitish magic, with two bulges underneath it.

Harry had halted his strides, gaping when he realized what he was seeing. Under Potter's Invisibility Cloak, there was Dorea and Charlus, still in their Quidditch uniforms and thoroughly dirty, wrapped together, with hands and limbs all over each other, making smacking, wet noises that made Harry turn beet red.

"No – don't put your hand there, Charlus!" cried out Dorea in alarm. Though apparently it was too late, because the girl then shrieked in pain and peeled herself away from her fiancé's frisky clutches.

Both still under the Invisibility Cloak and having taking no notice of Harry standing there, gawking with a discombobulated expression on his face, Dorea scowled at the iron band on her finger as she snarled furiously, "I should poison Walburga for this!"

Not wanting to even imagine where Charlus' hand had been, which had clearly made the Black Chastity Rings they wore punish them in warning, Harry already felt way too traumatized and he instantly turned tail and fled like a frightened fawn of the woods.

He wasn't even able to stutter out what he had seen to Alphard. He wouldn't have needed to ask, because by the following day, Dorea and Charlus were out and about in the school, once more hand-in-hand and beaming happily, as if they hadn't nearly killed each other in the Quidditch Pitch like lunatics nor quarreled and publicly rowed spectacularly after they had been divided in their loyalties to their respective Houses.

At least, Harry saw that he wasn't the only one thoroughly gobsmacked. Plenty of students gaped uncomprehendingly at the couple.

"I knew they couldn't stay angry at each other for long," Alphard had piped in when they had met in the kitchens, looking vastly cheerful and content. He snickered under his breath. "Specially after playing against each other – they've always loved their rivalry in the Quidditch Pitch!" He grinned widely at Harry, as he added joyfully, "I dare say that now that they're back together, things between Gryffindor House and ours will calm down a mite. They will make sure of it. So we should start looking for the Chamber of Secrets, don't you think?"

Harry blinked at him, utterly nonplussed at how Alphard had jumped from one disconnected idea to the other, and he said hesitantly, trying to be tactful, "Um… I didn't think you were up to it because you were so worried about your parents' involvement with the Dark Lord, after the fall of Czechoslovakia."

"Oh, that," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively. "There isn't much I can do about it, is there?" He shrugged his shoulders as he popped a small roasted potato into his mouth. "I'm fine now." He widely grinned at him. "And Dorea is back with Charlus so all is right and well in the world, in my view. I'm not going to worry about anything else." He leaned forward and peered at him excitedly. "So, when do we have our first adventure!"

Harry happily beamed at him with the power of a thousands suns. He didn't think he would ever be so fond of someone as he was of Alphard.


	32. Part I: Chapter 31

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks for all your suggestions! You taught me plenty of very helpful new things, and now all my stories are saved and even all your reviews of my fics! Love you guys! :D

I've already started posting the first chapters of Twist of Fate on **adultfanfiction net**. My username is the same as in here, so you can easily find my fic there.

And I'm trying to get an account in the site many of you mentioned as being the best – Archive of Your Own. A reader is very generously helping me with that. You know who you are, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and owe you a huge favor! ;)

Though, the thing is that it might take a while before I'm given an account on that site, so for the moment the backup is AFFnet.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chappie!

Oh, some things described here are in accordance to descriptions given in the books, and not how these things looked in the movies. Just to warn you beforehand so that you aren't put off by the differences if you remember the movies more than the books. ^^

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**Part I: Chapter 31**

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"We stink," pointed out Alphard, snickering when he caught sight of Harry's scrunched up nose.

Ulysses let out a meow of agreement, though there wasn't much Harry could do about the way they looked and smelled.

They had been exploring the castle for the last two months and the end of June, and thus the school year, was approaching.

Thankfully, now that he counted with Alphard's and Ulysses' help, the search for the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets was much faster.

After all, Tom was certain that Salazar Slytherin must have marked the secret entrance with a symbol of a snake, and that was what Harry and Alphard went around looking for.

"It would make sense," Tom had said superiorly, shooting Harry a pointed glance. "We need to look at a snake or representation of one in order to be able to speak Parseltongue. Hence, Salazar must have marked the entrance with a figure of a serpent. I'm sure the only way in or out of the Chamber is through the use of Parseltongue – that way, Salazar ensured that only Parselmouths, namely him and his descendants, could access it."

Harry had nodded, since it sounded convincing, though he hadn't expected what his brother's continued research would lead to.

Ever since they had found out about John Gaunt in the muggle library during their Christmas Holidays, Tom had looked into wizarding families with renewed fervor. The boy hadn't found a single mention about any 'Riddles', which hadn't surprised Harry the slightest given what the Gringotts' goblin had told them, but he had found a bit about the Gaunts.

" 'Minor pureblood family of no consequence'," Tom had hissed out, quoting from the battered, old book that he was angrily waving in front of Harry's face. "That's all it says about the Gaunts! And it's the only book that even mentions them." The boy's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat furiously, "They couldn't have been so insignificant if M.G. managed to slip in and out of Hogwarts to impregnate Sherisse Slytherin, could they? M. Gaunt must have been very resourceful, cunning, and powerful to manage that!"

Harry had bitten his lip, knowing he couldn't tell his brother about what Santi had revealed to him regarding Morgon Gaunt.

Moreover, he was quite certain Tom wouldn't be at all pleased to know that Morgon Gaunt had been a mediocre, embittered old wizard, and just the Caretaker of Hogwarts, to boot.

By the looks of things, it was clear that his brother was of the idea that their ancestors from that side must have been impressive and noteworthy, even if everything indicated they had been cowardly hiding amidst muggles since Morgon Gaunt did his nasty deeds.

"And we know that M. Gaunt took off with the Slytherins' belongings," continued ranting Tom angrily. "We saw that locket in Borgin and Burkes. And if Slughorn is right about it, then it is a Slytherin heirloom and it's clear that the Gaunts sold it at some point." He skewered Harry with a piercing, narrowed-eyed look. "And it should belong to us! We must steal it before that Hephzibah Smith witch Slughorn blabbered about buys it!"

Harry became alarmed at that. He had thought he had managed to convince his brother to wait until they were older. They were only in their first-year of Hogwarts and he certainly didn't feel prepared to pull off a heist of that magnitude.

"When we go to Diagon Alley to buy our school supplies for next year," Tom added in a firm, decisive tone, "we'll go to Knockturn Alley and take a closer look at the locket and we'll inspect Borgin and Burke's store and their security measures. We must begin to plan the theft."

After that, Tom had continued doing even more research in Hogwarts' library, three days later presenting a long parchment filled with notes to Harry. It was a list of all the possible magical creatures that could be guarding the Chamber of Secrets. All of them with one sole trait in common: they were part snake and could be understood by Parselmouths.

"If the legend is right and Salazar brought in some kind of monster to guard his Chamber of Secrets," Tom had intoned arrogantly, as he handed over the piece of parchment to Harry, "then he must have chosen a creature only he could communicate with and give orders to. Read that list and be prepared."

By then, Tom had already known that Harry had resumed his exploration of the Castle, though Harry had certainly not told him about Alphard's involvement or even about all the things he had disclosed to his friend.

Nevertheless, he had shared that piece of parchment with Alphard and the boy had paled when reading it.

"All of these are terribly dangerous creatures," choked out Alphard, gazing at Harry with big grey eyes filled with apprehension. He gestured at the parchment jerkily. "Lamias, Nagas, Leviathans, Gorgons, Chimeras, Basilisks!"

"Yes," Harry conceded undaunted, to then grin brightly at his friend as he pointed a finger at his brother's notes. "But look there. Tom has also written about the things that can be used to protect oneself from those creatures."

Lamias and Nagas were half-human creatures with the bottom part of their bodies being like a long serpent's tail, as closely related to each other as merfolk and sirens were.

There were differences, though. Lamias were all females and used their magic to look like their victim's most desired woman or man, in order to suck out their life-forces and feed from their lust through a kiss. Apparently, they also preferred to steal babies and feed from their lives to gain youthfulness. On the other hand, Nagas were all males, bulky, fierce and strong, who hunted down muggles with spears to eat their flesh.

Harry certainly didn't want to know how they reproduced with their own kind, being all female and all male, respectively, but he had read that wizards, in turn, hunted Lamias and Nagas to use their parts as ingredients for those Breeder Potions Alphard had told him about, for Sappho witches and Ganymede wizards, first invented by Salazar Slytherin so long ago.

Leviathans were huge seven-headed sea monsters that lived in every ocean, part serpent, but also part crocodile and could thus also live on the ground, while Gorgons were women with serpents for hair whose gaze turned their victims into stone, and Chimeras had the body of a lion, with a tail that ended in a snake's head and with the head of a goat rising on their back at the center of their spine, and they breathed fire and were vicious.

And finally, the Basilisks, which concerned Harry the most because unlike the others there wasn't a simple thing that could ward them off. Their direct gazes killed instantly, and the reflection of it petrified the victim.

It was with that that Harry and Alphard had the most trouble when trying to find a way to protect themselves in the eventuality that they found the Chamber and were faced with a Basilisk.

Nevertheless, preparing themselves for the other creatures hadn't gone all that well either.

Lamias couldn't bear the smell of onions, Nagas for some reason fled with fear from chili peppers, Gorgons couldn't stand lemons, poppy seeds made the Chimera's three heads sneeze and sneeze until they choked so hard that they swallowed their own breathing-fire and scorched their throats, and Leviathans keeled over and fell asleep if they smelled bat dung. Magical creatures were very bizarre, had been Harry's conclusion.

He had slipped into Horace Slughorn's potions storeroom to steal the dung and had then happily gone to the kitchens with Alphard, asking the house-elves for the rest of the things. He had put everything in a bowl, meshed it all together and pounded it into a pulp until it became a juice with small bits and pieces.

"This is what we have to do when we go looking for the Chamber," Harry had said grinning, as he proudly and demonstratively applied the concoction on his face. "Whichever creature there's in the Chamber will smell this on us and-"

He had released a yelp when his face suddenly went red and throbbed and ached, his eyes tearing from the onion, his skin painfully tingling from the astringent lemon juice and unbearably burning due to the chilly peppers, with the poppy seeds and bat dung only making everything all the worse.

He had cried out so loudly, attempting to scratch his face off, that Alphard had quickly cast an Aguamenti spell, dousing Harry with water to help him scrub off the concoction. It had been so bad that Harry's skin was left pink and raw, and he had ended up paying a visit to the Infirmary.

Miss Nightingale had shaken her head and clucked her tongue at him, as she said chidingly, "What were you thinking, boy, putting those things on your face?"

"Um… I read in the Witch Weekly that it was good for getting rid of pimples," mumbled Harry, shamed-faced, as he made up the only lie that could sound half-convincing.

Miss Nightingale shot him an incredulous look as she flicked her wand and cast a spell to soothe Harry's skin. "Bat excrement, onions, chilly peppers and whatnot, for pimples? And you don't even have pimples, child!"

"Er… I do. Here, I think," said Harry lamely, pointing at his chin.

The mediwitch leaned forward and squinted hard, until she huffed. "You have nothing, Mr. Riddle! Don't be ridiculous. I could have expected something like this from some of the girls, but not you. I've never taken you for a vain boy."

She shook her head when she was done with him, adding sternly, "Next time, instead of taking advice from that rag, you come to me first if you ever have acne!"

Mortified, Harry muttered a thanks and ran back to the kitchens, where Alphard was waiting for him just to guffaw and snicker when Harry told him about the mediwitch's sharp remarks.

In the end, they had wisely chosen to simply string lemons, chili peppers, and onions together and wear them around their wrists and necks. That left the poppy seeds, which they carried in small pouches tied to their belts, and the bat dung – which they could only smear on their faces in streaks running along their cheeks and foreheads.

Furthermore, Alphard had finally bought by owl two hand mirrors from a store in Hogsmeade and ridiculously expensive drops of Phoenix tears from the Apothecary.

The idea was that if they ever came upon a Basilisk, they would have the mirrors in hand so that the reflected creature's gaze could only petrify them, and the Phoenix tears to counteract the creature's poison, since it was the only thing that could heal a wound infected with a Basilisk's lethal venom.

"If it is a Basilisk," Alphard had intoned gravely and a tad nervously, "then it's best if I'm the one who's petrified, because then you'll have the chance to quickly close your eyes and speak to it in Parseltongue and ask it to not attack us. And you can levitate me to our common room afterwards and fetch Dorea. She'll know what to do to unpetrify me."

Harry had nodded, a mite uncertain because he dearly hoped the 'monster' wasn't a Basilisk. It was by far the most dangerous of all.

Hence, every time they waited for their roommates to fall asleep in order to put on everything and slip away to inspect the Castle, they stank, as Alphard had just remarked so precisely.

Harry was quite sure that if anyone saw them, the person would be rolling on the floor laughing themselves silly. Alphard and him had to look very weird, like a pair of wild indians from the Amazons, with stringed vegetables and lemons hanging from their necks and wrists and dung all over their faces, not to mention Ulysses with his small bandit's mask.

Indeed, it seemed that the Scorcrup had a keen sense of smell, and just how the bat dung, onions, lemons, and chili peppers bothered the magical creatures that could be guarding the Chamber of Secrets, they also annoyed Harry's familiar.

The first time they had gone out, little Ulysses had constantly sneezed so hard and his tiny nose had twitched so much that the Scorcrup had finally let out a piteous meow as he pressed a small paw against his nose.

Harry resorted to cutting a small, triangular piece of cloth from a clean sock, charming it to block smells and then tying it around Ulysses' muzzle. The Scorcrup had been quick to catch on, and he could easily roll up his mask with a paw to make use of his nose to sniff around things or just as simply roll it back down when he was perched on top of Harry's head and needed to avoid suffering the stench that came off his owner.

Moreover, Ulysses had already proven that his senses were as useful as they were keen.

The little Scorcrup could hear the flap of wings of the Caretaker's nasty pet crow Rascal the Raven and the clank of Apollyon Pringle's wooden leg on the floors way before either Harry or Alphard could take notice.

Ulysses always quickly patted Harry on the forehead with a paw, warning him, and thus allowing the boys to swiftly change directions and flee into another corridor before they were caught out of bed after curfew.

The Scorcrup's sense of smell had also led to some discoveries.

"He's like a bloodhound," Harry had said, marveled and enthused, one night when Ulysses had hopped off his head to land on the floor and rush forward along a corridor, with his tiny nose pressed against the floor as he went sniffing around.

The boys had scrambled after him and halted before a large cabinet that Ulysses was clawing and sniffing at with much eagerness.

"What have you found?" said Harry curiously as he eyed the cabinet that had caught his familiar's attention.

It was large, black, and with double doors. Intrigued, he opened them, but there was nothing inside, just an empty space wide enough for someone to fit in if ducking and crouching.

"Oh, I think I know what it is!" breathed out Alphard enthusiastically, his grey eyes big as he trailed a finger along the frame of the doors. "See these marks here? They are magical Runes."

Harry bent forward and squinted at them with puzzlement. "So?"

"I think it's a Vanishing Cabinet!" declared Alphard excitedly. "I've heard of them. They are not very common. They always come in pairs and they're used to go from one cabinet to the other." He glanced around, bemused. "Though it doesn't look as if this cabinet's match is around here."

"They are used to travel from one spot to another?" said Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards. He opened the double doors again and gazed into the emptiness, mystified. "Where do you reckon this one leads to?"

Harry was about to put a foot inside when Alphard grabbed his arm and swiftly pulled him back, as he said anxiously, "You shouldn't. Their magic form some sort of portal between the pair, but they aren't very reliable, that's why there aren't many and not commonly used for travelling."

"Oh," said Harry, deflating. However, as they left, he shot the cabinet a lingering look and marked its location on The Three Musketeers' Map, vouching to explore it some other time when he was alone.

A couple of weeks after that, they were almost done going through all the rooms of the seventh floor, since it was the floor in which Harry had started in when he had been looking for the Chamber of Secrets by himself, and now that they were three, they had quickly gone through the rooms left.

They had divided the task between the three of them and separately perused their assigned rooms. Sometimes, Alphard or Ulysses would fetch Harry when they discovered something that could be suspicious, and Harry would trail after them into the room they were checking out and hiss in Parseltongue at the furniture or decoration that could be hiding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Alas, it had yielded no results thus far, but at least, in just two months, they were nearly over their inspection of the top floor of Hogwarts.

Harry thought they were managing it at an excellent rate, since Tom expected him to complete his scrutiny of one floor of the Castle every year.

At present, with Alphard snickering about their smell, they were climbing up a moving staircase to reach the seventh floor and finalize their examination of it.

The boy suddenly stopped chuckling as he shot Harry a quizzical glance. "Things between you and Abraxas have gotten stranger, haven't they? What do you think he meant with the things he said to you?"

Harry released a weary sigh at that. Abraxas Malfoy had become unavoidable ever since Slytherin House imposed its rule that every Slytherin had to move around the Castle in groups of five, with one of the older Slytherins escorting them like a guard.

Indeed, Alphard's hopes that the tension and enmity between Slytherins and Gryffindors would diminish after Dorea got back together with Charlus Potter hadn't become true. The couple certainly tried to soothe the tempers of their respective housemates, but constant news about the Dark Lord and the fear it inspired worked against them.

At least, there had only been a few skirmishes between older Slytherins and Gryffindors, which had been quickly halted since the teachers had started to make rounds around the school precisely to break off in time any quarrels. Harsh detentions were doled out to those involved and Headmaster Dippet gave stern, reprimanding speeches during lunch in the Great Hall, but it hadn't gone beyond that.

Nevertheless, Slytherin House's tactic meant that Harry was constantly in the company of his group: Tom, Abraxas Malfoy, Alphard and Orion Black. The pity was that he couldn't openly be friendly to Alphard and that they had to curtail the frequency of their secret meetings in the kitchens.

Furthermore, he couldn't even go to the Dueling Arena with his brother to practice Dark Curses from Grindelwald's books, since when they weren't in class, they were expected to be safely ensconced in their common room. And the older Slytherins were always checking up on them to make sure the younger years were complying.

Tom hadn't been at all happy with the limitation, given that it meant they could only keep up with their study of German. They did that in the midst of their common room and no one had shot them a suspicious look due to it, thus far.

Well, Abraxas was the exception, because now that Harry was always around him, the boy kept glancing at him more frequently and intensely than ever before.

"Why is Malfoy always looking at you?" Tom had demanded one day, looking extremely foul-tempered. His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits as he skewered Harry with his gaze. "Has anything happened between you? Has he spoken to you?"

"No," Harry lied smoothly, remembering what Abraxas had threatened to do if he ever told his brother about their conversation. He rolled his eyes. "Malfoy is just weird. Pay no attention to him."

Tom wasn't at all mollified, and he said insistently, his tone sharp and acerbic, "He stares at you, and smirks, as if there's some undercurrent between you two - as if he knows something and is holding it over your head."

Harry gritted his teeth. His brother was seriously too bloody observant and perceptive. He reined in his temper and coolly shot him a glance, frowning when he saw the glint in his brother's eyes.

Tom looked angered and deeply annoyed, and something else Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. Well, he figured his brother didn't like that he could be interacting with yet another person.

"He's not my friend," said Harry firmly, trying to soothe his brother's ruffled feathers.

"Of course he's not," scoffed out Tom. "He's a Malfoy and a pureblood, he wouldn't be interested in someone like you – not when he thinks you're a mudblood." He let out a snide sound from the back of his throat as he added matter-of-factly, "And even if you were a pureblood, you wouldn't catch the attention of someone like him."

Harry frowned at that, starting to get really angered. Ever since Tom had first caught sight of Abraxas constantly glancing at him, his brother had been treating him very nastily and disparagingly, even more than usual.

"And why is that?" he gritted out crossly.

Tom gestured at him, as if making his point, and said scathingly, "Because of the way you look – always disheveled and with your hair sticking up as if you have just rolled out of bed." He shot him a contemptuous sneer. "And because you're a simpleton, and you have no manners and you don't groom yourself and always wear wrinkled clothes and you gobble down your food like a savage and your vocabulary is pathetic-"

Harry slammed shut the Charms book he had been reading and glowered at him, snapping waspishly, "Right. So he couldn't be paying attention to me because of the way I am, and yet you want to know why he's glancing at me all the time, showing interest. So which one is it?"

"I just want to know what's going on!" hissed out Tom furiously, leaning forward to have his face inches away from Harry's, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

At the end of his rope, Harry shot to feet and hurled his book at his brother's head, as he yelled with anger and exasperation, "Nothing is going on!"

And he marched off from their dormitory, bristling and seething.

The next morning, he had realized just how mistaken he was.

A hand shaking his shoulder had waked him up, making him mumble words of complain and groggily open his eyes.

"What on earth?" grumbled Harry sleepy as he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on, peering at the figure standing by his bed.

There, was Abraxas Malfoy, apparently having cancelled the charms Harry always cast on his bed's curtains, clearly to intrude upon his sleep.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" spat Harry, frowning when he glanced around and saw the darkness in the room. "What time is it?"

"Six in the morning," drawled Abraxas impassively in his lilting voice.

"What?" choked out Harry scandalized, before he groaned loudly and snapped with much anger, "Why the hell did you wake me up? Bugger off, Malfoy, and let me sleep!"

He plopped back to bed and rolled to a side, giving the boy his back as he darkly grumbled under his breath.

He heard Abraxas tsking chidingly, and suddenly, his body was tingling as if a thousand ants were crawling all over him.

Yelping, Harry shot up from his bed, bewildered, and then caught sight of Abraxas smirking down at him with satisfaction. Harry's green eyes narrowed with fury.

"Cancel the hex you cast on me!" he bellowed, as his skin kept unpleasantly twitching, making him shiver in disgust.

Abraxas arched an eyebrow at him, his smirk widening. "I will if you behave. Do you not remember our agreement?"

"Fine, I'll be civil to you!" spat Harry impatiently. "Now take it off!"

"I think not," drawled Abraxas pleasantly, shooting him a mocking look. "Your tone is not very nice, is it?"

Harry gritted his teeth, and then leaped to a side and took his wand from the nightstand, in a flash pointing it under Abraxas's chin, poking at him hard, as he growled, "Take. it. off."

"My, my, not a morning person, are we?" intoned Abraxas, yet he flicked his wand at him and Harry suddenly felt deep relief as his skin stopped itching.

The boy then proceeded to causally sit down on Harry's bed, in a fluid, poised, elegant motion, to then gaze at him with his silvery eyes.

Harry could merely gape at him, dumbstruck.

"I received this last night," said Abraxas placidly, taking out a scroll from the pocket of his tunic-like nightgown. "I have not told anyone yet. I decided you should be the first to know."

"Know what?" said Harry nonplussed, starting to think that he was perhaps in a dream, given Malfoy's bizarre behavior.

Abraxas held up the scroll, as he drawled loftily, "This is my marital contract. My grandfather finally concluded negotiations yesterday. I am officially betrothed."

He arched a pale eyebrow when Harry remained mute, blinking at him. "Congratulate me, Riddle, it is what a civilized, well-mannered wizard would do in such occasion."

Harry shot him an incredulous look at that. Malfoy himself didn't seem too thrilled with the event. Indeed, the boy's expression was closed off and a tad rigid.

He shook his head, casting the boy another disbelieving glance as he bit out, "Have you gone bonkers, Malfoy! You've woken me up at six in the bloody morning to tell _me _that you're engaged? And I care because?"

"My fiancée is Kasimira Von Krauss, Riddle," said Abraxas slowly, as if wanting to give Harry time for the fact to sink in, as if it should mean something devastating for him.

"Who?" Harry frowned, the surname vaguely ringing a distant bell.

Abraxas' pale eyebrows quirked upwards as he stared at him. "Surely you are not serious. Kasimira Von Krauss - the daughter of Konrad Von Krauss, the Dark Lord's right hand man."

"Oh. Right, if you say so." Harry then stared at him, utterly confused. "That's all very well for you, I suppose. But why are you telling me?" His green eyes narrowed as he snapped impatiently, "What the hell do you really want?"

Abraxas let out a suffering sigh, before he fluidly rose to his feet. He pointedly waved the scroll in the air, as he widely smirked at him and drawled smugly, "For you, this means we shall be seeing much of each other in the future. After all, I am expected to spend some holidays with my fiancée and her father in Germany."

And with that, the boy sauntered back to his bed.

"What! What's that supposed to mean?" yelled Harry after him, perching from the side of his bed to stare at the boy's back, feeling thoroughly perplexed.

Malfoy didn't reply and Harry had the inkling that they boy couldn't hear him. One of the spells he always cast around his bed was a Silencing Charm, and given that none of their roommates had woken up with Harry's bellows, it was clear that Malfoy hadn't cancelled that particular charm.

He certainly hadn't told Tom about that interaction with Malfoy, but he did to Alphard. And it was precisely on that subject that his friend was currently questioning him.

"I haven't the foggiest what Malfoy's up to," replied Harry with exasperation, before he huffed, vastly miffed. "As far as I'm concerned he can just sod off and get himself lost in a forest. He just seems to like to-"

"Play with you," said Alphard, finishing the sentence for him and frowning.

"Yeah, I suppose," bit out Harry, peeved.

Alphard shot him a careful glance, his expression turning pensive. "But Abraxas wouldn't be yanking you around if he had no purpose behind it. He isn't the type."

Harry released a weary exhalation of breath. "Well, I know he came back from Winter Holidays knowing something – something his nasty old grandfather must have told him, because he keeps shooting me these pointed, knowing looks…"

"Something about what?" prompted Alphard, glancing at him with befuddlement and much curiosity.

Harry had some suspicions that it was all related to Grindelwald, but of course he couldn't tell Alphard that. He had never told his friend about the meeting he had witnessed in Grimmauld Place, when he had been in Phineas Nigellus' portrait – Alphard's very own ancestor in the boy's family's very own townhouse, at that. No, he had no intention to ever tell his friend about those things or about Grindelwald's letter and books.

"Don't know," mumbled Harry, shrugging, just as he was about to step onto a landing.

To his misfortune, the moving staircase suddenly shifted before they had the chance to get off, and Harry grumbled darkly under his breath, glaring up at the castle.

Hogwarts was clearly in one of her mischievous moods once more, and she always seemed to enjoy pulling those stunts particularly on him, if the behavior of the magic covering her walls was anything to go by - just then, the magic he could see with his ability was vibrating and pulsing as if she was having a jolly good laugh at his expense.

Vexed, Harry shot the Castle glowers in every direction, whilst he waited for her to decide to which floor she was going to move her staircase to.

They finally landed on the fourth floor and Harry was quick to get off the stairway before Hogwarts could change her mind. They were now forced to take a roundabout route to make their way to the seventh floor.

However, before they had the chance, Ulysses startled them by suddenly hopping off Harry's head and rushing forth along a corridor, sniffing at full speed. The boys ran after the Scorcrup, Alphard excited and Harry glancing around with curiosity.

He had never been in the fourth floor before, since he didn't have any of his classes there. Furthermore, he was utterly flummoxed when they followed Ulysses until they came upon an enormous mirror hanging on a wall in the middle of the corridor.

"Is there something behind?" Alphard asked bemused, as he stared at the little Scorcrup that had begun to spit hisses at the huge mirror whilst scratching its ornate frame with his claws.

Meanwhile, Harry was staring at the mirror with a dumbstruck expression on his face, gaping, before he clutched Alphard's forearm and breathed out slowly, "Al, it's covered with Salazar Slytherin's magic."

Alphard snapped his head around so fast that there was a cracking sound, and he gazed at Harry with eyes filled with awe and fascination. "What are you seeing?"

"A net of silver and green magic," mumbled Harry, without being able to peel his entranced gaze away from the mirror, "covering it. Just like the magic I always see on the wall that leads to our common room."

Alphard's grey eyes grew as wide as moons, as he whispered excitedly, nearly bouncing up and down on his toes, "Do you think this could be the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Maybe," said Harry uncertainly, as he ripped his gaze away to glance at the frame of the mirror. He frowned, as he murmured, "But there are no snakes there."

Alphard snorted and rolled his eyes. "Your brother was wrong, then. It seems Salazar didn't use something so obvious as the figure of a snake to mark the entrance, doesn't it?"

"There's something written up there, though," whispered Harry, craning his neck to gaze up at the top of the mirror. There were incomprehensible words inscribed on the upper frame, and he frowned as he took several steps forward to be in front of the mirror and take a closer look.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eyes and he brought his head back down to stare forward. There was a very clear reflection of himself on the mirror, but he didn't have strings of vegetables dangling from his neck and wrists, or a hand mirror tucked under his belt, or his face covered with bat dung.

It was him, yes, but he was happily grinning, with Tom at his side. His brother had an arrogant smirk on his face and his dark blue eyes were gleaming with giddy gleefulness and excitement, as they were when practicing Dark Curses from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks when they were in Slytherin House's secret Dueling Arena.

Tom had an arm over Harry's shoulders, pressing them together, the gesture looking protective and affectionate. That wasn't the strange part, though, but the others in the reflection.

Alice and Robert Hutchins were there, holding each other's hands, standing right behind Harry and Tom, gazing down at them with wide, loving smiles on their faces.

The mysterious, breathtakingly beautiful woman of his dreams was also there, beside Harry, her delicate features looking content and proud, a shadow of a smile slightly tilting up one corner of her lips.

And at the back, along with Alice and Hutchins, there were two more that Harry instantly recognized.

One was Julian Erlichmann, but not looking stoic or haunted as he had looked in the picture of the Daily Prophet when the young man had been standing next to the Dark Lord while the Czechoslovakian Minister of Magic was on his knees breaking his wand in half. In the mirror, Julian looked joyful and carefree, and he had a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it gently as he winked at him and laughed happily.

The other figure was Santi, just how the man had looked like when he had comforted Harry on the bridge, shimmering in golden light, his handsome face wearing a soft expression, his milky eyes filled with yearning as he gazed at Harry and tenderly and possessively carded his fingers through Harry's disorderly mop of hair.

There they were, all looking blissfully happy, and it felt so right that Harry kept staring with a wide smile and a mesmerized expression on his face.

All those disconnected people together, surrounding him, yet… something nagged at the back of his mind. Yes, they were people that didn't know each other in some cases: Alice and Hutchins had never met Santi or Julian, Tom didn't know about Santi, and Harry himself had never met Julian in person, whilst the woman of his dreams who always sang Alice's lullaby to him and filled him with love was still a mystery.

For a moment, he felt utterly bewildered, but he beamed a grin in the next second, chuckling as he touched his own shoulder, his reflection doing the same, coming in contact with his brother's arm and Julian's hand. He could almost feel Santi's fingers caressing his hair too, like had happened on the bridge.

"Oh, it's you and me!" suddenly exclaimed Alphard joyfully. "Are you seeing it? Do you think it shows the future?"

His friend's words took a moment to sink in through the misty happiness filling Harry's mind and he snapped his head around to stare at the boy. "What?"

Alphard was gazing at the mirror, beaming and chortling. "Ah, good pass!"

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, blinking at the boy, disconcerted.

"You just passed me the Quaffle in an spectacular move!" said Alphard, his light grey eyes still fixed on the mirror, looking entranced and marveled. "Aren't you seeing it? We're playing Quidditch, just the two of us, and my parents are there watching! They are smiling and clapping and cheering us on. It must show the future! It must mean that some day I'll tell them about you and they'll accept our friendship instead of disowning me!"

Realizing what the boy was saying and seeing his friend's enthralled expression, Harry was gripped by such a sudden surge of trepidation and misgivings that he instantly jerked Alphard away from the mirror, as he rushed out worriedly, "No, I don't think it shows the future, Al."

Alphard blinked at him in confusion. "Why not? Didn't you see it?" At Harry's alarmed and troubled look, the boy frowned. "What's the matter?"

Harry didn't reply as he shot the mirror a wary and apprehensive look. Thankfully, they were not close enough for its surface to show anything.

He frowned as he caught sight of Ulysses. Unlike the two of them, the little Scorcrup wasn't stupidly staring into the mirror but apparently had kept scratching its frame, persistently.

"Ulysses senses there's something behind," pointed out Harry.

At that, the little Scorcrup turned around to bob his head up and down as he let out a meow of affirmation.

"Right. Let me try then," muttered Harry, whipping out his wand and swiftly casting, "Dissendium!"

It was one of the several charms he had found in books in the library, commonly used precisely to reveal secret passages that were being kept hidden by statues, portraits, and the like.

He had already tested it on the statue of the one-eyed witch and it had worked. Though if he ever needed to use the tunnel to Honeyduke's cellar, he would still prefer to push down her hump, which he always saw covered in Godric Gryffindor's red and golden magic.

However, nothing happened in this case.

"Of course!" Harry breathed out in the next second, as he glanced back at the mirror from a distance. "It still has Salazar Slytherin's magic covering it. I see it again now… So what should work is…"

He trailed off as he closed his eyes tightly, imaging Nagini in his mind as clearly and with as many details as possible. He managed it in an instant, since he had frequently resorted to that ever since they had begun looking together for the Chamber of Secrets and he had to go around hissing at anything Ulysses and Alphard found in rooms and thought suspicious.

Keeping his eyes shut, imagining he was speaking to Nagini, he hissed, "_Open!_"

He heard Alphard gasping and he immediately snapped his eyes wide, grinning triumphantly when he saw that the mirror had moved. It had shifted as if it was a door, parting open a few inches from the wall. There was some sort of huge hole behind it, but it was too dark inside to see anything.

"It IS the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" gushed out Alphard, his eyes big and filled with thrilled excitement. He grabbed Harry's arm and jumped up and down. "We did it! We found it!"

The boy suddenly clamped his mouth shut and paled a mite, as he locked gazes with Harry and swallowed thickly. "Then we should get ready."

They nodded at each other in mutual, instant agreement, and as if one, they checked they had everything in place -the bat dung smeared on their faces, their vegetables and lemons hanging from their necks and wrists, the pouch containing poppy seeds tied around their belts, and the tiny glass vials with Phoenix tears in their pockets- and they finally pulled their hand mirrors from under their belts.

It was when Harry was wielding the small mirror in his left hand that he caught sight of something as he approached the enormous one covered in green and silver magic.

The incomprehensible words that were inscribed in the upper frame of the large mirror - 'erised s'traeh ruoy tub ecaf ruoy ton wohs I'- were reflected in Harry's hand mirror, and he could understand them now that he saw them backwards.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," he read out loud, nonplussed.

"That's what it says there?" said Alphard, peering into Harry's hand mirror. He chuckled merrily. "It makes sense. That's why I saw us playing Quidditch together, with my parents watching and cheering! That's certainly something I want…" He blinked and his shoulders slumped. "Oh, but then it means that it wasn't really showing the future."

The boy looked deeply dejected and disappointed before he shot Harry a curious glance as he piped, "But you didn't see what I did, did you? What did you see, then?"

Harry was still too baffled to answer him. The mirror had supposedly showed him his 'heart's desire'? If so, he could understand why he had seen Alice and Hutchins with him, and Tom, looking as he always did, with an arrogant smirk and eyes gleaming with gleeful viciousness, only just with an arm around Harry's shoulders.

He could even comprehend the reason for the mysterious woman's presence in the image, since in his dreams he always felt love for her. But Santi and Julian Erlichmann? He 'desired' them?

Harry didn't even know them, even if he constantly thought of and worried about Julian, and even if he had begun to like Santi a bit after the way the man had comforted him on the bridge. Yet, he didn't 'love' them as he loved Alice, Hutchins, and his brother.

Moreover, the mirror had showed him Santi and Julian wholly focused on him: Julian looking happy, winking and smiling at him, with a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, as if they were very close, friends or something of the sort; and Santi caressingly trailing his fingers through Harry's hair, with that weird longing look in his strange milky eyes – like they had been on the bridge and also when he had woken Harry up from his dreams to tell him about Morgon Gaunt. So… he 'desired' all that?

Harry felt stupefied, and suddenly, very awkward and discomfited due to the puzzling thoughts swirling in his mind.

He vehemently shook his head, getting rid of such notions, and went back to concentrate on the task at hand.

"It didn't show me anything important," he stated shortly as he waved a hand dismissively. He gave his friend a quizzical look. "Are you ready?"

Alphard hesitated for a second before he nodded and beamed at him. "Sure! Let's plunge in!"

Noticing the pause, Harry eyed him closely. His expression softened as he intoned gently and understandingly, "Al, if you're afraid, you don't need to come with me. I can manage on my own-"

"Well, I am a bit afraid, of course. Who knows which of the creatures is in there," interrupted Alphard in a hushed whisper, tilting to a side to take a peek into the darkness behind the mirror. He stepped back into place to shoot Harry a firm look. "But I promised I would help you find the Chamber of Secrets and I'm not about to abandon you when you'll need my help the most! And we're as prepared as we can be." He puffed his chest out. "I am ready."

"If you're sure…" murmured Harry quietly, a bit uneasy for his friend but not wanting to insult him either by implying that perhaps it was best for the boy to remain behind.

"I am," said Alphard decisively.

Harry nodded and gave him a small grin, before he checked again that everything was in place. He saw Alphard doing the same, touching his face to confirm that the bat dung was still there, looking only a mite nervous.

Even Ulysses made his own preparations. The little Scorcrup used a paw to roll down his bandit's mask over his muzzle and then climbed up Harry's leg, to jump on his shoulder and finally land on top of Harry's head, hissing as he transformed his tail into a scorpion's.

Harry finally yanked the mirror of desires fully away from the wall and they all stepped into the hole.

"_Close!"_ he hissed, and he watched as the back of the mirror settled back into place, plunging them into absolute darkness.

"Lumos!" whispered Alphard.

The moment the tip of the boy's wand lit up, they realized they weren't in a hole but some sort of huge, round tunnel made of metal.

"What is this?" said Alphard bemusedly, glancing around.

"I think…" Harry frowned. "Um… I think it's a pipe, actually."

"A pipe!" Alphard's grey eyes went as wide as saucers. "But it's humungous! And that can only mean that-"

"That the creature is big," murmured Harry pensively, as he nodded. "A Leviathan or Basilisk, I reckon."

"Oh this is so not good," whispered Alphard shakily, paling dramatically. "Those two are the worst out of all of them! One as big as a manor and with seven heads, the other with a gaze that kills!" He frantically patted his face and brought up his left hand brandishing the small mirror. "Dung for one and mirror for the other, remember!"

"I will," Harry said, smiling at him soothingly. "Let's get going."

And they did, just to find, when they walked down the pipe for a few feet, that there were torch holders embedded on the metallic walls of the pipe. The holders were silver, decorated with small serpent figures, many still carrying torches that didn't seem to have been used in ages, all blackened, grimy, and dusty.

"This _is_ the way to the Chamber of Secrets!" said Harry excitedly as he pointed at one of the ornamental snakes. "Tom wasn't that mistaken after all!"

"I suppose," muttered Alphard grudgingly, before he eyed the torches quizzically. "Let me try something."

The boy cast a spell that immediately made the lined up torches lit up, all the way into the distance.

"You have to teach me that spell!" said Harry marveled.

"Certainly," said Alphard, looking quite proud of himself.

They were all tense and alert as they followed the torches into the depths of the pipe: Harry and Alphard with their fingers tightly clutching their wands and with mirrors held upwards, Ulysses with his scorpion's tail poised for attack.

However, their journey down the pipe proved to be utterly uneventful. The walked for over an hour and saw nothing at all except more torches, until they finally reached the end.

Harry stared, blinking, at the block in their path. It was a gigantic boulder, which looked as if it had been jammed into the end of the pipe. He hadn't expected that.

"Erm… _Open?_" he hissed uncertainly.

Thankfully, it did the trick. The boulder rippled and changed into rocks that crumbled to the ground, the noise loud and nearly deafening. The clouds of dust nearly choked them and made them cough repeatedly whilst little Ulysses sneezed.

When the dust had settled down, they finally stepped through the wide opening, careful of not tripping over rocks and pebbles to not make any noise, and with mirrors and wands in hand.

As soon as they went through, Harry saw for a moment how the rocks morphed back to form a boulder that began to cover the end of the pipe. The light of the torches vanished and they were suddenly enveloped in pitch-black darkness.

"Lumos!" whispered Harry warily, straining his ears in case the creature was lurking around wherever they were.

When the light of his wand bathed their surroundings, they realized they had stepped into some sort of-

"It's a cave?" whispered Alphard sounding extremely disappointed. "The Chamber of Secrets is just a cave?"

Harry glanced around, blinking. He had certainly expected something else – something more magnificent and awe-inspiring, for sure. However, it did indeed look like a common cave, just very vast.

Feeling a frisson of apprehension, he briefly closed his eyes and quickly envisioned Nagini in his mind, to then hiss loudly, "_Um, we are two boys and a Scorcrup and we… er… come in peace! Don't attack!"_

And with that, he opened his eyes and glanced around, his fingers tightly clutching his wand and dearly hoping Tom had been right and that Salazar Slytherin had indeed chosen a creature that could understand Parseltongue.

"What did you say?" whispered Alphard, eyeing his surroundings anxiously as if expecting the creature to pounce on them at any given moment.

Harry told him and his friend eyed him with utter disbelief before he broke into peals of laughter.

"We - come in - peace?" choked out Alphard in between guffaws so loud that it made dust and dirt fall down on them from the top of the cave.

"What's wrong with that?" demanded Harry, scowling at his chortling and snickering friend. He huffed, thoroughly annoyed, as he gritted out between clenched teeth, "I didn't prepare a speech for the monster! If you were expecting some hoity-toity, snooty grand speech then we should have brought Tom along and he could've delivered! That's right up his alley, not mine!"

That shut up Alphard instantly, the boy squaring his shoulders as he said indignantly, "I didn't mean it that way. I rather be with you than your twin. I don't want Tom to tag along. Looking for the Chamber of Secrets is our adventure, not his, right?"

"Exactly," said Harry firmly, his vexation vanishing instantly as he gave him a pleased grin.

"Good." Alphard nodded, looking mollified and relieved, and as he then began to walk around the cave, sticking close to Harry, both alert and on guard.

It was then that Harry caught sight of stalagmites sticking up from the ground and stalactites hanging from the cavernous, rocky ceiling. But the long ones, he realized, were only those at the sides. Those in the middle of the cave were just stumps, as if something had broken them in half.

He took a closer look at one of the stumps on the ground that had something sticking on it. As he inspected it, he saw that it was a flimsy, very thin layer of something yellowish and nearly transparent, looking a bit rigid and very wrinkled.

With much curiosity, Harry poked it with a finger. At his touch, it crumbled and fell to the ground as it turned to dust.

Harry shot Alphard a bewildered glance as he whispered urgently, "That was skin, I think. Which one sheds its skin, the Leviathan or the Basilisk?"

"Both," replied Alphard, his grey eyes wide as he nervously glanced around, gripping his wand tighter. "This is not the Chamber but the creature's lair, then?"

"Maybe," said Harry frowning, as he glanced once more at the stalagmites that were mere stumps on the ground. "Or just some cave the creature passed through, very long ago by the look of things. The skin turned to dust the moment I touched it – it must've been ancient. And I don't see any bones around, and there would be left over bones in its lair from whatever the creature eats, right?"

"True," murmured Alphard, looking mightily reassured that they couldn't be, in fact, in the monster's den.

They soon decided they couldn't leave without finding out more and began to fully explore the cave.

It took them hours, since the cave was huge, filled with twists, nooks, and paths that led to other caves; such a maze of them that they ended up being irredeemably lost, exhausted, beyond sleepy, and with their tummies grumbling with hunger. Not even Ulysses managed to sniff his way into finding again the boulder that hid the pipe. All boulders looked alike and apparently smelled the same.

And for once, Harry dearly regretted that his Magic-Sight ability wasn't stronger, because if it were, he could have perhaps seen the magic of the boulder and thus found it again in order to return to Hogwarts through the pipe.

Alas, their situation became so dire, as they frantically tried to find a way out of the caves, that Harry whooped with joy when Alphard suddenly cried out frenziedly, "Light! I see light coming from over there!"

They desperately rushed towards the source, the light getting bigger and bigger and blinding them as they approached it. And suddenly, they were careening out into open air, panting for breath, worn out and drained from all energy, and with their sides aching.

"Sunlight!" breathed out Alphard ecstatic, as if the feeling of rays of sun on his dung-smeared face was the most glorious sensation he had ever felt.

Though, after long hours amidst the darkness and dampness of the caves, with only the Lumos of their wands to give them some light, Harry did feel quite content to see the sun as well.

Then he glanced again at it, as he murmured, dismayed, "It's dawning. We spent the whole night! And where the bloody hell are we?"

They both looked around, utterly bewildered. They were on a hill, filled with wide openings - cave entrances pilled together, one on top of the other and at all sides, indicating that they had indeed been in a system of caves.

Far away, in the distance, Harry suddenly spotted Hogwarts, looking tiny, yet to his eyes beautifully glowing with the colorful magic of its wards.

"Hogsmeade!" abruptly gasped out Alphard.

Harry swiveled around to gaze into the direction his friend was pointing a finger at. He blinked. The town was below them, just some short distance away. He could clearly see all the thatched houses and quaint cottages, with its main street already showing signs of early morning activity.

"Well," said Harry vastly relieved, "we know where we are, at least." He frowned the next second, shooting Alphard a bemused glance. "But that cave couldn't have been the Chamber of Secrets or the creature's lair. There was nothing in it." He shook his head as he added in a musing mutter, "We must've overlooked something. Maybe it was one of those torch holders… they had decorative figures of snakes, after all… we should try pushing one of them or I could speak Parseltongue to them and see if they reveal-"

"There were hundreds of torch holders!" interjected Alphard, looking deeply alarmed. "You want to go back to the caves and find again the pipe to check every single holder?"

"Not today!" said Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards. "We're dead on our feet – we need some sleep!"

"Thank Mordred," faintly whispered Alphard to himself, rubbing a hand over his sweaty forehead, and then scrunching his nose with disgust when he just managed to get his fingers icky with bat dung. "And we urgently need to take a bath too." He shot Harry a desperate look, his expression piteous. "How are we going to get back?"

Harry grimaced as he glanced at Hogwarts, looking so far away and small. He let out a deep, weary sigh as he patted Alphard on the shoulder. "The only way we can, Al. We already tried to find the pipe and failed. We'll have to walk back and hope that no one will see us entering the Castle." He brightened and glanced up through his fringe of disorderly hair to the creature tiredly curled up on the top of his head. "You will help us with that, right?"

He caught Ulysses mid-yawn, though the little Scorcrup reassuringly patted his forehead with a paw in response.

Harry grinned at Alphard. "See? Ulysses will be on guard and he'll let us know if he hears any teachers strolling about the castle when we slip inside. And I doubt there will be any, not at this ungodly hour."

And so, they began their arduous trek back to Hogwarts. Thankfully, it had been Friday when they had initiated their expedition, which meant they had the entirety of that Saturday to drop dead from exhaustion on their beds - which they certainly did, not even waking up to have meals.

However, in the two weeks left of school, Harry would have very little rest and the summer holidays he was looking forward to with much excitement and expectations would prove to be daunting, unnerving, and deeply disheartening.


	33. Part I: Chapter 32

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Hi everyone, here's the long due chapter!

I just want to let you know that I have already started to post this fic in **Archive of Your Own** (AO3) as well as in **adultfanfiction**. In both sites, my author's name is the same as in here, FirePhoenix8, so you'll be able to easily find me there.

I hope you enjoy this long chappie and let me know what you think!

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**Part I: Chapter 32**

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"I don't get it," said Harry bemusedly as he took another glance at Felicity's Daily Prophet. "What are Dumbledore and McLaggen arguing about now?"

It was Sunday morning, the last day of school, and the Prewett twins and him were in an empty classroom. He had finally managed to get together with them, out of sight from their respective housemates. It hadn't been easy, but through a series of exchange of letters by owl they had all agreed on where to meet without rising suspicion from their Houses.

Earlier in the morning, during breakfast, the students had received their Daily Prophets and Harry had been confused when he had read the front page's article of Tom's newspaper.

Felicity huffed as she took her Daily Prophet and unceremoniously stuck it inside her school bag as if it was a dirty, smelly sock that was offensive to her sight. "Of course you don't understand. They don't really explain what is truly happening – they still write as if the Minister of Magic believed and supported Dumbledore's claims from the start!"

"No need to throw a hissy fit, sis," said Felix rolling his mismatched eyes.

"Of course I do!" snapped Felicity incensed, her ginger curls bobbing up and down as she swirled her head around to glower at her twin. "The gall of it! If it wasn't for Father's letters we ourselves wouldn't even know what's going on!"

"Er, right, so what _is_ going on?" pressed Harry with curiosity.

"Just another quarrel between Dumbledore and Minister McLaggen," replied Felix, letting out a tired sigh as he dismissively flipped a hand.

"About what, exactly?" said Harry insistently, though he eyed them warily in case it had anything to do with the Dark Lord. Talking about Grindelwald was a very touchy subject, and he took special care of never mentioning the Inferi or asking about it. What had happened to their Aunt Nettie was something the Prewett twins had never again broached.

"I'll tell you about what," bit out Felicity, her beautiful features darkening with anger. "McLaggen thinks recruiting more Aurors is enough. All he's done to prepare for war is lower the NEWT requirements for those who want to become Aurors, to make the Ministry test to become an Auror easier to pass, and to shorten the years of training."

She scowled as if Charlemagne McLaggen was standing right there and she could harshly impress upon him her dissatisfaction through her glare, as she added crisply, "But Dumbledore has been trying to convince the Winzengamot that other measures are necessary." She leaned forward toward Harry, as she whispered secretively, "Dumbledore insists that the Ministry's Unspeakables should be working on creating new wards that could protect wizarding houses, towns, and areas like Diagon Alley, from muggle weaponry. He thinks Grindelwald might use muggle warfare inventions against us and he wants wizarding communities to be protected against such things."

Felix nodded with a wizened air about him. "Yeah, from those pomp things that muggles throw from the skies."

Harry stared at the boy in befuddlement for a second, before his face cleared with sudden understanding. "Oh, you mean bombs?"

"Exactly!" piped in Felicity, though her expression turned worried and concerned the next instant, as she pinned Harry with her mismatched eyes and added quietly, "Rumors say that those thingies destroy whole buildings and kill everyone around. Is it true?"

"Well, yes," muttered Harry, blinking at her. "I've never seen it happening myself, but I know a man who fought in the muggles' Great War and he always said that bombs flattened everything in the area they were dropped in." He frowned at her, nonplussed. "But Diagon Alley has wards, doesn't it? And Hogwarts and wizards' houses-"

"Not against new muggle things!" interjected Felicity quickly, her hands fretfully twitching on her lap. "Wizards don't know how muggle weapons work, and we've never been in a situation like this one, where new muggle weapons could be used against us in a war that's going on in the Muggle and Wizarding World at the same time!"

"True," said Felix, bobbing his head up and down. "According to Father, after what happened to Czechoslovakia, all the Ministries of Magic left in Europe are scrambling to get their hands on magical artifacts that can be used as weapons, against Grindelwald's muggle and wizarding forces alike."

"That's the problem," pointed out Felicity, her expression vexed. "McLaggen refuses to make his Unspeakable work on creating a new type of ward that could work against muggle weaponry because he says that they should focus on offensive measures and not defensive ones." She leaned forward to add in a rushed out whisper, "Father says that they are trying to figure out how to use the magical artifacts they have in the Department of Mysteries as weapons. And, apparently, McLaggen even paid a visit to Gringotts, trying to convince the Goblins to lend the Ministry the magical treasures and artifacts they've been stealing and hoarding since the dawn of times."

Harry brightened at that, a sudden surge of hope rising in him. "Did the Goblins agree?"

"No, of course!" snorted out Felix, rolling his eyes. "They're like dragons when it comes to their stuff. And I dare say that they couldn't care less about what happens to wizards." He shot Harry a pointed look. "They've never liked our kind, you know? They are happy enough to serve us by keeping our galleons in their vaults but that's just because they earn hefty profits from it, nothing more."

"Very true," said Felicity in small, sad voice. "If we had treated them better in the past, we wouldn't be having these problems now. They would probably be our allies instead of standing by the sidelines gleefully waiting for our downfall."

Felix loudly scoffed, before he griped acerbically, "Even if we had been all lovey-dovey with them, Goblins would have never helped us, Lissy. They care about nothing but their treasures."

"Maybe," retorted Felicity, her voice firm and strong as she shook her head. "Still, I think it's utter folly that McLaggen is once more disregarding Dumbledore's suggestions. If Dumbledore thinks wards are important then the Minister should be focusing on that!"

"Dumbledore is not a Seer, sister," pointed out Felix, looking exasperated and annoyed beyond measure, clearly having had that very same discussion with his twin many times before. "He doesn't have to be right about every little thing! Even if you think that the sun sets at his say-so and that he farts rainbows!"

"I beg your pardon!"

As the twins unsurprisingly engaged in a round of heated bickering, Harry was left bemusedly pondering about the whole matter, a frisson of apprehension ominously coiling in his stomach.

It didn't help matters that he had one more thing left to do before the End of Year Feast in the Great Hall.

Indeed, an hour and a half later he was standing in the middle of an empty classroom in the dungeons, uneasily shifting from one foot to the other as Tom used a ladle to pour a potion into a flask - the very same potion his brother had been brewing and letting stew for the last six months, keeping his end of the bargain in exchange for Harry learning German in three years.

Alphard was there, as a friend and to lent moral support, Harry surmised, and Dorea too, since the girl had sternly ordered him to fetch her when he would be taking the eyesight-correcting potion.

"It seems to be of the proper color and consistency," declared Dorea approvingly as she took the flask from Tom's hand and brought it up to her face to inspect it closely.

"Of course it is," drawled Tom arrogantly, shooting her a scathing look, "I was the one who brewed it."

Harry, for his part, was eyeing the cauldron from where the potion had come from with apprehension and revulsion. There was still some left there, and it was bubbling and churning, looking like vomit and giving off an awful stench.

"Here you go, Riddle," said Dorea, holding up the flask to Harry. "Bottoms up!"

Harry grudgingly took it, his nose scrunching in disgust as he caught a horrible whiff coming from the vial. He glanced at the girl as he said in a small, piteous voice, "Do I have to drink it all?"

"Yes, you do," replied Dorea curtly, casting him an impatient look.

"Are you sure about this?" suddenly whispered Alphard to him, standing close so that they couldn't be overheard by the other two. He eyed Harry anxiously as he added in a hasty murmur, "You know that the potion's rate of success isn't that good-"

"Hush!" whispered Harry in alarm, covertly glancing at Tom and Dorea who were several feet away. "Tom doesn't know about that – it wasn't in the book." He then shot his friend a pointed look. "And you know that if I don't take it Dorea won't let me try for the Team next year."

Alphard's shoulders slumped at that and the boy remained quiet, merely giving him a brief nod of the head.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" snapped Dorea, scowling at Harry, with hands on her waist as she tapped a foot on the floor.

Harry released a heavy sigh before he pinched his nose with one hand, tilted the tip of the vial into his mouth with the other, and scrunched his eyes shut. The potion tasted as horribly as it looked and smelled, slimy clumps of who-knew-what thickly rolling down his throat as he gulped.

Abruptly, his grasp went limp, making the flask fall and smash against the stone floors, loudly breaking into shards of glass, as he was suddenly encompassed by burning waves that lashed throughout his body. Everything seemed to sizzle and spasm in unbearable scorching pain.

He heard Alphard crying out in dismay, sounding as if it came from a faraway distance, and he found himself bending in half, heaving and choking, his hands attempting to grip his throat and face which seemed to be throbbing and pulsing.

"Don't rub your eyes!" Dorea's voice yelled, as Harry felt delicate hands clutching his wrists, preventing any further movement. "Touching your eyes now is what could make you blind, boy!"

Harry hadn't even realized that he had been attempting to scratch his eyes out – his eyeballs felt as if they were blistering and melting, everything felt so hot.

"What?" Tom's voice snapped furiously. " 'Obscure Brews to Correct the Senses' didn't say anything about the drinker going blind!"

"Of course it didn't, Riddle," said Dorea with vexation, her hands releasing Harry's wrists, the girl apparently turning around to deal with his brother. "That book was written for Potions Masters. The author assumed the reader would implicitly know about the risks inherent in every brew-"

"If I have to take care of a blind brother for life I'll make you rue the day you were born, Black! I'll make you suffer worlds of pain-"

"I would like to see you try, Riddle!" said Dorea's voice sneeringly.

"Shut up you two, you're not helping matters!" abruptly roared Alphard at the top of his lungs, sounding both angered and frantic, as he grasped Harry's shoulders and gave him soothing pats. "Hang on there, it will be over soon. Right, aunt? Right?"

"Get out of the way!" bit out Tom's voice and, suddenly, a pair of hands were tilting up Harry's face, carefully and gently, as Tom's voice lowered as he added in a quiet murmur, "Keep your eyes closed and don't touch your face. Everything will be fine, I promise, brother."

"It hurts," whispered Harry in a small voice, making considerable efforts to obey the instructions, his hands twitching at his sides with the need to bring them up and rub away the incessant stabbing prickles that were painfully piercing his closed eyes.

"I'm sure it does," said Tom, sounding angered and annoyed but also clearly staving off his temper to remain calm for his sake, before his voice became as hard as stones as he added darkly, "Don't worry, if you go blind I'll make her pay. And I'll also find a way to cure you, you have my word."

Vastly comforted by that, since he knew that once his brother made up his mind he was capable of attaining anything, Harry did his best to remain still and collected instead of allowing himself to be gripped by frenzied worry.

"When will he know if it has worked?" demanded Tom's voice harshly.

"As soon as it stops hurting," replied Dorea stiffly. "When that happens, he can open his eyes again. Then, we'll know."

"You better pray to whatever you believe in that it works, Black," spat out Tom's voice, the tone very low and menacing. "If I'm saddled with a disabled twin-"

As Tom kept venting his spleen and the two of them traded threats, sneers and scathing remarks, Harry suddenly felt it happening: just as abruptly as the pain had come, it left as swiftly.

When he slowly and very carefully opened his eyes, he was encountered with the sight of Alphard's face. While Tom and Dorea were still railing at each other, his friend was standing right in front of him, his concerned expression brightening and turning vastly relieved when their gazes locked together.

"Your eyes are green," whispered Alphard, letting out a long, deep exhalation of breath. "They aren't milky – they don't look blind. How is your sight?"

Harry blinked and then stared at the boy's face. It was filled with details he had never seen before: some tiny freckles on the bridge of the boy's nose, small lines around the corners of the lips as they quirked upwards into a wide grin, flecks of blue in Alphard's grey eyes and so forth.

Marveled by a clarity he had never experienced before, Harry glanced at his surroundings, feeling awe and a powerful surge of happiness.

"It worked!" he breathed out cheerfully. "I'm fine – I'm more than fine! It's fantastic!"

That alerted the other two and Tom and Dorea were soon crowding around him.

"See! I knew it would go well!" said Dorea dismissively, clearly downplaying the whole affair to then shoot Tom a reproving glare for his attitude.

Tom, for his part, was eyeing Harry closely with dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, apparently inspecting every inch of him.

"We were lucky," he stated in the next instant, murderously scowling at the girl before he turned to widely smirk at Harry, bringing a hand forward. "Well, at least I won't have to see you wearing your stupid, ugly glasses ever again. Give them to me."

At that, Harry plucked them out from the pocket he had stowed them away into for safekeeping, quickly taking a step back when his brother made a move to swipe them out of his hands, clearly with every intention of breaking them in half.

"I'm keeping them," said Harry hastily as he held them up to Dorea. "Can you, er… make the lenses be normal? I mean, you know, with no-"

"Oh, you want them to have no augmentation?" said Dorea, gazing at him quizzically before her expression cleared and turned triumphant. "Why, excellent idea, Riddle! You want to keep wearing them so that when you play Quidditch without your glasses the Gryffindor Team will think you're playing with bad eyesight. The misconception will give us a further advantage!"

As the girl quickly cast a spell on the eyeglasses, Harry stared at her with bemusement. He hadn't even thought about that. No, his reasons were other: firstly, he couldn't go back to the orphanage without his glasses, he had no way of explaining why he didn't need them anymore; secondly, he was used to and liked to feel the weight of them on his face; and foremost, they had been Alice's present to him, he would always treasure them due to that.

It was thus that he finally found himself in the Great Hall, at the End of Year Feast, wearing his modified glasses though now with a superb, sharp and unencumbered sight, with Tom seated by his side, not looking too content that Harry was still using his 'ludicrous, hideous, round glasses' that according to Tom made Harry look more stupid than he already was.

Even having the Great Hall all donned in Slytherin colors and banners didn't seem to have uplifted Tom's mood.

It hadn't been that much of a surprise when Headmaster Dippet had made his speech, making the final count of House points. The Gryffindors might have won the Quidditch Cup, but as expected, given the jeweled hourglasses hanging outside the Great Hall, Slytherin won the House Cup. And it was all due to Tom, every Slytherin knew that.

When the Headmaster announced it and changed the decoration of the Great Hall, even some of their housemates had nodded at Tom or shot him brief, curt approving glances.

Tom had loftily and arrogantly nodded back, since those points of advantage over the Ravenclaws were due to all the questions the boy answered with utter perfection during class or due to all the essays he had sold to Slytherins and the tutoring lessons he imparted at a price. Yet, after that, Tom had gone back to darkly scowl down at his bowl of soup.

Harry didn't think it was so much due to the eyeglasses-affair but to the fact that they would soon be back in the orphanage. His brother had certainly tried to slither out from having to return, but Harry had given him no quarter.

"I showed you the letter I received from Hutchins two weeks ago," Harry had said sternly. "His friends and Old John Bryce's have already given him a list of names – of all the Gaunts they've heard about who are living in Lancashire or Yorkshire. Hutchins says he has a whole list of names and addresses. We have to go back!"

Furthermore, Robert Hutchins had even made preparations for them. The man had insisted that the North was no place for two young boys to be traipsing about with no adult as guide and guardian.

According to the muggle, northern England was nothing like London: it was a land of 'mining towns, and mills and factories, with widespread poverty, and constant Union strikes that turn violent and dangerous since the police always break them up with the use of their batons, and even gunshots are fired when workers retaliate by throwing stones and wrecking factories or burning machinery. No, you boys cannot go without me.'

Apparently, the plan was that they would take a train to Liverpool, where a friend of Hutchins would be waiting for them. The man had generously offered his home for the three of them to stay and use as a base, allowing Hutchins the use of his motorwagon, so they could travel across the counties, towns and cities, paying visits to all those Gaunts, during a whole week.

Harry didn't know what excuse Hutchins had given Alice to explain why they would be gone from the orphanage for so long and with him, but in his letter, the man had assured him that everything was settled.

"Besides, you cannot stay," Harry had added to end the discussion. "No students are allowed to remain at Hogwarts during Summer Holidays."

"I heard that a Gryffindor did, last year," pointed out Tom, fiercely scowling at him.

"Oh, that was Minerva McGonagall," said Harry, flapping a hand dismissively. "The Prewett twins told me that was only because her mum was sick and Minerva's dad didn't want her to catch it. It seems it was some illness that is dangerous for children. So Headmaster Dippet let her stay because he's friends with Minerva's dad." He rolled his eyes. "It was a one-time thing."

"I see. It was a personal favor, then. It's all about connections and favoritisms and nepotism as always," grumbled Tom darkly, for the first time looking angered and annoyed at the very same things that he had always hailed and considered positive, useful human traits – 'corruption is what oils the world's cogs and makes it work to perfection', as his brother had once put it.

Harry had the inkling that what bothered Tom wasn't the fact that McGonagall had been allowed to stay at school once, but rather that Tom wasn't yet in a position in which he had those 'useful connections' he could take advantage of.

"I'm going back to the orphanage," Harry had finally stated curtly. "If you want to try and convince Dippet to let you stay, then do it. I'm still going."

Tom had grunted at that, remaining silent, but when Harry had been packing all his things, his brother had followed suit.

Since then, Tom had been in a very tempestuous, dark mood and Harry, no fool, had been tiptoeing around him.

"What does he see in her? He could have any witch, and he fancies _her_?"

At those violently and viciously spat out words, Harry gazed up from his plate of delicious food to glance at the Slytherin girls that were shooting glares towards the Staff Table.

During the Feast, all his housemates had been behaving themselves very smugly and proudly after they had won the House Cup, but apparently he had missed some new trail in the conversation.

"She's pretty," said Thaddeus Avery gruffly, a half-chewed potato dropping from his flapping mouth along with a thread of saliva.

"That's revolting - swallow before you speak, you disgusting idiot!" snapped Capricia Carrow, glowering at the boy.

"Pretty or not," interjected Priscilla Pucey, her eyes narrowed to slits, "she's still a halfblood!" She then swiftly turned to the boy at her side, as she demanded sharply, "You wouldn't give someone like her the time of day, would you?"

"Certainly not," drawled Abraxas Malfoy impassively, as he kept cutting his food into tiny bits, in such a poised, elegant and delicate manner, as if he was in display in some type of showcase, that Harry nearly snorted into his pumpkin juice.

Harry only realized what they were griping about when he caught sight of Professor Tilly Toke at the Staff Table, seated right next to Miss Nightingale. The two of them were very close together, whispering among themselves, Tilly Toke gorgeously smiling while the Mediwitch blushed and fretted with her hair or laughed and giggled at some joke or funny thing the wizard must have said.

Utterly surprised, Harry stared at the pair, blinking.

"Well, they have been at it for the last couple of weeks," remarked Druella Rosier, her beautiful fair features becoming marred with contempt. "He is clearly courting her in all seriousness."

"He could do much better," groused out Priscilla Pucey, viciously stabbing her food with a fork.

'Last couple of weeks?' Harry wondered to himself, though, admittedly, he wasn't one who took notice of such things, so he could have missed it altogether.

Nevertheless, the news left him in very high-spirits. Lately it seemed that all his favorite people were getting together: first Robert Hutchins with Alice, then Dorea Black making up with Charlus Potter, and now his two favorite adults in Hogwarts - his Charms Professor and Hogwarts' Mediwitch who was always so nice to him.

He was in such a cheerful mood that he even grinned and waved at the couple seated on the High Table when he left the Great Hall. His good spirits didn't last for long, though. Midway towards their dorms, they were halted by an older Slytherin carrying a note for them from Horace Slughorn.

When Tom and he went to Professor Slughorn's office to receive their pouches of galleons with which to buy their school supplies for next year, as the wizard's brief letter had instructed, they were greeted by surprising news that took him aback.

"What?" said Harry, thinking he couldn't have heard correctly.

"Professor Dumbledore has expressed a wish to talk to you," repeated their Head of House, his walrus-like, thick mustache twitching. The wizard leaned his hefty belly over his desk, as he pierced Harry with a curious gaze. "He wants to have a word in private with you, and suggested that he could kill two pixies with one stone and just give you the galleons for you boys himself, when you go see him."

Horace Slughorn paused and glanced from Harry to Tom and back, as if expecting them to clarify Dumbledore's puzzling motives.

When they remained frozen and speechless, the wizard let out a disappointed sigh and waved a hand dismissively. "I had no reason to refuse his request, m'boys. So you should best go to his office, Harry."

"I'm afraid, sir," abruptly intoned Tom, very politely and looking downcast, "that will not be possible. The Hogwarts Express will be parting in thirty minutes and my brother-" he shot Harry a harsh, chiding glance "-still hasn't finished packing." He turned to beam a charming, pearly-white smile at Slughorn. "But I, on the other hand, am all done, sir. I'll go see Professor Dumbledore myself."

Slughorn frowned at him uncertainly. "I must say that Dumbledore expressly said that it should be Harry-"

"He has packing to do," interrupted Tom, sounding deeply apologetic. "You wouldn't want us to miss the train, would you, Professor?"

Harry glanced from one to the other, and began hesitantly, "Maybe I should go-"

"Oh yes, time is ticking, you're quite right!" said Tom looking flustered and anxious, and with that, he grabbed Harry's hand and swiftly pulled him out of the office, with one last parting, "We'll see you next year, sir!"

The moment they were in the corridor, Tom dropped Harry's hand, and spat furiously, "How dare him!"

Harry glanced at him uneasily, before he released a weary sigh. His anger towards Dumbledore after the Czechoslovakia debacle had faded away with the months, and though the wizard's attempts to talk to him after class or when they crossed paths in corridors had annoyed him, he was well aware that he couldn't keep ignoring the man's existence forever.

"I will have to speak to him eventually, Tom," he said tiredly. "I might as well get it over with now."

"I think not," snapped Tom, glowering at him as they made their way to their common room. "Never forget how he has let you down. Remember all the deaths he didn't prevent. You already know that he cannot be depended upon or trusted!" His eyes narrowed to slits as he added poisonously, "I never want you to be alone with him. I never want you to even speak to him if I'm not present."

Harry eyed him uncertainly. "But maybe he wants to explain-"

"What he's doing is keeping our money hostage," hissed out Tom, so enraged that Harry's scar started throbbing painfully. "Thinks he can outmaneuver me, does he? I'll show him! As if _I_ am going to be outsmarted by the likes of _him_."

His brother didn't give him the chance to say another word, and was gone so fast that it seemed that Tom had apparated himself into Dumbledore's office to deal with the man, leaving Harry blinking as he stood in front of the wall that led to their common room.

Fifteen minutes later he was standing outside the front doors of the Castle, with his trunk and Ulysses in his basket, standing in the queue for the carriages that were taking the students to Hogsmeade's station.

Tom soon arrived, pulling his trunk and with cage in hand, with a wide, smug smirk on his face.

"What's happened to you?" said Harry dumbfounded, as he caught sight of the cuts and smalls wounds scattered on his brother's hands.

"Lord Horkos wasn't too happy when I went to fetch him," said Tom matter-of-factly, shooting his vicious owl a stern look, before he pointedly sneered at Harry. "Not that I can blame him. He certainly remembers what he's going back to and isn't too thrilled by it."

Harry rolled his eyes at that. Really, that bloody owl of his brother's had become too pampered during his stay at Hogwarts' Owlery. A stint in the orphanage would do him some good. The nasty bird didn't have it as bad as Nagini, after all. She had been stuck in the orphanage's shrubbery all the while, poor thing.

"What happened with Dumbledore?" he then asked when they were alone in a carriage.

Tom scoffed snidely. "The old dingbat acted as if nothing was the matter and he had been expecting _me_ to show up all along." He shot him a supremely self-satisfied smirk, as he continued in a low, nastily relishing voice, "But I know he must have been crushed that he didn't get the chance to have you in his clutches."

It was clear that having pulled one over Dumbledore had drastically changed Tom's mood, because his brother spent the whole trip in the Hogwarts Express smirking at empty space.

Harry, for his part, soon forgot about Dumbledore and was pleasantly occupied with wonderful daydreams. Having seen Professor Tilly Toke all cozy with Miss Nightingale made him remember what would most surely be awaiting him when he returned to London.

Hutchins had said nothing in his letter about Alice, but Harry reckoned that the man had probably proposed by now, and it meant that the muggle must have already bought the cottage in Southend-on-Sea.

He could clearly picture what was going to happen. As soon as they got to King's Cross station, Alice and Hutchins would be waiting for them, and they would be adopted and taken to live in Old John Bryce's town – they would end up as neighbors! And he liked the old man very much, and he would have a glorious summer, listening to the old muggle's tales about the Great War and swimming in the sea and making sand castles in the beach and going exploring with Tom.

And then they would take a week to go looking for Gaunts with Robert Hutchins, and they would find their father and he would be able to finally ask him all the questions he wanted answers for. And he would have a father, besides Alice and Robert as parents, and everything would be as it should, at long last.

It was going to be the best summer, ever!

* * *

"This is the worst summer of my life," grumbled Harry, utterly dispirited and depressed as he lied on his bed, lifelessly staring up at the ceiling.

"I told you we shouldn't have come back," bit out Tom acidly, his dark mood as bad as ever since they had arrived at London.

It had been months of pure torture, and Harry was counting the days for when they had to go back to Hogwarts. Only three days left, thankfully!

It had all gone down the drain when they had left Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters and entered the muggle area of King's Cross station. Harry had been utterly confused by the sights: people rushing by, with trunks or suitcases filled to the seams, glancing over their shoulders with fear and apprehension; soldiers marching by, who didn't look older than twenty, beardless and pimple-faced, looking scared as they gripped their riffles against their sides; children being pulled by their hands, crying and looking confused and panicked; and altogether such a rush of frantic activity as Harry had never seen before.

"What's going on?" said Harry completely baffled as he glanced around.

Tom frowned at a group of soldiers making their way to a train platform. "It looks as if the armies are mobilizing."

Harry snapped his head around to stare at him with wide eyes. "Mobilizing? But that would mean that we're at war-"

"We don't know what it means, yet," snapped Tom shortly, his frown turning into a scowl as he prompted Harry to move along the crowds. "Let's go. The muggles aren't here. Alice and Hutchins must be waiting for us outside."

They soon saw that the street of the station wasn't any better: motorcars rushing to the curb, chauffeurs of wealthy people unloading uncountable suitcases, boxes, and crates; poor people in layers of ragged clothes, looking as if they were wearing everything they possessed, counting shillings and pounds in agitation, as they loudly wondered if the prices of train tickets had skyrocketed again.

"Everyone's leaving London," bit out Tom darkly, murderously glaring at Harry, "while _we_ are arriving. Brilliant idea, little brother."

Harry didn't say anything to that, he was starting to feel really troubled and worried as he glanced at harried passersby without recognizing any single one of them. "Where are they?"

It was an hour later when they saw Magda puffing and huffing, panting as she suddenly appeared amongst the crowds, running towards them wearing the tattered grey dress and apron she used in the orphanage.

"Get your things, quick!" said the caregiver without wasting any time in welcomes.

"What on earth is going on?" snapped Harry crossly, stomping a foot on the pavement out of sheer exasperation and anxiousness.

"Don't you know?" Magda shot them an incredulous look. "Doesn't that posh boarding school of yours keep you up-to-date with the news?"

"No!" gritted out Harry impatiently.

Magda huffed. "Well, I haven't got the time to explain now! We must catch the last bus of the Emergency Line or we'll have to wait three hours for the next one!"

And with that, she turned heel and rushed down the street, forcing Tom and Harry to scramble after her whilst carrying their trunks and cage and basket of their respective pets.

"It's been months of utter madness here in London, let me tell you," said Magda once they were inside a double-decker bus, squashed amidst all the other bus-goers like sardines in a can. "Don't you know that the Prime Minister announced that if Germany invades Poland we're goin' to declare war?"

Harry shot his brother an infuriated look at that, highly suspicious that Tom had kept him out of the loop. The last of Alice's newspapers clippings that Tom had shared with him had said that Britain had pledged support to Poland, but not that they were threatening Germany with open war between them.

"Did you know about this? Did Alice tell you in her letters-"

"No," bit out Tom, a seething expression crossing his face.

"Well, maybe she doesn't want to worry you, does she?" pointed out Magda as she caught sight of Harry's scowl. "But that news has everyone in a fix! Folks leaving the city, left, right and center, to go the country – those who are lucky, mind you. Folks who have relatives outside London or own summer houses, that is!" She huffed as if the injustice of it all was too much to bear. "People like me don't got anywhere to go, do we?"

"What's that?" said Harry, flabbergasted at the sight of sacks lined up like walls around some street corners that he saw through the bus' windows.

"Have you been livin' under a rock, boy?" Magda cast him a disparaging look. "What do you think they're? Air raid shelters, of course! They're all over London – everything's been turned into one, the basements of factories, schools, hospitals, department stores, and even tube stations and underground tunnels. The sacks of sand mark where folk can find a shelter in case of emergency. There're sirens all over the place too!"

Harry stared at her, deeply frowning as he prompted, "Emergency…from what?"

"The Luftwaffe," she whispered anxiously in response, as if saying the name too loudly had the power to summon the dreaded German Air Force to appear above their heads. The girl even shot a fearful, apprehensive look to the skies through the bus' window they were crammed against.

Harry shared with Tom a glance that spoke volumes, before he turned to the caregiver once more, as he muttered under his breath, "Right. So things are bad here, are they?"

"Yay, but we are lucky, we are, at the orphanage," whispered Magda secretively, glancing around as if anxious that she could be overheard by the other bus-goers, "because the house is old and got a wide cellar, you know? Not our neighbors, though. We had to turn them away, we had, when they wanted to use our basement. But we can't all fit in there, can we!"

Harry quickly nodded in agreement, before he paused and cast her an alarmed look. "Hang on. Why did you come to get us and not Alice and Hutchins?"

"Oh, that," said Magda, letting out a nervous little cough as she jerkily waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing terribly bad, don't fret. But you'll soon know when we're back home."

That didn't reassure Harry one bit, on the contrary, he was left so filled with misgivings that he questioned Magda incessantly, but the girl wouldn't budge and refused to explain until they were back in the orphanage.

When they finally entered the house, it was so changed that it looked completely foreign to him. Gone were all the colorful decorations and toys lying all around the place like in Christmas Holidays. Now it was grey, dark, and grim, as if the house had been stripped to its bare essentials, feeling gloomy, desolate, and oppressive.

"Where's everyone?" said Harry in puzzlement, having expected to see all the children running around and his friends waiting for him, as usual.

"In their rooms," stated Madga curtly as she helped them haul their trunks towards the stairway, "because-"

"I still don't understand why he did it, Kathy! How could he!"

The distraught, sobbed shout resounded throughout the whole house, and Harry halted, mid-motion of putting a foot on the first step of the staircase, when he recognized the voice.

He was halfway down the corridor that led to the kitchen -since through its parted door he could see Kathy Cole and Alice Jones inside, seated around the table with cups of tea in hand, Alice with her head bowed down, letting out disconsolate sobs and cries- when Magda stopped him.

"Don't go there," whispered the caregiver sharply, shaking her head at him as she pulled him away. "Alice needs some time alone."

"Be proud of him, girl!" came Kathy Cole's stern voice. "He's doing his duty, he wants to fight for our country and our liberty, lass!"

"He has two fingers missing!" cried out Alice wretchedly. "The army doctor should have turned him away not given him the all-clear!"

"He can still hold a gun, can't he? Two missing fingers from a left hand is nothing!"

To Harry, it seemed as if his world had violently tipped over, his face lost all color and his stomach began to roll sickly as he grasped Magda's apron and demanded desperately, "Where's Hutchins?"

"He enrolled in the army, two days ago," murmured Magda, a pained expression etched on her face. "As a volunteer."

Harry frantically shook his head, as he choked out hoarsely, "No. He couldn't have. He promised he would…"

He clamped his mouth shut, dropping his gaze to the floor, staring at the wood boards in silence, feeling as if he was sinking into the dark, suffocating depths of moving quicksands.

"He took me to a side before he left," whispered Magda, as she took out something from her apron's pocket. "Asked me to give you this and tell no one about it."

Snapping his head up, Harry swiftly yanked the envelope from her hands, instantly tearing it open, with his heart loudly thumping in his chest and his breathing hitching in his throat as he unfolded the piece of paper inside. It was the list Hutchins had mentioned: the names of Gaunts, with their complete addresses in some cases or just the name of the towns they lived in, in other.

At the very end, there were a couple of sentences that looked as if they had been scribbled down in a rush:

_I know how much you want to find your relatives, but I ask you to wait. Do not go up North without me. I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you up there. Wait for me. I'll be back._

"What does he say?" asked Magda, brimming with curiosity.

"It's none of your damn business!" yelled Harry at her, suddenly feeling so angry and scared and fearful that he wanted nothing more than to lash at the stupid woman for butting her gossipy nose into his affairs, his hand curling into a fist and crushing the paper within it.

"Well, I've never!" huffed out Magda, puffing like an affronted pigeon before she briskly flounced away.

At Tom's unsympathetic and impatient prodding, Harry moved mechanically as they took the stairs and dragged their things into their bedroom.

He felt utterly numb, even after he let Ulysses out of his basket and sat on his bed with the little Scorcrup on his lap licking and gently nibbling on his fingers to get a reaction out of him.

"What did you expect!" suddenly snapped Tom crisply as he stood before him, looking thoroughly vexed with Harry's behavior. "I told you he would end up fighting, didn't I? Stupid, pathetic muggle that he is, with his ridiculous and sentimental sense of honor. I told you he would end up dead."

"HUTCHINS ISN'T GOING TO DIE!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs, frenziedly and so enraged at his brother that he shot to his feet, making Ulysses fly through the air, as he leapt at Tom and smashed a fist into his face with all the strength that his anger and fear lent him.

In the blink of an eye, Tom's wand was painfully poking his throat, his brother's expression thunderous and so murderous with rage that Harry's head felt as if it was about to split open due to the piercing pain coming from his scar.

"You hit me," hissed out Tom, seething, furious, and half shocked and disbelieving, bringing up his left hand to touch the dark bruise already forming around his eye.

His brother's wand stabbed into his throat even deeper, and Harry trembled with the need to pound Tom into a pulp and throttle him and make him hurt until he swallowed his words and reassured him that he was mistaken and that Hutchins would be alright and would come back to be their dad and love them as he had promised.

"Go on," Harry whispered harshly, locking gazes with Tom, as he grinned nastily at him and prodded him further. "I know you want to hurt me back. Use one of the dark curses from Grindelwald's books that you enjoy casting so much. Come on, do it!" He shot him an ugly sneer as he added scathingly, "Or are you too much of a chicken?"

Tom gritted his teeth, letting out a low hiss through them. "Count your lucky stars that I can't do magic here, little brother." His dark blue eyes narrowed to enraged slits, as he spat, "This once, I'll forgive you."

Harry let out a hollow, mocking laugh at that, as he bit out contemptuously, "You're only 'forgiving me' because you're a coward. Because of our Traces."

He shot Tom a disgusted look as he turned away, extremely disappointed that his brother wouldn't be helping him vent his frustration and fear, with so much bundled, frantic energy and swirling, frenzied emotions that he didn't know what to do with himself.

Tom didn't speak to him from then onwards, though he did darkly glare at Harry and venomously sneer at him constantly, and Harry nastily snickered every time he caught sight of Tom's black eye and reveled in the satisfaction that he had at least caused that.

Nevertheless, Harry's dejection was profound after he had stuck Hutchins' letter in the hole they had under the loose floorboard of their bedroom. He couldn't even muster any interest in looking for Gaunts, even if he had the list.

He knew what it all meant.

According to what Magda had said, muggles fully expected that Poland would be next, and Harry knew that Grindelwald would not stop until he had at least conquered the whole of Europe, and Dumbledore had already proven he wasn't up to task of preventing it.

As weeks passed, he had no idea where Hutchins was, but he knew how the muggle was going to end up. Old John Bryce's tales about the Great War, that had always sounded so exciting, adventurous and courageous to him, turned into nightmares, where he saw Hutchins lying in rat-infested trenches, starved, filled with lice and ill with fever and disease as he drunk from muddy water, coiled and trapped in barb wire as his body shook every time it was pierced by artillery bullets, desperately scrambling on hands and knees as he choked and suffocated in a field infused with mustard gas, being brutally tortured as a prisoner of war, or with his head split open from a bullet and whatnot.

It became so severe that Harry felt he wasn't sleeping a wink and dark circles appeared under his eyes, and one night, during his nightmares, his frantic screams had even woken Tom up.

"I've had enough!" spat Tom, finally speaking to him for the first time as he harshly shook Harry awake. The boy looked as exhausted as Harry felt, as if Harry's nightmares hadn't been letting him sleep either, looking thoroughly ruffled and disheveled.

Tom finally glowered at him as he slipped into Harry's bed and grudgingly threw an arm over Harry's shoulders, pulling him close, as he bit out impatiently, "Fine. Hutchins isn't going to die, alright?"

"Alright," murmured Harry softly as he groggily stared at him, half taken aback by his brother's unusual display of consideration and kindness and half relieved to feel Tom by his side. He sunk into his brother's arms, cuddling up under the sheets, and had his first night of true rest since returning to the orphanage.

However, the optimist attitude that Tom faked for his sake was offset by everyone else's behavior. Harry had soon realized that everyone had gone a tad bonkers.

Billy Stubbs went around the house clutching a pillow, which he gripped frenetically over his head every time he heard a loud noise coming from outside.

"That was a motorcar in the street, again," pointed out Harry tiredly. "Why do you go around with that, anyway?"

Still crouching on the floor, with pillow over his head and eyes wide with fear, Billy gasped out, "To protect me from a bomb! What if the walls fall down on us, huh?"

Harry shared a glance with Eric Whalley at that, both of them shaking their heads and muttering under their breaths. Out of everyone in the orphanage, only Eric had remained sane, in Harry's view.

Amy Benson had once yelled at Eric and him, accusing them of being 'immature boys' and of not taking matters seriously, and from them on had stuck with her girl friends. They all went around the orphanage moving in packs and clutching each other, looking terrified and frequently sobbing on each other's shoulders.

The caregivers weren't any better.

"What do you mean that we cannot play outside?" demanded Harry utterly scandalized. "It's summer! It's hot! We cannot be cooped up in here all the time!"

"Oh yes," snapped Karen at him, "just go outside and play in the backyard so that the Germans see you from their airplanes – they'll be very happy to drop a bomb on you, I'm sure!"

"They cannot see us from up there!" retorted Eric Whalley, Harry's sole brother-in-arms in fighting for their playtime rights.

"Do you want to take the chance?" bit out Karen snarkily at them – she, who had always been the most soft-spoken and gentlest soul from the lot of caregivers, as much as Alice had once been. "Be my guest, then!"

"They've lost their marbles, they have," whispered Eric at him when the girl had left, looking thoroughly shocked. His eyes went wide when suddenly catching sight of someone over Harry's shoulder, and he added in alarm, "Alice! Let's scram!"

And they swiftly did, in a panic and scared out of their wits.

It was Alice who, from the start, had laid down the new rules in the house. They were forbidden from going out to the street, their usual trips to commercial London had been cancelled for the foreseeable future, every time one of the children dared to raise their voice too loudly, she would ill-temperedly snap at them to be quieter, and she didn't want to hear any complains about the food served or the scarcity of it.

Furthermore, Alice stuck around the radio like someone possessed, her eyes always bloodshot and puffy as if she was constantly sobbing in the solitude of her bedroom, with a case of dark circles and bad hair worse than Harry's. There was a new radio station that had begun broadcasting, giving news, suggestions and advice, and Alice was assiduously loyal to it and followed it to a T.

For starters, Blackout had been enforced in London, which meant that as soon as the sun set all lights had to be turned off, and in the orphanage they were all left in utter darkness and had to frantically grip the banisters at night to be able to reach their rooms, because candles –the only thing that could be used since their light couldn't be seen by airplanes in the sky– had become expensive and couldn't be afforded.

Then, for buying food, Karen and Magda went out, always together and rushing to get it over with in the briefest amount of time possible. Following the radio station's suggestion, the orphanage was stocking up as much as it could, mostly buying non-perishables like cans of food and sacks of potatoes and beans, all of which were strictly rationed since it seemed that everyone was doing the same and prices had skyrocketed.

Harry's tummy was constantly grumbling and even when he was awake he dreamed about tasting again Hogwarts' food and partaking of its sumptuous feasts.

Though he certainly didn't dare complain to Alice about it, not after the day he had seen her shrieking hysterically at the radio after the news it had delivered.

"The IRA just had to plant a bomb now! Twenty-five dead in Coventry? As if we didn't have enough on our plates with the Germans! Now the Irish too! The Irish!"

She had looked so sleep-deprived and demented that Harry had only mustered up the courage to ask her for news about Hutchins one day. In retrospection, he didn't know where he got the bravery and gumption from.

"Of course I've been writing to him!" snapped Alice at him, scowling as if Harry had just cast aspersions on her honor and pre-wifely duties. "The army is forwarding my letters to him – wherever he is, because he can't say where he is, can he? That's what he wrote to me last time." She let out a crazed bark of laughter, as she mimicked viciously, "I'm well, my love, do not concern yourself over me. I'll soon be back with you!" She cast Harry a dark, seething look, as she bit out angrily, her arms frantically flailing around, "As if that is supposed to comfort me! It doesn't comfort you, does it, Harry? So of course it doesn't comfort me – why should it? He should have never enlisted – he's a middle-aged man, he's in his thirties, practically ancient! Don't you agree? Don't you? Don't you?"

Harry instantly nodded, utterly scared of her, and didn't think twice before he turned tail and fled from her. After that, he gave Alice a wide berth.

Regardless, the worst thing of all had been the air raid sirens all around London. They had gone off, blaring and unbearably screeching, twice – which proved to be the most miserable nights of Harry's life.

The first time, they had all been climbing up the stairs to reach their bedrooms for a night of sleep when suddenly the sirens' wails had pierced the silence.

"THE GERMANS! The Germans are coming!" screamed Karen at the top of her lungs, standing petrified in the middle of the stairway, blocking everyone's path.

"Get a hold on yourself, lass!" said the Matron, Kathy Cole, dealing her such a forceful slap on the face that the young caregiver's head had snapped around to a side, but at least it had done the trick and Karen had been yanked out from her paralyzing fear and had jumped into action.

All the children had been hastily pulled into the basement as the sirens from the city kept blaring, and it hadn't been at all comfortable. Magda might have boasted that they at least had a cellar of their own, but it wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination.

There were some pillows and bed sheets that were distributed around, but all the cans and sacks of food were stored down there, barely leaving enough space for all of them to sit on the floor, squashed together. Harry had even ended up ensconced on Tom's lap since there wasn't an inch of space to spare.

Furthermore, between the cries and sobs of the girls, and everyone jumping at every little noise that came from the outside, fearing a bomb to drop on the house any given moment, nobody had been able to sleep a wink.

The dire circumstances, though, seemed to have resuscitated Alice's nice old way of being. She had been the one who gave soft, comforting words, and hugged crying girls and gently and motherly caressed their hair, and began to retell the fairytales of old to give all of them a sense of normalcy and peacefulness. It didn't work very well, everyone was too scared, but at least she gave it all her effort.

By morning, with all of them groaning with hunger and thirst –since Kathy Cole had refused to open the stores of food, "What if we have to stay down here for weeks? Food must be rationed!"- and sheer exhaustion, it had been Alice who had bravely climbed up to the main floor to check if all was right.

She had come down a few minutes afterwards, beaming. "It was a false alarm – the radio said!"

It didn't mean that hysterics hadn't once more erupted the second time it had happened. By the end of it, Harry was counting the seconds for when they would finally have to return to Hogwarts. As much as he loved his friends in the orphanage, he wasn't about to stay out of solidarity. The orphanage, and London as a whole, had become a very grim place.

The only flip side was that he had been able to quickly convince Nagini to forgive them and return to the house, the day he had finally slipped into the backyard, careful that no caregiver saw him or he would have to suffer such yells that would render him deaf, as had already happened every time he made bids for more liberty.

He had done his best to explain the danger she was in if, in her anger towards them, she remained living under the bushes. But the snake had only stared at him blankly as he told her about bombs, airplanes, and the Germans.

"_Look,"_ he had finally hissed impatiently, _"if you want to be blown into smithereens then stay here with your hissy fit, but if you value your hide, you'll come inside with me!"_

He wasn't actually certain that inside the house was safer than out, in case of dropping bombs, but he couldn't offer anything better. At least, though, they could protect her if something happened, if she was with them.

Nagini had swiftly relented as soon as Harry made a move to go into the house without her, and once in their bedroom Harry had been quick to pass her to Tom. Leaving his brother to soothe, pamper and praise her until her wounded feelings had been mollified, which took most of the summer, to Tom's ill humor and Harry's vindictive snickers.

Finally, it was three days before they had to return to Hogwarts and Harry could no longer postpone the inevitable.

"Go on," he once again insisted to Tom in a wheedling, cajoling tone of voice, "go tell Alice that we have to get out to buy stuff for school."

"You're such a pathetic little crybaby," sneered Tom contemptuously, "scared of an itty, bitty, lowly muggle chit."

"She's turned vicious when she's not all nice because the stupid sirens are blaring!" snapped Harry defensively, bristling with wounded pride.

Tom scoffed at that, shooting him a superior look before he coolly sauntered out of their bedroom.

Harry counted the seconds before he jumped to his feet and tiptoed outside, leaning over the banister of the staircase to peer down at Alice and Tom engaged in a full-blown battle of wills.

Alice was scowling, with a harsh expression on her face and hands on her hips. "What do you mean that you have to go out? Absolutely not! It's madness in the streets – it's no place for two little boys!"

"We're not little boys anymore, woman!" snapped Tom, looking darkly indignant. "We're twelve years old, and if we want to leave we don't require your permission."

"You do need my permission because you don't have the keys for the front door, do you?" remarked Alice waspishly. She then paused, looking puzzled and concerned, abruptly like her old usual self, as she inquired softly, "Are you sure that your boarding school is still operating? Most schools have shut down-"

"Our school hasn't," interjected Tom with an impatient sneer. "It's in Scotland, if you'll remember."

Alice shook her head, looking both sad and apprehensive as she said quietly, "Scotland is in the same situation as we are, from what I've heard in the radio."

"Be that as it may, our school is still remaining open," insisted Tom acidly, clearly about to lose his patience with her.

Though Harry knew he wasn't lying. They had wondered about it, but just the other day they had received their Hogwarts letters, with the list of books and other supplies they would need for second year.

"Well, if you're certain," murmured Alice hesitantly.

"I am," bit out Tom, before he swiveled around and left her in the dust without another word.

When he climbed up the stairs, he pulled Harry inside their room as he hissed out hastily, "Let's be quick, before the stupid muggle changes her mind and insists that we need her company."

And they did, though Harry would end up wishing they had gone to Diagon Alley some other day, because the experience certainly scarred and changed him; Tom would say for the better, but Harry was never sure about that.

It would seem to him that his childhood harshly ended that day, never to be gained back.


	34. Part I: Chapter 33

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers – your comments are what keep me motivated!

To make up for that cruel cliffhanger from last chapter, here you have a very quick update.

Enjoy! ^_^

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**Part I: Chapter 33**

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It took them five hours to get to the meatpacking district where the Leaky Cauldron was located in, when before it had only taken them two. It was clear that the whole business of London only having 'Emergency Line' buses in operation was a drag.

The pub, unlike the first time they had seen it, wasn't filled with all sorts of wizards and witches having lunch or cheerfully partaking of drinks. It was nearly empty instead.

The young bartender, Tom, even glanced up at them hopefully, only to look downcast when they kept going until they reached the side alley that led to Diagon.

Harry wasn't that surprised by what he encountered in the commercial wizarding street: there were some people here and there, hastily dragging their children along as they shopped as fast as they could, shooting nervous, apprehensive glances over their shoulders as if expecting Grindelwald to suddenly pop in with his full force of Germans, Hungarians, and new type of Inferi, like he had done in Czechoslovakia.

The mood was certainly a tense, fearful one; not even the colorful window displays and moving, eye-catching store signs managed to put harried shoppers at their ease or entice them.

Furthermore, business must have been very dire as of late because in all the stores they went into, the attendants looked vastly relieved and grateful to have two clients at least.

They bought new clothes for themselves, since Tom had grown in height several inches, and Harry was proud to see that he had grown a bit himself - not as much as his brother, to his misery, but still, something was something.

When only their textbooks were left to buy, Harry halted Tom in the middle of Diagon Alley.

"Go buy our books, I have something else to do," he said hastily, shifting on his feet a tad nervously, "and give me one of your pouches of galleons."

Tom arched an eyebrow at that. "One of _my_ pouches of galleons?" His eyes narrowed to slits, as he demanded sharply, "For what?"

"It's none of your business," snapped Harry impatiently. "I just need some galleons to buy some stuff." He huffed crossly. "It's not as if you don't have plenty! You've made a fortune selling essays and giving tutoring lessons!"

"It's still my money," hissed out Tom poignantly. "I'm not giving you a sickle unless you tell me what you want it for."

"You owe me," retorted Harry pointedly.

Tom shot him a sneer. "I brewed the potion for your eyesight, didn't I?"

"That was in exchange for me learning German!" snapped Harry, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowled at him. "Which I've been doing." Then he glanced around before he lowered his voice to a mere whisper, "You still owe me for looking for the Chamber of Secrets."

"Your search has yielded no results yet," bit out Tom acidly. "I'm not going to pay you for that, when you've been failing-"

"But I'm going to keep looking for it, aren't I?" said Harry heatedly. "Look, just give me the money and I'll explain later what my plan is!"

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, before he said in a low, menacing tone of voice as he handed over a small leather pouch, "Very well, but you _will_ tell me what you're up to, or else."

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Harry as he yanked the pouch from his brother's hands. He instantly spun around, saying in parting over his shoulder, "I'll see you in a bit!"

And with that, he rushed down the street. Soon, he arrived at a second-hand clothes shop he had caught sight of before.

A bell jingled as he entered the store. It was gloomy and dusty, with racks filled with hanging garments, barely leaving any room in which to move along the small, narrow aisle. At least, though, all the attires he caught sight of looked very old fashioned.

"May I help you?" said a solicitous voice as the shop attendant suddenly appeared before him.

She was a very plump witch, wearing a very ugly dress filled with lace and frills, with three sets of shawls thrown over her shoulders, with colorful beads, dangling and flashy.

Harry stared at her, boggled at her attire, before he squared his shoulders and said hurriedly, "I need a complete set of clothes of the fourteenth century, or that look from those times."

The witch's eyebrows shot upwards at that, as she asked with curiosity, "Is it for a costume party?"

"Er, yeah, exactly!" said Harry instantly. "Do you have something like that?"

The shopkeeper eyed him from top to bottom, probably taking his measures with a discerning eye, before she beamed a smile at him. "I believe I do!"

She was gone in a flash, surprisingly moving very fast for a woman of her girth, and came out of the depths of her store proudly holding an outfit hanging from a perch.

Harry gaped at the garbs, utterly horrified. He couldn't even figure out what it was, exactly. It was so filled with humongous frills layered one on top of the other that it looked as if it only consisted of puffs and ruffles.

"Not something like that!" he said aghast, taking a step back from the frightening thing. "I need something dignified!"

The witch glanced from Harry to the attire and back, looking nonplussed. "It is dignified. I don't see what's wrong with it."

Harry shook his head disparagingly. "I need something a nobleman could have worn."

At the woman's blank stare, Harry reminded himself he was speaking to a witch and not a muggle, and swiftly amended, "Something a dark pureblood could have worn back in those days."

"A _dark_ pureblood," echoed the witch, abruptly going stiff. Her eyes narrowed, as she snapped very suspiciously, "What kind of 'party' are you attending, boy?"

She looked ready to whip out her wand and cast ropes at him to hand him over to Aurors, or something of the sort.

"I didn't mean dark pureblood as in a dark wizard!" interjected Harry quickly, fretfully carding his fingers through his hair. "I just meant…"

He trailed off, and then bit out peevishly, "Look, I'm just going to some costume party as you said." He pointedly brought up his pouch of galleons, making the coins inside jingle. "I have money to spend. So do you want to sell me some clothes, or not?"

Apparently, he stopped looking dangerous and suspicious to her at the sound of gold, and the witch nodded, albeit still a bit stiffly.

The second outfit she brought back was much better. It was a curious ensemble, but quite complete, consisting of a linen shirt, a dark blue doublet, a cape-like thing, and puffed out, short pants that came with a set of white stockings. She even had a pair of heeled shoes with golden buckles to go along with it. The problem was that the attire was stained all over and clearly moth-eaten, given the many holes in the clothes.

"If you want me to clean and mend it for you," said the witch briskly, "and adapt it to your measures, it will cost extra."

It was evident that his mention of 'dark' had cost him any traces of lingering amiability from her part, but at least she seemed satisfied by the number of galleons she found in his pouch when he tossed it at her.

Fifteen minutes later, he left the store, carrying his new purchase stuck inside his rucksack.

He met Tom outside Flourish and Blotts and helped his brother by carrying some of the shopping bags bulging with everything they had bought for their second year at Hogwarts. Thankfully the bags had been cast the Feather-light spell, by one of the shopkeepers that Tom had so thoroughly charmed with his politeness and smiles.

"We have to go to Knockturn Alley now," whispered Tom as they made their way towards the end of Diagon. "We cannot be seen entering it. We must be careful."

"Yeah, I know," mumbled Harry, not forgetting how the witch of the second-hand clothes shop had treated him.

As they stood under the sign of Knockturn Alley, waiting for the secret message to appear so that they would be able to speak the key phrase in order for the stores' true wares to be revealed before their eyes, Harry caught sight of a couple striding into the archway across the street from them.

There was a flash of blue and the pair disappeared as the walled archway swiftly began to close itself up after them. Harry had only been able to catch a brief glimpse of the street the archway hid away.

He knew what it was. Alphard had told him about Leisure Alley and the age-line in the archway that forbid the passage of underaged wizards. Nevertheless, for a second, he had seen that while Diagon Alley was quite empty, Leisure Alley wasn't. He had managed to glimpse several couples strolling by and groups of adults chattering amongst themselves as if they hadn't a care in the world, coming out from shops, pubs or restaurants.

"Hurry! Don't stand there like an idiot," snapped Tom at him, yanking him by the hand and pulling him into Knockturn Alley.

Harry felt chills as they quickly moved along the shadowy and labyrinthine alley. The piled up roofs of the shops ensured that they were cast in darkness, and it only made him feel uneasy since it seemed that everyone was out and about in Knockturn.

Tom calmly and self-assuredly strolled along as if he fitted right in, though he had taken his wand out. Harry had immediately followed suit, even if they knew they couldn't use magic because of their Traces, and unlike Tom, the fact made him nervous and jumpy given their surroundings.

He saw clutches of very dodgy characters maliciously staring at them from shadowy corners, and hags haggling over some wares openly sold in the middle of the alley, along with some dark creatures that he recognized from Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons but had never seen before in person.

Indeed, they encountered a woman writhing against a wall, with her dress bundled up to her knees, as a very pale and thin man was plastered against her, making sucking noises as the woman loudly moaned.

Harry lost all color at the sight, and stammered, "That's a – a – a vampire…"

"It is," said Tom coolly, as he swiftly pulled him away from the pair. "It seems that Knockturn Alley's inhabitants have become more confident with the news of the Dark Lord's triumphs."

Harry swallowed thickly at that and was vastly relieved when they finally reached Borgin and Burkes.

They both said the key phrase out loud, and the shop's previously nearly empty window display became filled with all sorts of artifacts and scary-looking shrunken heads or cut off skeletal hands that twitched, and the like.

"There it is," breathed out Tom, his dark blue eyes gleaming covetously as he took a step forward. "The auction for it hasn't ended yet."

Harry shot a glance at Slytherin's locket before he murmured under his breath, "What do you want to do now?"

At that, Tom turned to face him as he bit out poignantly, "What do you think? This part is up to you. What are you seeing?"

Harry shot him an incredulous look. "That's why you brought me here? To see if I saw the store's wards? I can't even fully see the ward that Dumbledore cast on our orphanage! What made you think that I could see this one?"

"Can't you?" snapped Tom impatiently, before he sneered. "At least try, you simpleton!"

Harry scowled at him, and with a huff turned to face the shop again. He even took off his eyeglasses when he thought he could see something fuzzy, like happened in their room in the orphanage, but it was to no avail. Whatever magic he saw was too faint to puzzle out, and it appeared and vanished before his eyes intermittently and too quickly.

"I can't," he said shortly, shooting his brother a glower. "And even if I could see the wards clearly I wouldn't understand them. I told you that wards are filled with Runes, and I don't understand Runes, do I? For that, I'll have to wait until third year, for the elective course."

"We don't have to wait until third year to learn about Ancient Runes," sneered Tom acidly. "We can teach ourselves by studying the subject in the library."

Harry stared at him, utterly horrified, as he echoed disbelievingly, "Study. in the library."

The two words he hated most in the world were 'study' and 'library', and his brother just had to put them together. Moreover, he wouldn't be caught dead in the library! Dusty, gloomy, and enclosed places that they were, where one was boxed in by shelves at all sides and couldn't even speak loudly like a normal person! Granted, he had gone a couple of times to Hogwarts' library to fetch books on Charms, but he always got in and out as fast as he could.

"Are you sure you cannot see them?" pressed Tom, looking highly irked. "We could write down the Runes and then look them up in Hogwarts' library."

Harry gave it another shot, glancing again at the shop, but then vehemently shook his head. "I can't."

"You're useless," hissed out Tom angrily. "I was counting on you for this!"

"Well, it isn't my fault, is it?" said Harry hotly. "I cannot force my stupid ability to become stronger at the drop of a hat, can I? And even if I could, I wouldn't! I don't fancy going around seeing things flashing all over the place!"

Tom shot him a contemptuous, disgusted look, before he spat in a whisper, "Then let's go. It's useless to plan the theft now when we don't even know what wards Borgin and Burkes has."

Tom gave the locket a hungry, lingering look before he briskly marched off, while Harry was more than glad to leave the place, even when he knew that his brother was seething given the ache in his scar.

Nevertheless, he happily followed at Tom's heels as they made their way out of Knockturn.

Just as they stepped into Diagon Alley, a series of very strange, high-pitched whizzes resounded, one after the other in seconds.

"What's that?" said Harry utterly puzzled, glancing around. "Did you hear-"

There was a strident, deafening sound and all went suddenly white.

He was flying, flying through the air, as his ears rang with a high-pitched noise. Suddenly, he painfully crashed against the cobblestones of the street, and he instinctually brought his arms over his head as things started to pelt down on him, hitting him hard and painfully.

He cried out, in fear and shock and utter confusion, as he heard screams and yells and shouts of horror and frenzy all around him.

As debris stopped raining down on him, he started to cough and choke, his eyes watering with the clouds of smoke and dust that were billowing up into the sky.

"Tom!" he cried out haggardly, scrambling on hands and knees over rubble and pieces of bricks and shards of glass and who-knew-what.

Everywhere he looked, parts of the facades of buildings seemed to be crumbling down, store signs crashing to the street, and what was left of windows finishing to crash down. There were wizards and witches, and children too, looking dazed and disoriented, tripping and walking around like headless chickens. Some storekeepers were outside, frantically waving their wands, preventing the front of their buildings from collapsing altogether.

Near him, Harry saw his rucksack lying amidst debris, with its strap snapped, and their shopping bags torn open, the things they had once held scattered all over the place. But he didn't see his brother.

"TOM!" he yelled desperately at the top of his lungs, so frantic and panicked and fearful, as he had never felt before in his life.

He didn't even care that every part of him was throbbing painfully, that he could feel bruises and aches all over his body, or that his hands and face were covered with cuts and small bleeding wounds, as he moved forward.

Then he suddenly caught sight of his brother, lying several feet away amongst debris, unmoving and white-faced.

With a scream of horror lodging in his throat, Harry rushed forth, tripping several times over pieces and chunks of things before he managed to throw himself at his brother's side.

"Tom! TOM!" he cried out frenetically, as he took the boy by the shoulders and shook him with violent despair and anguish.

"Stop, you're hurting me, you imbecile," said a weak yet infuriated voice, and Harry halted and stared and let out a powerful exhalation of relief as he saw his brother's dark blue eyes cracking open to glower at him. "Get off!"

Harry instantly pulled away, haphazardly landing on his behind, as Tom slowly sat up, glancing around with narrowed eyes as he demanded crisply, "Where are our wands?"

At that, Harry jumped into action, thankfully catching sight of both of their wands lying amidst shards of glass two feet away.

Yet, as he pulled himself to his feet and scrambled in their direction, he halted to a screech at what he saw right in front of him. It was then that he finally understood what had happened. It wasn't Diagon Alley that had been directly struck; the main street had only felt the repercussions of it.

Indeed, where once he had seen the walled up archway, there was nothing left, giving him an unencumbered view of what remained behind.

Gone was the street he had caught a glimpse of. Leisure Alley was now nothing more than piles upon piles of rubble. There wasn't a single building, store, pub, dancing hall, or restaurant standing.

And he froze, his eyes wide with horror, as he saw blood seeping and flowing from the mounds of debris, hands and feet, and half faces sticking from under the wreckage, as muffled cries and screams sounded from the depths.

For a moment, which felt like an eternity, Harry could only stand there, staring at the spine-chilling, gruesome sights of carnage.

Nothing had prepared him for it, not even Old John Bryce's stories about the Great War. Hearing about it was nothing like seeing it.

Abruptly, he was yanked out from his horrified stupor when Tom appeared by his side, handing him his wand as he pocketed his own and said sharply, "Let's get our things and leave."

Harry stared at his brother as he mechanically took his wand, blinking dumbly at him for a second, thinking he couldn't have heard correctly.

"What?" he croaked out.

"Let's get going!" hissed out Tom impatiently, as he started to turn around, searching with his gaze for their purchases.

"We can't leave!" roared Harry, as much as infuriated as he was incredulous. "We must help those people! They are buried alive beneath the rubble!"

Tom swirled around and instantly clutched Harry's wrist painfully, as he snarled furiously, "We can't do magic, you half-brained idiot! Or have you forgotten about our Traces?"

"Bugger our Traces!" bellowed Harry, violently attempting to free himself from his brother's hold.

"I'm not getting expelled from Hogwarts," spat Tom at him, seething, "just because you want to play the hero!"

Harry gritted his teeth before he stuck his wand inside a pocket. "Fine! I don't need my wand, anyway. There're wizards all around who can do magic and be of help!"

And with that, he spun around and began to run down Diagon Alley, in search of as many grownups as he could find.

Some people seemed to have recovered from their shocks, but to his confusion, they weren't running towards what was left of Leisure Alley. Instead, they were taking their children and wives and husbands, and hurrying towards the exit of Diagon Alley.

"What are you doing!" yelled Harry at them, disconcerted and furious. "You must help – stop, stop!"

"They think the bombing was just a prelude," he heard Tom's voice saying sneeringly behind him. "It's everyone for themselves in circumstances like these, little brother, as you should already know! They think the Dark Lord is about to appear."

Harry stood, stumped at that, gripped by a sudden rush of stomach-churning apprehension, before he shook his head.

No, Grindelwald wasn't going to show up. Whatever the Dark Lord's plans were for England, it clearly didn't involve conquering them that day.

The wizard hadn't done what he had in Czechoslovakia: he hadn't first invaded the country with his muggle Nazi forces and surrounded the Ministry of Magic with them. He couldn't have, or there wouldn't have been any people in Diagon Alley to begin with. Everyone would have been too terrified to even go out.

No, Grindelwald had clearly given orders to throw bombs on Leisure Alley and just that - to inspire fear and panic, evidently. To make them know how vulnerable they were.

Harry clearly remembered what the Prewett twins had told him. Dumbledore had foreseen this, had even tried to convince the Wizengamot and Charlemagne McLaggen that new wards should be created, to protect them from muggle weaponry.

Dumbledore _had_ tried. Apparently, the wizard had indeed been doing his best, but was thwarted by cowards and idiots at every turn.

Harry clenched his teeth as he saw more wizards and witches fleeing without sparing a second glance backwards, and didn't think he had ever felt so crushed or disappointed by people.

"Let's go," said Tom's voice acerbically and with much fed-up vexation. "Aurors will take care of this, brother."

Harry snapped around to yell furiously at him, "Do you see any Aurors around, eh? EH?" He threw his hands up into the air. "Who knows when they'll turn up! And in the meanwhile, people could be dying over there!"

He didn't waste any more breath on his brother and ran back towards what was left of Leisure Alley.

Midway, he only paused when he caught sight of someone familiar.

Only some storeowners seemed to have remained in Diagon Alley, frantically casting spells on their stores so they could finish repairing them as quickly as possible before fleeing themselves. It was one of those, looking as if he was nearly done, who caught his attention.

Quickly remembering the wizard's name, Harry frantically ran up to him as he cried out desperately, "Mr. Ollivander, please, you must help!" He gestured frenziedly at Leisure Alley. "There are people stuck there and I can't do magic. Please!"

The thin, old man halted mid-motion of casting a spell and gazed down at him with those strange moon-like eyes. His glance then shot towards Leisure Alley, the wizard's forehead crinkling, looking hesitant, as if he didn't want to get involved yet was mulling matters over.

"Please, sir!" insisted Harry imploringly.

"Very well," said Ollivander grudgingly in a low, quiet voice.

Harry shot him a look filled with gratefulness before he rushed out urgently, "Get more people to help us, while I do what I can!"

And with that, he moved as fast as he could towards Leisure Alley.

He started climbing mounds of debris, prying off with his bare hands as many blocks and bricks as he could. His fingers were soon bleeding raw as he kept trying to unearth someone who was buried under the wreckage.

He had managed to clear a whole arm, and it was bleeding and thankfully twitching -he could even hear the owner of the limb screaming from under the rubble- but he wasn't managing it fast enough.

Frantically, Harry glanced around and caught sight of his brother, as cool as you please, picking their things up from Diagon Alley.

"Tom, come and help me, damn you!" he bellowed furiously. "We can get our stuff later!"

From a distance, Tom stood straight up and shot him a contemptuous look as he stuck a textbook into a shopping bag. Though, with a thoroughly annoyed, dark expression on his face, his brother set the bag to a side and began to grudgingly make his way towards him.

Given how his scar was throbbing, Harry knew his brother wasn't at all pleased with the demands he was making on him, but at least Tom was complying.

With Tom's help, which wasn't as effortful as Harry would have liked, he nevertheless went much faster with his task of clearing stuff off from the buried person.

They soon saw that it was a witch, in fact, and her screams had become mere faint gurgles that abruptly halted.

Fraught with distress and panic, Harry used all the strength he could muster to tear off a block of stone from her, and then went still as he stared down.

Both of her legs had been blown off, leaving nothing but gory stumps of hanging flesh and flaps of skin from which blood seemed to have been pouring out endlessly. But now, only trickles were rolling down, and her unearthed arm had stopped moving.

He saw Tom pressing his fingers against the witch's wrist, before he shot Harry an irked look and stated acidly, "She's dead."

Harry stared at him, mute, for a second, before he croaked out weakly, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," bit out Tom churlishly as he made a move to stand up, with every intention of leaving.

Harry instantly seized his arm, pulling him back, as he roared, "Then onto the next one!"

And he yanked him along towards a half buried torso he saw a few feet away. Just as they began working on rescuing that wizard, Ollivander suddenly appeared with a whole bunch of other people.

It seemed he had done as Harry had asked and had managed to convince other storeowners to show a thread of human decency, solidarity and compassion, since they all instantly jumped into action and started casting spells to levitate the rubble.

Harry saw that Tom stood up at that, and left, standing to a side with no intention of being of any further help.

Nevertheless, even though he cursed his brother's uncaring and selfish ways under his breath, Harry kept at it, helping as much as he could with his bare hands.

With the use of magic from the adults, it all proceeded much faster than before, but the results weren't good. They rescued a tiny old wizard who gave his last dying breath just as Harry gently tried to pick him up, since an iron window frame had pierced the old man's chest. There was a young witch with half her midriff blown off, a wizard with a crushed skull, and a young man who had bled to death from a missing arm.

It was when they were almost done unearthing a witch who was still coherent and breathing, screaming herself hoarse due to the mangled foot that was hanging from a thread of skin from her ankle, that something suddenly happened.

Before his eyes, Harry saw sheets of magic slowly crumbling down all around them, but given the frantic cries of dismay from the storeowners that had been helping, it was evident that he wasn't seeing it due to his ability.

He shot Tom a frightened look at that, thinking that perhaps he had been wrong and Grindelwald was somehow bringing down the wards in order to make an appearance.

Tom must have thought the same because he clutched his wand, though his brother didn't look nervous or highly agitated and worried as Harry was, but giddy with expectation and anticipation.

All of them, except Tom, jumped when a series of cracking sounds echoed loudly, and Harry stood still, his eyes wild and wide, before he caught sight of the new arrivals.

He recognized them only due to the clothes they wore: there was an army of Aurors in their red cloaks, along with a bunch of witches and wizards in green tunics – Healers, from that wizarding hospital the Prewett twins had told him about, St. Mungo's.

They had all apparated at the same time and there was a tall, burly Auror who was barking out instructions. They all moved with extreme efficiency and in an orderly manner, rushing towards the mounds of rubbles, managing to do very fast and swiftly what had taken Harry and the storeowners a long time.

They were rescuing people left, right and center, commanding the storeowners to help them along to move the wounded towards their shop's fireplaces to floo them to St. Mungo's, or to grasp objects that vibrated and turned blue, making the holder disappear with the injured person – portkeys, Harry realized, since Professor Tilly Toke had described them in Charms class – or just disapparating with the most serious cases.

And then, Harry suddenly caught sight of a wizard who was standing at the sidelines, donned in rich, pompous clothes, with a blonde moustache ridiculously curled at its tips, glancing around like a stranded fish, his mouth hanging open, looking like a stupefied idiot who didn't give credence to what he saw.

Harry had the sudden violent urge to leap at Charlemagne McLaggen and strangle him and savagely bash his head until the Minister's brains were splattered all over the rubbles.

It had been the Minister's fault, for not having listened to Dumbledore, once more. It should have been McLaggen dying under the debris, like all those others, in Harry's infuriated opinion.

But there the wizard was, alive and well. It was just as Kathy Cole liked to say: 'A bad weed can never be plucked out'. Strangely enough, the times Harry had caught her muttering the phrase under her breath, she had been scowling at Tom from a distance.

It soon became apparent that Harry was just getting in the way and that he could be of no further use, and he dragged his feet, exhausted, until he reached his brother.

Before he could even open his mouth, Tom seized a passing-by Healer, and snapped commandingly, "Heal us. We live with muggles, we cannot return looking like this."

The old witch blinked at them, her gaze then zeroing in on Harry's face and hands, and nodded, briskly casting a series of spells on them.

Harry felt the effects immediately: all the aches that had been mercilessly plaguing him abruptly vanished, the back of his head stopped throbbing, his fingers tingled as their skin grew back, and his face twitched as cuts and small wounds closed together.

Nevertheless, Tom must have understood how worn and exhausted he felt because he didn't say a word as Harry slumped against a wall in Diagon Alley, while Tom went around picking up their purchases.

It wasn't until they reached the Leaky Cauldron that Harry mustered the energy to speak. "We need to use the bathroom."

Tom, the bartender, stared at them with wide eyes before he instantly nodded and indicated where the loo could be found.

Once there, Harry gazed at himself in the mirror. He was healed, with not even scars left behind, but he looked as if he had bathed in blood. There were even clumps of bits and pieces of flesh, hair, and skin stuck on his hands and fingers.

Feeling strangely detached, he opened the faucet, but when water started to pour on his hands, his breathing suddenly turned haggard and hitched, and he began to frenetically rub his hands clean.

It seemed to him that the blood and bits of others refused to come off, and feeling a sudden surge of frenzy and panic, he vigorously and frantically scrubbed harder.

"Stop! You're scratching yourself raw, you dimwit!" hissed out Tom, brusquely yanking Harry's hands away from the faucet. "You're already clean. What's the matter with you?"

Harry frowned, feeling a bit disoriented and nonplussed, until he stared at his own hands and realized his brother was right.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he turned away from his brother's piercing, narrowed eyes.

"Here," said Tom crisply, grabbing a set of newly bought and fresh clothes from one of the bags and pushing them into Harry's arms. "Change."

Harry complied as Tom stuffed their bloodstained, torn clothes in a rubbish bin.

They spent the four hours that it took them to return to the orphanage by bus in complete silence.

It was already nightfall when they stepped into the house, and the moment Harry crossed the threshold, he abruptly found himself tightly embraced by frantic arms.

"The sirens sounded!" said Alice frenziedly over Harry's head, as she clutched him tighter against her. "I was mad with worry! We all thought it was an air raid and you still hadn't returned!" She choked out a half-sob, before her voice turned marginally calmer as she added, "It was only a false alarm, thankfully, but I was still-"

"A false alarm?" echoed Harry, letting out a flat, mirthless bark of laughter. "Tom and I are lucky to be aliv-"

"Come!" snarled Tom, violently yanking Harry out of Alice's arms and pulling him up the stairs, nearly frog-marching him until they reached their room, shoving Harry to his bed.

Standing before him, Tom glowered and hissed out furiously, "Do you realize what you nearly told her?"

"She should know," whispered Harry, glaring up at him. "The muggles should know what is truly happening."

Tom shot him a disgusted look as he bit out, "Don't you realize what happened means? The Dark Lord just wanted to terrorize the English wizarding community. He wasn't conquering us! He was making us fear him." His eyes narrowed, as he added pensively, "For some reason, it's evident that he's leaving England for last. To be the crown jewel of his empire, the cherry on top of the cake… to be calmly savored at the very end… yet…"

He trailed off, pacing the room, before he turned around, frowning. "Yet, it can only mean that there's something in England that he wants and is leaving for last."

"Something like what?" said Harry, deeply frowning himself.

"I don't know," retorted Tom curtly. "But it must be something very valuable and important."

Harry stared at him at that, before he shook his head and muttered, "I think he was taunting Dumbledore. I think that with that attack, Grindelwald was forcing Dumbledore's hand. He wants to be confronted by Dumbledore, face-to-face."

Tom scoffed snidely. "Why? Just because people say that the fool is as powerful as the Dark Lord?" He shot him a scathing sneer. "I will believe that when I see it."

Harry didn't say anything else, but he was certain he was right. It all made so much sense now, what he had overheard in Hogsmeade: the conversation between Dumbledore and the owner of the Hog's Head pub – 'Aberforth', Dumbledore's brother, according to Alphard.

Everything indicated that Dumbledore and Grindelwald personally knew each other from the past, somehow. Moreover, given the harsh words Aberforth had spoken, their sister had died, and it had sounded as if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were to blame for that.

And why else would Grindelwald bomb Leisure Alley but not muggle London, if he wasn't trying to get a rise out of Dumbledore, besides the whole terrifying the wizarding community stuff?

It seemed to him that Grindelwald wanted wizarding Britain to become involved in the war, so that Dumbledore would be forced to, as well. After the attack on Leisure Alley, things would change in the Ministry of Magic, that was certain.

"We would know more if I had the Daily Prophet," said Tom acerbically, anger clear on his face.

Harry sighed at that. On their first week of 'holidays' in the orphanage, Tom had used Lord Horkos to send a letter, along with a generous pouch of galleons, to the Daily Prophet, expressing his wish that his subscription was extended for several years and to receive the newspaper not only at Hogwarts but during his holidays as well.

His brother had been answered by a very brief letter that stated that 'per new Ministry regulation' they were not allowed to send their newspaper to the homes of muggleborns.

Tom had been furious. "I understand that McLaggen doesn't want the muggle relatives of mudbloods to find out who is causing all the _trouble_-" he had sneered the word out as if everyone was being pathetically hysterical about the Dark Lord's rise for no reason "-but I told them I wasn't a muggleborn!"

"You gave them your address didn't you?" Harry had pointed out sensibly. "So they know you're in a muggle orphanage."

Tom had cast him a dour, seething look at that, but undaunted, had tried again, this time sending the headquarters of the Daily Prophet several pouches of galleons.

He had received them back, along with a letter saying exactly the same as before.

"Since when isn't there a worker who's willing to disregard ethics and laws in exchange for money?" had groused Tom darkly, as if his whole set of cynical notions of how the world functioned was being threatened and hanging by a thread, and thus would need to be thoroughly revised and perfected.

"I'm sure there must have been someone in the Daily Prophet dying to become corrupted," Harry had said soothingly. "But they must have been scared to do so. Scared of the Ministry and their punishment, if they were caught."

Tom had stared at him, looking utterly surprised, as if Harry had just spouted the most enlightening and wise words he had ever heard. "You're quite right, little brother. Fear is always more powerful than greed. I should have remembered that."

"Sure," Harry had muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Well, we won't know about the repercussion of the destruction of Leisure Alley," intoned Tom at present, his voice low and clearly vastly annoyed, "until we're back at Hogwarts."

Harry said nothing to that, still seated on his bed, his mind filled with images. It felt as if they were burnt with fire in his head, all those sights of people with blown off limbs, torn faces, crushed skulls, mangled and dangling feet, spilled entrails and whatnot. He didn't think he would ever forget.

He stared down at his hands, and whispered quietly, "It's war."

It must have sounded incredibly stupid to his brother, but Tom didn't say a mocking word in response. To Harry, though, those words encompassed everything he was feeling.

It had finally happened, what Tom had predicted all along: war was at their front step and they had just experienced its cruel savagery and ruthless brutally first-hand.

And it wouldn't be the last time, Harry knew. He made a decision right then.

That night he felt asleep, feeling hollowed.


	35. Part I: Chapter 34

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 34**

* * *

On the morning of August 31st, the day before they had to leave for Hogwarts, the city's sirens blared loudly, rudely waking up the whole orphanage. But they were letting out a different sound than the usual strident noise alerting a possible air raid; in this occasion the sound was low, monotonous and constant, sounding very ominous.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Harry groggily as he sat up on his bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Through the tattered curtains of their window, he even saw that the sun hadn't yet dawned.

Soon they were hearing the rush of frantic feet and fearful screams. Harry ran out of their bedroom, swiftly followed by Tom, to see all the children in the corridor or coming out from their own rooms, looking terrified.

"Are we going to be murdered in our beds!" wailed the caregiver Karen, standing rooted in place in her nightgown, clutching her chest in panic.

Just then, a series of harsh poundings resounded from the main floor, as if someone was impatiently knocking on their front door with all the strength they could muster, and all of them jumped in the air, further startled.

"Let me through!" snapped a voice, and Kathy Cole appeared, looking disheveled, carrying the only candle in the whole house.

Alice was behind the Matron, holding little Anne in her arms and protectively clutching her – one of the new children that had been sent to St. Jerome's from another orphanage that had shut down, before Christmas.

Harry wasn't even surprised to see that Kathy Cole had apparently spent another night sleeping in Alice's bedroom, crammed with Alice and little Anne. Since the start of holidays, the Matron had been staying over in the orphanage.

Tom had once sneeringly opined that Kathy Cole's husband, the nasty old Mr. Cole, greedy and well-to-do owner of some shops, must have fled the city taking his grownup children with him, leaving Kathy behind.

Nevertheless, they all trailed after her as Kathy rushed down the stairs and yanked the front door open.

There was a man there, looking vexed – a Constable, given his black uniform, the baton and pistol he carried on his belt, and the funny-looking, peaked helmet he wore.

"Who is the Matron of this orphanage?" demanded the Constable shortly as he glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand and read out loud. "A Mrs. Katherine Cole."

"I am," said Kathy, holding up her lit candle to peer at him with a frown on her face. "What's all this about?"

"Children are being evacuated from London," replied the man sharply, shooting the inside of the house a scathing look. "You have fifteen minutes to get your orphans ready."

Cries broke out at that, all the children sounding confused and scared.

"What does evakated mean?"

"Where are they taking us?"

"We can't leave! What about our stuff?"

"It was about time the Ministry thought about people!" someone yelled above all others, and Alice appeared in front of the Constable, apparently having set down little Anne to confront the man with an angered expression on her face. "I heard in the radio, the other day, that paintings from the National Gallery had been taken to Wales! Shameful it is, to care about art before the lives of people!"

"Count yourself lucky that the government spared a second thought on the orphans in London, missus," retorted the man gruffly, shooting a snide glance at his surroundings. "I wouldn't have, if it had been up to me."

"You cannot expect me to get everyone ready in fifteen minutes," interjected Kathy Cole sternly, bristling and jerking her head to a side like an angered horse. "Why wasn't I notified about this beforehand? Why didn't I receive any letters-"

"I'm just followin' orders, ma'am!" snapped the Constable irritably. "You have fifteen minutes or we're leavin' without you."

And he pointedly stepped to a side as he gestured at what was waiting outside.

It was a Ford COE Stake Bed truck, Harry saw as he peered out from the open front door; an enormous, army-type one, like the ones he had seen rushing down the streets filled with soldiers when he and Tom had been taking a series of Emergency Line buses to reach the district of the Leaky Cauldron.

"The children can only bring some essentials," continued the Constable, looking once more at his piece of paper as he began to read out loud, "Two pairs of socks, two pairs of pants – or dresses in the girls' case– two undergarments, and one pullover or jersey."

Kathy Cole stiffened before she spun around and loudly clapped her hands, as she yelled commandingly, "You heard the chap, children! Get dressed and bring those things from your rooms!"

Pandemonium ensued, with all the children disorderly rushing to their bedrooms, still looking confused and frightened but apparently also too scared about the possibility of being left behind, so they all followed the instructions as fast as they could.

Harry saw the Constable taking Mrs. Cole to a side, handing over a clump of things as they hurriedly whispered among themselves.

Without another hitch of breath, he covertly slipped closer to them.

"… to the countryside?" Kathy was murmuring, frowning deeply. "Are my orphans going to get separated?"

"Host families in the country are being paid by the government to take city children as guests," retorted the man curtly. "But that will not be the case of orphans. Some local, country schools have been turned into refuges. You and your orphans and caregivers will be living in one of those."

"For how long?" demanded Kathy Cole sternly.

"For as long as it takes!" snapped the Constable, before he added sharply, "I suggest, ma'am, that you help your orphans along. You've been appointed to a train that leaves in two hours and the streets are going to be congested. We must depart as soon as possible."

"Where does the train leave from?" piped in Harry anxiously.

At that, the Constable gazed around, before he glanced down and caught sight of him, his expression souring when realizing that an orphan was addressing him.

"From King's Cross station, boy," bit out the man with vexation, "where else!"

Harry nodded, feeling vastly relieved, and didn't stick around when Kathy Cole started badgering the man with questions again.

He instantly reached his brother and grabbed him by an arm, swiftly pulling him up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" hissed out Tom.

"We have to go with them," said Harry urgently as they entered their bedroom.

"We will not!" snapped Tom, glowering at him. "We'll go to Hogwarts. Tomorrow."

"Of course we're going to Hogwarts!" said Harry, as he hastily began to get dressed. "But it took us four hours to reach the Leaky Cauldron, if you'll remember. What if it takes us longer to reach King's Cross station tomorrow? What if there aren't buses left? I'm not taking the chance. We'll go to the station with them and spend the night there."

"You have a point," conceded Tom grudgingly, looking vastly annoyed by events.

Once they were dressed, they began to swiftly pack their belongings.

Harry was done in seconds, since he merely tossed all his things into his trunk. He didn't even have to waste time with Ulysses because the smart, little Scorcrup had apparently caught a drift of what was going on and had jumped into his basket without needing to be prompted.

Tom wasn't as quick, though. The boy was taking his time in neatly folding his clothes, as always, and orderly stacking his books inside his trunk, while dealing with Nagini.

"_What do you mean that you're leaving?"_ the snake hissed, coiled on top of Tom's pillow on the bed. "_You're not leaving me behind again – I demand that you take me with you!"_

"_You already know that Hogwarts doesn't allow us to have snakes as pets,"_ hissed Tom, angered and impatient as he continued folding his clothes. _"I'm not telling you again. You're staying here."_

Peeved, Harry grumbled under his breath and stomped to Tom's bed, where the boy had neatly laid out all his things, and just grabbed them in his arms and unceremoniously dropped them inside his brother's trunk.

"The world isn't going to end if your clothes get wrinkly, Tom!" Harry snapped at him, slamming the lid of his brother's trunk shut when he was done.

Tom poisonously glared at him for that, but Harry ignored it as he caught sight of the empty cage on top of their nightstand.

"Where's your owl?"

"Lord Horkos goes hunting at night," replied Tom acerbically. "Evidently, he hasn't returned yet."

"Well, he'll just have to find us, won't he?" groused Harry as he grabbed the cage and shoved it into his brother's arms, adding in a low grumble under his breath, "And perhaps he won't and he'll make my day."

"_Don't leave me!"_ hissed Nagini, no longer sounding furious but scared, wounded, and desperately imploring.

Harry bit his lip at that, but Tom utterly ignored her and didn't spare her a backward glance as he pulled his trunk outside the bedroom.

Harry followed suit, but once in the corridor he gently handed over Ulyssses' basket to his brother as he said hastily, "Start taking our stuff downstairs. I have something to do."

"What?" demanded Tom, piercing him with narrowed eyes.

Harry glanced around before he lowered his voice to a whisper, "I have to get Hutchins' letter from under the loose floorboard."

At with that, he slammed their bedroom's door shut on Tom's face.

* * *

When Harry reached the main floor, he encountered a flurry of frantic activity.

The caregiver Magda was taking the garments the children were bringing to her, packing them in rucksacks or tablecloths that she tied up with a knot, looking frazzled, weary, and ill tempered.

"Where do you think we're goin', Amy Benson? To a ball?" the caregiver snapped. "No, you can't take those silly hair ribbons with you!"

"We're not bringing along that flea-bitten cat!" she then yelled at Billy Stubbs, who had apparently gone to considerable efforts to find his pet.

The vicious cat certainly didn't look as if he was thankful for it, since he was spitting and hissing and squirming as he scratched Billy's hands and face. But the boy just stubbornly and resolutely held him tighter.

"I cannot leave Puff!" cried out Billy Stubb distressed. "What if a bomb drops on the house when we're gone? What if he dies!"

"We're not taking him and that's the end of the matter!" bit out Magda, looking disheveled and beleaguered.

Billy let out a wailing sob when he was made to drop the cat, which instantly dashed away, leaving the boy disconsolate.

Meanwhile, the Constable was standing by the front door, impatiently tapping a boot on the floor as he kept shooting glances at his pocket watch, as he announced, aggravated, "Five minutes left, folk!"

"Not those, lass!" Kathy Cole was berating Karen, who had come out of the kitchen, grabbing her apron's hem upwards to use as a basket, stuffed with apples, a plucked chicken, and loafs of bread.

The Matron then pointed a finger at Alice, who was just then stepping out from the stairs that led to the basement, wobbling and panting with the effort of carrying heavy sacks of beans under her arms and cans of food that were bulging from her apron's pockets.

"Follow Alice's example, you silly girl!"

"I said nothing about bringing food with you!" interjected the Constable as he caught sight of them. "There's no room for it-"

"I hardly think there'll be much food to be found in the countryside, will there!" yelled Kathy Cole angrily as she spun around to glare at the man with hands on hip. "I'm not letting my orphans starve for months – we're bringing as many sacks and cans as we can!"

The Constable scowled but wisely kept his mouth shut, since Mrs. Cole could certainly be intimidating and scary when in a fury.

A couple of minutes later, Kathy barked at them to form a line, and when they complied she went around hanging something from every child's neck.

Harry glanced down at the rectangular bit that was strung around his neck by a cord. The cardboard cover was brown, and in the small sheet of paper inside he found several things scribbled down: his name, gender, birthdate, and the address of St. Jerome's Orphanage.

"These are new things issued by the government," announced Kathy Cole. "They are called identity cards. It's of the utmost importance that you always have them with you." She shot them a stern look, as she added sharply, "If you get lost or separated from us, only by showing these things to an officer will they be able to know how to help you and what to do with you. Do you understand, children?"

"Why would we get lost?" someone asked frantically.

"Because such things happen!" snapped Kathy Cole impatiently. "We're not the only ones who are being evacuated – there'll be people rushing all around us!"

And with that, the caregivers began to herd them out of the house and into the street.

It was then when the Constable took a bag from the truck and started distributing its contents among the children.

"What's this?" a girl said nonplussed.

"A gas mask," breathed out Harry, staring at the one in his hands, recognizing it from Old John Bryce's description and how soldiers in the Great War had used them.

The Constable shot him a glower when the children who had heard him let out cries of panic and fear, glancing around the street as if expecting to suddenly find it filled with clouds of poisonous, lethal air.

"Silence!" roared the man, looking thoroughly fed up. "They're only a precaution. Now let's get moving!"

The Constable irritably began to help the children climb into the back of the truck, before he caught sight of Tom and Harry bringing their things over.

"What do you want those for?" demanded the Constable poignantly as he glanced at Lord Horkos' empty cage and Ulysses' basket, before he saw the trunks they were dragging. "I said you could only take with you some garments!"

At the man's angered shout, Alice and Kathy Cole snapped their heads around and hurried towards them.

"What's all this about?" said the Matron, frowning at them.

"They've said their boarding school is remaining open," Alice interjected quickly, looking flustered and agitated with worry.

"Nonsense!" bit out Kathy Cole crossly. "All schools have closed. They're coming with us to the countryside."

"But ours hasn't!" cried out Harry.

Kathy skewered him with a scowl, before she stated curtly, "Even so. You're coming along."

"We received a letter from our Headmaster," interjected Tom coolly, the lie smoothly rolling from his lips. "We are obliged to go. The school has evacuation plans of its own."

Kathy narrowed her eyes at him as she said crisply, "Where is this letter? I want to see it."

"I had no reason to keep it," intoned Tom calmly. "I threw it away."

"It's true!" piped in Harry adamantly, to then glance at them imploringly. "The train for Scotland leaves tomorrow. Can't we go to King's Cross station with you now?"

"Of course you can!" said Alice fervently.

"There's no train leaving for Scotland tomorrow," pointed out the Constable angrily as he glared at them. "What are you boys playing at?"

Harry was stumped at that, and could only stare at the muggle without knowing what to say.

"Our boarding school is a private, wealthy one," sneered Tom acidly, shooting the man a scathing look. "Our school hires its own train to take students up to Scotland."

"Orphans attending an uppity posh boarding school?" the Constable said sarcastically. "Sure, as if I'll believe that. Don't pull my leg, boy! Who do you think you're speaking to-"

"They aren't lying!" interjected Alice anxiously, before she straightened up to her full height and spouted out a lie herself as if it was an incontrovertible fact that cinched the deal, "I've seen the train with my own eyes!"

"There isn't any space in the truck for those things!" snapped the Constable, furiously gesturing at the trunks.

"We'll see about that! We're not leaving the boys behind!" bit out Alice before she ran up to the driver, who was impatiently seated inside the front cabin.

The man only scowled and glared, not moving an inch, clearly not liking to be ordered about by her. Though, when Alice began to hysterically shriek at him, the man soon paled and did exactly as she asked.

Their trunks ended up being stuffed in the front cabin of the truck, propped up, with Harry and Tom crammed beside them, leaving the Constable hanging outside one of the doors of the truck, grasping the frame and standing on the footledge.

"Let's get rolling, Pete!" commanded the Constable as he pounded a fist on the roof of the truck.

As they made their way towards King's Cross station, Harry saw that it was happening all over London.

The city was fraught with despair, fear, wretchedness, and foremost, with tears.

Similar trucks to theirs were parked along curbs, with policemen, officers, and other Constables herding children into them, with their parents standing in front of their homes, mothers wailing as they waved white handkerchiefs, husbands comforting them, saying it was for the best, that their children would be safe in the countryside, with strangers.

Furthermore, it wasn't only children who were being evacuated. Pregnant women or with babies or toddlers in their arms were also being taken into trucks, treated gently in their cases. And disabled people too, Harry saw when they passed by a hospital and an asylum.

King's Cross station was even worse. It was flooded with people: groups of children crying out, scared and sobbing, wanting to return to their parents, as they were led to platforms by policemen; invalids being hurried along by frenzied nurses; mothers with babies looking frantic as they jumped into departing trains; and even some children scattered here and there that seemed to have gotten lost from their group, standing in the middle of pushing crowds, looking terrified as they glanced around with fearful, wide eyes, waiting for an adult to take notice and help.

"Stick together, children!" yelled Kathy Cole at the top of her lungs so that she could be heard over the cacophony of the station. "Grasp each other's hands and don't let go! Whatever you do, DON'T LET GO!"

They all clutched each other frenetically, but it was impossible. The crowds were crushing and suffocating, and they found themselves being squashed and shoved at all sides.

And Harry couldn't even take a hold of any of his friends' hands, because he and Tom were fully occupied with dragging their trunks and the cage and basket of their pets.

When he saw that the distance between him and St. Jerome's group became larger and larger, till he could scarcely catch a glimpse of them through the crowds that seemed to have swallowed them up, Harry yelled frantically as he began to quicken his steps as fast as he could, "Wait! Please wait!"

"For what?" snapped Tom by his side. "We're not going with them, so what's the point of rushing to follow them?"

"I want to see them leave," said Harry in a soft voice. "I want to make sure they'll be alright. I want to say farewell to my friends and-"

He was roughly knocked over by a large woman bowling over the crowds with a shrieking toddler in her arms.

"Watch where you're going, you cow!" bellowed Harry furiously at her as he picked himself up from the floor before he was crushed by feet.

Darkly scowling, he rescued Ulysses' basket just in time before it was trampled all over, and lifted the lid to check that his Scorpcrup was well. Ulysses looked thoroughly disheveled and ruffled, with his fur standing on end, yet seemed unharmed.

Harry gave him a comforting pat on the head before he closed the basket and stuck it under an arm, grasping his trunk's handle once more.

"There they are!" he cried out joyously when he caught a brief glimpse of Alice and rest standing in a platform several feet away.

The caregiver was frenziedly glancing around, with hands anxiously clutching her chest, evidently looking for them.

Harry rushed forth, dragging his trunk with all the strength he could muster.

When he finally reached them, they had already started boarding the train. Though he was quick to release his trunk and gently settle Ulysses' basket on top when he saw Alice dashing towards him.

He was abruptly enfolded in a smothering embrace as Alice cried out, overwrought and distressed, "I'll write to you, no matter if I have to cross a whole county to find a Post Office. I'll tell you where we are and I want you to write back - you must promise! I need to know where you are and how you're faring, Harry. Promise, my sweet, lovely boy!"

"I will," mumbled Harry against the folds of her grey dress.

Alice pulled him away to gaze down at him with tearful eyes, as she tenderly swept a curl of hair from his forehead, nodding jerkily at him.

And before Tom had the chance to take a horrified step backwards, the woman launched herself at him and tightly crushed him against her bosom, as she said fervently, "Be good and brave, Tom. And take care of your brother!"

"Alice!" yelled Kathy Cole from a distance. "There's no time for partings. The train's about to leave!"

Alice released Tom at that, giving them a fearful, anxious glance filled with concern, looking extremely hesitant about leaving them there. While Tom was glowering darkly, as he dusted off his clothes with a hand as if wanting to get rid of the grime left there by the muggle's touch.

When the train's whistle shrieked loudly, Alice bit her lips and glanced at them again, but then ran back to the others.

Harry stood there, completely still, watching his friends.

"Why isn't he coming?" he heard Amy Benson yelling frenziedly, as she turned her face to look at him again. "What are you doing, Harry? Hurry!"

"Harry and Tom have decided to go to their school," Kathy Cole said loudly over the noise of the station, as she grasped the girl and began to shove her towards the train.

"What? He can't! We cannot leave Harry behind – what if we never see him again! What if-"

"Get in, lass!" snapped the Matron, pushing Amy inside.

Billy Stubbs and Eric Whalley, for their part, faintly waved their hands at him. Billy was clutching a pillow the boy had somehow managed to smuggle into the truck without the Constable noticing, clearly still hopefully believing that it could protect him from a bomb. And Eric was ashen faced, truly looking scared for the first time, giving Harry a weak, forced grin.

Harry stood rooted in place, as they all disappeared inside the train, as the train's wheels began to roll and rumble, as it became smaller and smaller, until it was a mere speck in the distance.

"Will we see them again?" said Harry quietly, his gaze fixed on the tiny dot.

He suddenly realized he should be frantic and desperate with worry, or even perhaps crying, because who knew what would happen to them – a bomb could very well fall in whatever country town they were going to live in, and kill them all- yet he only felt numb and empty.

"Hopefully not," sneered Tom scathingly as he turned around without casting a second glance.

Not even Tom's cruel, odious words pierced through the armor of insensibility that seemed to encompass him, and Harry trudged through the crowds, following Tom towards someplace in the station in which they could sit down.

* * *

During the night they spent in the railway station they didn't sleep a wink; between the constant flow of frantic evacuees rushing through, and King's Cross' clock chiming loudly every time it struck an hour, it was impossible. Not to mention Harry's frequent trips to the nearest loo, to make sure everything was well, given his situation. Though at least Tom wasn't suspicious. His brother seemed to ascribe his need to go to the bathroom to jitters and nerves.

Thus, when they were finally ensconced in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express the following morning, they were both exhausted and moody - the dark circles under Harry's eyes, caused by the stress of their 'holidays', being even more prominent.

Midway during the journey, Harry bit his lips, trying to rein it in, but failed again, releasing a giggle.

It made Tom snap his head up once more, to pierce him with narrowed eyes, whilst Harry scowled down at himself.

It happened again, and Harry fretfully squirmed on his seat, biting down on his tongue and pressing his lips tightly together.

"We should change into our school robes," said Tom sharply, abruptly standing up to open their trunks.

The boy tossed Harry's uniform on a seat before he stood in front of him with arms crossed over his chest, his dark blue eyes gleaming as he commanded, "Strip."

"What?" choked out Harry, gazing at him disbelievingly.

Tom's lips curved upwards as he intoned coolly, "I want you to strip off your clothes before me, little brother."

Taking an alarmed step backwards, Hary stared at him with eyes as wide as moons, as he said scandalized, "Are you hearing yourself? I'm not changing in front of you, you perve!"

And in the bat of an eyelash, Harry dashed to their compartment's door.

Tom swiftly blocked his way, shoving him back inside as he said calmly, "We've shared a room all our lives, I've seen you naked plenty of times." His dark blue eyes glinted as he trailed his gaze up and down over Harry, drawling softly, "You haven't anything that I haven't seen before, do you?"

When Harry stood there, speechless, Tom pounced on him.

"Geroff, you sicko!" yelled Harry frenziedly, batting his brother's roving hands away.

But it was to no avail, the moment Tom had him trapped and pinned against the compartment's windows, the boy tore off Harry's shirt, yanking it upwards through Harry's head, discarding it on the floor.

Frantically, Harry instantly covered as much as he could of himself with his skinny arms, stupidly feeling like a shy maiden protecting her innocence.

"I knew it!" snarled Tom furiously, glowering at him with a murderous look on his face.

"_Hello, Master,"_ hissed Nagini triumphantly, poking her head out from Harry's arms, from her place coiled around his bare chest.

At that, Harry dropped his arms, defeated, and glared down at her. _"I told you not to move so much! Your scales tickled me, it made me giggle!"_

Before the snake had the chance to open her maws to defend herself, Tom shoved Harry angrily as he snarled, "You know that snakes aren't allowed at Hogwarts-"

"I couldn't leave her in the orphanage!" interjected Harry hotly. "There's no one there, and Billy Stubbs was right. What if a bomb drops on the house? What if she died from that or from hunger?"

"Snakes are smart, they are survivors," bit out Tom infuriated. "She would have been fine!" He shot him a dark glower, as he added sharply, "I'm not getting expelled for this. I'm not taking care of her. This is your doing, so _you_ deal with it!"

"Fine, I will!" snapped Harry crossly.

He gently settled Nagini on a seat, and as he changed into his Slytherin uniform he hissed disparagingly, _"Your Master is a selfish, uncaring git, you know?"_

Nagini bobbed her head up and down, shooting Tom harsh, reproving glances or wounded ones as Harry kept hissing similar things at her, all with the purpose of making Tom change his mind.

However, it didn't work. Once Tom had changed into his school robes, the boy gritted his teeth but nevertheless turned a deaf ear to Harry's and Nagini's hissed aspersions on his person, picking up a textbook and by all means making himself look as he if was wholly immersed in it.

Thus, it was so that Nagini's stay at Hogwarts began.


	36. Part I: Chapter 35

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Lol about the Hetalia comments. I've heard about it but I've never watched it, but if you guys say it's bad then I won't ;)

Answering some questions, yes, everything portrayed in the last chapters is true. I always like to make my fics as realistic as possible, and especially this one, when Tom and Harry are living during one of the harshest times of modern history.

It all happened: the sirens placed all around big cities, all the places that were turned into air raid shelters, the Blackout, the rationing of food, the identity cards and gas masks given, the paintings of London's National Gallery being taken away and the like from museums, and the evacuation of children and others from major cities, the first one being on August 31st 1939, the one Harry and Tom experienced.

From what I know, evacuees that were taken to the countryside lived through very rough conditions. And by the end of the war, 3.5 million people in England, mainly children, had experienced evacuation.

On another note, for those who have asked, Part 2 of this fic will not come until Part 1 is done. I don't know yet if I'll be writing and posting some Part 2 chapters mingled with those future ones of Part 1, to give us a glimpse of what will come. Anyway, the full extended Part 2 will come later.

But everything that happens in Part 1 is deeply linked to what will happen in Part 2, so I wouldn't recommend skipping chapters until Part 2 appears, because if not you will not understand a thing.

In Part 2, I will not waste time rehashing the past, I'll assume you've read Part 1 because if not it would be like writing the whole fic again in backflashes. And I'm not going to do that, sorry.

Oh, and thanks to the reviewer who pointed out my mistakes when using 'Tom and he/him'. I always had doubts which one was the correct form. 'Tom and he' has always sounded strange to me for some reason, but you're right that it should be 'Tom and he' when the boys are the subject of the sentence, and 'Tom and him' when they are the object. Though I'll be using 'he and Tom' in the first case, because it just sounds better to me than 'Tom and he' when in the middle of a sentence. And the I/me trick helped too – thanks ^_^

If this mistake is something that has bothered many readers, then let me know and I'll fix it in all past chapters!

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**Part I: Chapter 35**

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Harry caught sight of Tom precisely where he had expected his brother to be: ensconced in one shadowy corner of Hogwarts' library, at a table filled with neatly stacked up books.

He dashed towards him, and when he reached Tom, he glanced around, making sure there was no one close by, before he leaned forward and whispered quietly, "I want you to find a way to disable our Traces, at least for a couple of hours if not entirely, without the Ministry finding out."

Tom quirked an eyebrow at him, as he drawled arrogantly, "I'm already looking into that, little brother."

And he pointedly gestured at all the books orderly set on his table, half of them probably having come from the Restricted Section.

"Good," said Harry, straightening up as he curtly nodded at him.

Though he knew his brother wasn't working on the issue for the same reasons he had.

During the second week of school, Tom had found books under his pillow once more: Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks on the Dark Arts, levels 3 and 4.

Tom had been giddy with excitement, while Harry had groused out, "We aren't even done with Level Two from last year. How are we supposed to be done with all of them this year when we can't even go to the Dueling Arena? The older Slytherins are keeping a close eye on the younger years, even more than before!"

"We have to find someplace else in which we can practice dark curses," Tom had said, with a frown on his face. "Perhaps somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts-"

"No," had interjected Harry firmly. "The new wards of the school extend over the whole grounds and even the Forbidden Forest. And they have similar Ancient Runes as the older wards of Hogwarts – so it's clear that they can also detect the use of illegal dark curses."

Tom had stared at him with a smidgen of surprise. "You can see the new wards?"

"Yes," Harry had said calmly, no longer feeling miffed about it. "Apparently, my ability is getting stronger. I'm beginning to see every bit of magic that is powerful."

Especially the new wards, that glowed like burning fires to his eyes.

"What are _you_ doing here?" demanded Tom at present, piercing him with narrowed eyes, a glint of curiosity in them.

"I'm taking a leaf out of your book," retorted Harry coolly. "I'm teaching myself useful things. Ancient Runes – and Healing."

And with that, he left for another part of the library, not sticking around to hear his brother's opinion on the latter matter.

After what he had lived through during the holidays – the distress and constant fear and panic in London and of the people he cared about in the orphanage, and specially the brutal carnage of the destruction of Leisure Alley– he had made a firm decision that night when they had returned from Diagon, which involved many things.

The evacuation he had experienced and returning to Hogwarts had only solidified his determination, as if a blind had been ripped from his eyes.

The students had had their Daily Prophets in the Hogwarts Express, with the news of what had happened to Leisure Alley. Thus, during the Sorting of the new first years, most had barely paid attention to it.

Not even Harry, because he was occupied with the understanding that dawned on him.

Students were horrified and scared by the news, as expected, but swiftly, Gryffindors started glaring at Slytherins from across the Great Hall, and harsh whispers began, as Slytherins sneered and other Houses bristled.

And the rivalry between Houses that had seemed to him so serious last year, suddenly became stupid to his eyes.

So what if dark purebloods usually ended up in Slytherin House, and historically, they had supported Dark Lords? His housemates were the children of Grindelwald's supporters in England, if anything, not the enemy themselves. Yet students acted as if Hogwarts was the whole world, given the renewed surge of quarrels that seemed so petty to him now.

They had read the Daily Prophet and seen the pictures of what was left of Leisure Alley, but it didn't seem as if they actually understood.

They hadn't experienced the panic in London, the frenzied stress and fear permeating all around when the sirens blared alerting a possible air raid, they hadn't seen people dying in the debris of Leisure Alley, and the pandemonium of the evacuation of children from London and the wretchedness it had caused.

Harry had.

It didn't make him feel more experienced, knowledgeable, hardened or superior, just very wary and aware, as if he had harshly woken up from a fantasy, from the sense of seclusion and protection that Hogwarts gave, and seen reality in all its gritty ugliness.

He didn't know whether to pity the other students or himself, at that. He didn't dwell much on the matter, either way.

Harry considered himself to be in the midst of war, and he took it seriously and was never again going to feel so unprepared as that day in Leisure Alley.

Furthermore, all the things that had happened during the first term of their second year reinforced his decision.

Two days after the beginning of class, they had received Daily Prophets that reported Grindelwald's newest attack. The Dark Lord had conquered Poland, employing the same methods as in Czechoslovakia.

The only difference was that no one had gone to the Poles' aid.

After the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic had lost their Head Auror, Mr. Valko Krum, along with their entire Corps of Aurors when they had flooed into the Czechoslovakian Ministry to help them out, all the other Ministries of Magic were too scared to do the same for Poland.

The front page of the Daily Prophet had been filled with pictures of the attack, like last time. And there had only been a tiny article at one margin, written as if it was an afterthought, reporting that after the 'Nazy' occupation of Poland, Muggle Britain and France had declared war on Germany.

The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, had formed a War Cabinet, naming 'a funny-looking muggle by the name of Winston Church' –the Daily Prophet hadn't even spelled the man's surname right– as First Lord of the Admiralty, which 'for some unknown reason seems to make English muggles very happy'.

Days later, it reported that the Muggle Royal Air Force had begun raiding German ships and that their British Expeditionary Force had crossed to France. And apparently, wanting to seek help, Neville Chamberlain had asked the portrait in his office if he could see the Minister of Magic.

Harry had sadly shaken his head when he had read that. No one had answered Chamberlain's request or paid him a visit. There was turmoil, havoc, and mayhem in Ministry of Magic, after what had happened to Leisure Alley.

The Wizengamot had cast a vote of no-confidence against Charlemagne McLaggen, the wizard being discharged from his post, fully stripped away from any privileges.

Harry had expected to see the wizard's grandson, the pompous Ravenclaw prat of his year, Tiberius McLaggen, shamed and with shoulders slumped.

Instead, he had seen the boy boasting to Olive Hornby and her entourage of girl friends.

"He is not a McLaggen anymore," Tiberius had blustered, puffing out his chest. "He has dishonored the family and Father has disowned him from our name, our vaults, and estates."

It had been the Prewett twins who had further clarified matters to him and informed him about Charlemagne's fate.

"Well, I've never liked him much," said Felicity in a soft voice, cringing, "but to be betrayed by his own family…"

"When he saw how the winds were blowing," piped in Felix, lowering his voice to a secretive murmur, his mismatched eyes gleaming with the excitement of revealing to Harry the nasty events, "the poor sod passed onto his son the title of Head of the McLaggen Clan. Thought it would be best, to spare his family." He winked at Harry and snickered. "But I bet he wasn't expecting that the first thing Tiberius' dad would do was to disown him!"

"Oh, it's terrible! Don't laugh!" snapped Felicity at her twin, scowling. She shot Harry an anxious glance, as she added quietly, "It's really the worst thing that can be done to a pureblood wizard. He's been left with nothing!"

Felix carelessly waved a hand. "He got what he deserved, in my view." He leaned towards Harry, and added animatedly, "Father says that Charlemagne has left the country. He's probably fled to America, scared of being lynched by the angry mobs of wizards here!"

Felicity glared at him for that, but then piped in cheerfully, "Things are going to get better, though, now that he's gone. The Wizengamot has declared a State of Emergency to put some order, and given that, they now have the power to choose an Interim Minister of Magic until there's peace and elections can be held."

And so they had done, choosing one of their own: Gravius Marchbanks.

The wizard's picture was splattered all across the Daily Prophet during a whole month. He was an old man but not shrunken and small. Instead he seemed brimming with energy, strength, and stern determination, tall and burly, with white hair strictly cropped and blue eyes that looked both wise and fierce.

"This is awful," Alphard had bemoaned, his face pale. "He's vicious, Harry! He was the Head of Law Enforcement for decades before the Wizengamot made him an Elder, supposedly because he was brilliant and very efficient. Efficient my behind!" He shot Harry a fretful, despairing look, as he gestured wildly with his hands. "I've heard that half the dark wizards in Azkaban are there because of him. He hates my kind, he detests the Dark Arts - he's utterly unfairly prejudiced!"

That day, when Harry had met the Prewett twins in their usual empty classroom, to spend sometime together, unsuspected, he had seen that his ginger-haired friends had an entirely different view on the matter.

"This is fantastic!" Felicity had cried out, cheerful and triumphant. "He's an old friend of Dumbledore and he was one of the few Elders who believed him from the start. The first thing he's done is to make Dumbledore the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot." Her beautiful mismatched eyes had glowed, as she added fiercely, "Grindelwald doesn't stand a chance now that Dumbledore finally has political power!"

Harry hadn't been too sure about that, but at least he had seen that things had improved.

One of Gravius Marchbanks' first acts as Minister was to follow Dumbledore's advice and put his Unspeakables to work in creating new wards.

For that purpose, the Ministry had even hired American wizards, 'Specialists in Muggle Weaponry', allegedly, to help English Unspeakables with their task.

It seemed that in the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas, wizards lived closed together, intermingled with muggles, happily so, and knew all about them.

Three months later, on a Sunday, the Heads of House had gathered their students in the Great Hall, and they had all seen, through the magnificent, high-arched windows, an army of Unspeakables and five Americans going around the Castle, with concentrated and serious expressions on their faces, waving their wands.

It took them a whole day, during which everyone was forced to remain in the Great Hall so they wouldn't get in the way.

Harry had seen the new wards forming before his eyes. They glowed as if alive and dancing: a net of coils of flames, they looked like.

Furthermore, the Daily Prophet had said that the Unspeakables and Americans would be paying a visit to every wizarding town and community, to cast the new type of wards that would protect them from bombs and supposedly any other type of muggle weapons.

The wizarding commercial area had been protected likewise - what was left of it, that was, because the rubbles of Leisure Alley had been cleared, the gap it had left behind had been sealed off, and only Knockturn and Diagon Alley remained.

Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had no funds to spare to reconstruct Leisure Alley, and out of respect to the dead, wouldn't do so, regardless.

Moreover, the Ministry had taken further measures to protect themselves. They had changed locations.

They had bought the building of a muggle department store that had recently gone out of business because there weren't any muggles left in London with the disposition of going shopping, and they had hired an army of wizarding architects.

The new Ministry's headquarters were going to be completely underground.

"Seven levels, it has," Felix disclosed to him. "And they're putting in those muggle inventions – those cages that go up and down."

"Elevators, you mean?" Harry supplied helpfully, staring at the boy in amusement.

"Yes, that," said Felix, flipping a hand dismissively. "And everything's going to be black - black tiles everywhere." The boy shook his head, looking bamboozled. "One would think that if they're under the earth, they would want to make it a bit more cheery, right? It sounds very ghastly and depressing to me-"

"Rubbish!" snapped Felicity, lifting her chin up. "It's going to be very elegant and dignified." She clamped her hands together, as she breathed out ecstatically, "And Father has said that there's going to be a fountain made of gold – it's already finished, he has seen it. It was Minister Marchbanks' idea. It shows the unity of the magical races against the Forces of-"

Felix loudly snorted. "Right. There's a Goblin gazing at the figure of a wizard with adoration." He rolled his eyes. "As if a Goblin would ever do that!"

"It's a representation!" bit out Felicity bristling, scowling at her twin. "Of our unity against the Forces of Evil!"

"Well, it's a stupid one!" yelled Felix back. "The Goblins are laughing their arses off - don't care two figs about Grindelwald and his 'Forces of Evil', do they?"

Thus, given everything, Harry had put his decision into action.

Firstly, he had decided that no matter how grim and horrible libraries seemed to him, he was going to suck it up and learn subjects that would be useful.

He could have done so much if he knew about Healing, when he had been trying to help those people in Leisure Alley. Even if he couldn't cast magic, knowing how to detect if a bone was broken, a spine snapped or an organ pierced, would have helped much.

Harry didn't understand why the subject wasn't a course in Hogwarts' curriculum, in fact; specially given the times they were living in. But he wasn't going to wait around for the teachers or the Headmaster to realize the folly of its lack, if they ever did.

And of course, he had realized his brother was right. He couldn't wait until third year to know about Ancient Runes. Wards were all around and it could be useful, someday, to know how to cast them or bring them down.

Secondly, he resolved that playtime was at an end. He had too many things to do and no time to waste, not only for teaching himself new things, but also for doing the tasks Santi had appointed to him.

Granted, he still didn't understand half the things Santi had told him, but if the strange man believed that doing the tasks was in Harry's best interest, then he would fulfill them and hope that what he learned from doing it would prove to be useful in the future.

For that purpose, he had begun researching as much as he could about portraits.

The plan had formed in his mind by the end of last school year, but the time and effort he was putting into hashing the details of his plot were infused with renewed focus and determination.

And for the first task Santi had given him, Harry had started searching the Castle again for the Grey Lady, now with tenacity and perseverance instead of reluctantly like in his previous weak attempts.

Hence, given his resolutions, the day that the announcement appeared in Slytherin's common room that Quidditch trials were starting, he had marched up to Dorea Black and told her that he wouldn't be participating.

"You mean to tell me that I spent all those Sundays last year, training you," she hissed out furiously, "and even giving you that book so that you could correct your atrocious eyesight, and now you've suddenly decided you're not interested in Quidditch? I could've been preparing someone else, Riddle! How dare you lay all my efforts to waste!"

"I'll play next year," Harry interjected coolly. "If things are better-"

But the girl left in an infuriated huff before she could hear him. Harry shrugged at that. It wasn't Dorea's reaction that concerned him.

His best friend hadn't taken it well.

"But – but," choked out Alphard, his grey eyes wide, looking extremely hurt, "I was looking forward to playing with you! I even bought a new broom so that you could keep my Comet 180. I even practiced during the whole summer so that I could be as good a Chaser as Dorea says you are!"

"You don't need me, Al," said Harry softly, as he patted him on the back comfortingly and reassuringly. "I'm sure you're going to be chosen for the Team."

"That's not the point," said Alphard in a small voice. "I wanted to play with _you_. I wanted to have fun and beat the Gryffindors, together."

The boy looked so crushed, devastated, and hurt, that Harry decided right then to put into action his other plan. His friend deserved nothing but complete honesty from him, and to understand the why of his decision.

Thus, right there, in the kitchen amidst the house-elves that were too busy preparing lunch for the Great Hall to pay them any attention, he had cast a Muffling Charm around them, and for full measure lowered his voice to a mere whisper, "There was something I didn't tell you last year, Al…"

And he told the boy about Grindelwald's letter and books.

By the end of it, Alphard was gawking at him with big grey eyes and hanging jaw, as Harry concluded, "So we don't know how he found out that we're Slytherin's descendants and Parselmouths, but apparently he's interested in-" he grimaced "- well, in being our 'mentor' of sorts, from afar."

He shook his head and bit out gruffly, "Tom is over the moon about it, but I don't like it." He shot his friend a puzzled, apprehensive look. "I mean, what does he want from us, eh? Why is he interested in us in the first place?"

" 'Why'?" echoed Alphard, blinking at him. Then he straightened up with a jerk, as if someone had pinched him out of his stupefaction, and declared vehemently, "He's interested because you're Parselmouths, obviously!"

Frowning and thoroughly unconvinced, Harry said slowly, "Only because we're Parselmouths?"

" 'Only because'?" repeated Alphard disbelievingly. "Of course it's due to that!" The boy shook his head before he intently pierced him with his eyes. "Harry, I don't think you realize what a big deal it is to purebloods!"

Oh, Harry had a fairly good idea about that, especially after he had introduced Nagini to Alphard.

When he had taken her from the orphanage, he had believed that Tom would help to take care of her. On the Hogwarts' Express his brother had crushed those hopes, though, and hadn't changed his mind.

Thus, Harry, although it pained and saddened him, had to resort to keeping Nagini inside his trunk. He wanted her to be in Hogwarts, away from possible bombings of London, but he didn't want to get expelled if someone caught sight of her, not with everything he had to do in the school.

So, he was only able to sneak her food from the kitchens, as often as possible. Nagini hadn't been a happy little snake, but her temper had smoothened a bit when Harry had started to let her out at nights.

He waited about an hour after all his roommates had fallen asleep, and then took her out of the trunk and into the corridors of the dungeons, allowing her to slither around and get some air and exercise while he occupied himself by reading a book on Healing or Ancient Runes.

One night, however, Harry had been so immersed in his reading that he had lost sight of her. He had looked for Nagini, frantic with worry, in every nook and cranny of the dungeon's corridors.

When he thought the worst had happened -that perhaps the snake hadn't paid attention to his warnings and had gone up to the other floors of the school and had been found by a teacher- he saw her slithering towards him very fast, looking panicked.

"_I want to leave!"_ she hissed, sounding utterly terrified, as she tried to climb up Harry's legs so frenziedly that she failed.

Harry picked her up in his arms, frowning. _"Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere-"_

"_I don't want to be here!" _Nagini hissed, as she tightly coiled herself around his arm, her thin body trembling. _"Take me away!"_

"_Away where?"_ hissed Harry, his frown deepening with both puzzlement and concern. "_What's the matter?"_

Nagini snapped her head up, piercing him with her yellow eyes, as she shivered and rushed out in agitation, _"It scares me! I was only looking for someplace nice and comfortable –"_ she managed to somehow shoot him a look that seemed angered and accusing _"- because I didn't want to return to that nasty, smelly trunk!"_ Her head lowered as she added in a tremulous, quiet hiss, _"I kept going down and down, I smelled food, and then I saw bones - and then I saw It!"_

At the terrified look she gave him, Harry stared at her, his heart starting to pump loudly in his chest, as he intoned very slowly, _"What did you see?"_

"_It looks like me but very big!"_ she said in a gasped out hiss. _"It was sleeping, but It scared me, It felt wrong…" _She hesitated, as if trying to find one of the words Tom had so long ago taught her in order to better express herself. _"It felt very dangerous. My… instincts… yes, my instincts made me feel I shouldn't be around It. That It would kill me!"_

Harry's breath hitched with excitement and he quickly urged, _"Show me! Show me where you went!"_

"_No! I want to leave this place,"_ hissed Nagini furiously. _"I don't like it here. I don't want to be where It is!"_

"_If you show me,"_ said Harry cajolingly, _"I'll find some other place for you, alright?"_

Nagini shot him a mistrustful glance. _"Promise?"_

"_Yes!"_ Harry hissed with exasperation.

The little snake skewered him with her yellow gaze before she coiled her tail to spring herself out of Harry's arms. In a dash, Harry followed her as she quickly slithered down the corridor.

He stared, befuddled, when Nagini halted in a shadowy cranny of a wall.

"_I went in there,"_ she hissed quietly, flicking her tail at something.

"Lumos!" whispered Harry, to then crouch as he held up his lit wand.

There was a very small opening at the base of the wall, and when he brought the light closer to it he saw that it was actually a pipe.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face with weariness as disappointment encompassed him. There was no way he could fit in there; it was apt for just mice, at best.

Regardless, what Nagini had revealed to him was discovery enough.

Since the beginning of term, he and Alphard, along with little Ulysses, had resumed their search for the Chamber of Secrets, beginning on the sixth floor since they had finished with the seventh before the holidays.

After finding the huge pipe hidden behind the Mirror of Desires – the name they had anointed it with, given what it showed and the backward phrase inscribed on its upper frame- they had narrowed down the type of monster to either a Leviathan or a Basilisk.

That meant that they still went around with bat dung smeared on their faces to fend off a Leviathan.

Now, there wouldn't be any need for that anymore.

Thus, Harry jumped to his feet as he instructed quickly, _"Wait for me here!"_

He was gone before Nagini could complain.

Careful of not making any noise, Harry finally reached his dormitory and didn't waste any time in waking Alphard up.

"Wha-"

Harry instantly covered his friend's mouth with a hand, as he whispered hastily and with much excitement, "Don't speak, just follow me. I have something to show you."

The boy stared at him groggily, looking sleepy, startled, but then intrigued.

When Alphard nodded, Harry grabbed him by the hand and swiftly pulled him along, so fast that the poor boy tripped several times on the hem of his long, nightgown tunic.

Once they reached the cranny of the corridor, Harry picked up Nagini and made prompt introductions, "Al, this is Nagini, a snake Tom found in our orphanage years ago."

Alphard stared at the little snake with a thoroughly gobsmacked look on his face, as he croaked, "Wha-_"_

But Harry didn't give him a chance to speak, so enthused he was, as he shot Nagini a look, and hissed, "_This boy is Alphard Black-" _his look became stern when he saw the gleam in her eyes as she gazed at Alphard _"-he's a friend, Nagini! So don't even think of biting him, understood?"_

"_Yes, Master," _hissed Nagini reluctantly, looking thoroughly disappointed.

Harry snapped his head up to glance at Alphard. "Al, she's told me that…"

He trailed off and blinked. The boy was frozen in place, staring at him with huge grey eyes, looking astonished, dazed, and awed.

"What's wrong?" said Harry worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"You hissed," breathed out Alphard, staring at him with eyes as wide as platters, "and she hissed back… it sounded like gibberish… but you were both trading hisses…"

"So?" Harry frowned at him, and then said with exasperation, "You already know I'm a Parselmouth."

"Yes," said Alphard slowly, still looking dumbfounded and bedazzled, "but knowing is very different than actually seeing it, hearing it…"

"What do you mean?" demanded Harry hotly, feeling quite indignant. "You've heard me speaking Parseltongue many times before, Al! Or did you think that I was making it up, that I lied when I told you that I was a-"

"No, I believed you, of course," interjected Alphard quickly, before he huffed and said matter-of-factly, "But last year you were hissing at walls, furniture, and ornaments! It's not the same. Hearing you carrying a conversation with a _snake-_" the boy intoned the word with reverence, as if snakes, by association to Parselmouths, had suddenly become glorious mythical creatures of great renown and godly-like subjects deserving worship "-is very different. That is in truth actually speaking Parseltongue, in my opinion."

Then Alphard went back to stare at him again with big grey eyes, looking breathless and entranced.

Harry merely rolled his eyes. That was when he learned that the whole fascination with Parselmouths definitely had to be a pureblood thing.

"Right," muttered Harry under his breath, before he pointed a finger at the small pipe Nagini had discovered. "Never mind that, Al. What I wanted to tell you is that…"

And he proceeded to quickly explain what the snake had found, and for full measure, he even asked, _"It didn't have seven heads, did it?"_

"_No, just one, very big,"_ hissed Nagini, giving a shiver, before she pierced him with her gaze and added sharply, _"and very ugly," _as if she wanted to make sure Harry knew he would never be conferred the honor of beholding a creature as dazzlingly beautiful as her, lack of impressive size regardless.

Harry shot her an amused look at that, before he said excitedly to Alphard, "It's confirmed. The monster is not a Leviathan – it's a Basilisk!"

That seemed to snap Alphard out of his trance, and the boy shifted nervously on his feet, shooting a wary glance at the small pipe at the base of the wall before them.

"The Chamber of Secrets must be underneath the dungeons or even deeper - in the foundations of the Castle, because Nagini said she went down," murmured Harry quietly as he crouched on the floor, staring at the pipe. He released a heavy sigh and carded his fingers through his hair. "So we know it's there, through here, but unless there's some spell that I haven't heard about that can miraculously turn us into a mouse, or something, I don't see how we can-"

"There is!" gasped out Alphard, his expression bright and enlivened, making Harry glance up at him, disconcerted. "If we're lucky, it could help us with this. I've always wanted to learn how to do it." The boy puffed his chest out proudly. "Us, Blacks, are usually capable of mastering it, you know? It's a trait, in our line."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Harry, utterly puzzled, before his eyes shone with hope. "Do you mean that there's actually a spell that changes people into mice?"

"No, it isn't a simple spell," said Alphard enthusiastically, "it's a type of Human Transfiguration. Very advanced, of course. And not everyone can do it. It takes years to learn!"

Harry gave him an utterly confused look. "It takes years to learn how to change into a mouse?"

"Not into a mouse," replied Alphard vehemently, before he gave a hesitant pause. "Well, it could happen of course, no one knows beforehand what animal they can turn into, if at all." He shot Harry a beaming grin. "A wizard's animagus form will be that of an animal that is akin to him – that's what it's called, Animagus Transformation, and you have to register in the Ministry and everything, because if not it's illegal!"

Thoroughly taken aback, Harry murmured slowly, "You mean to tell me that some wizards can turn into animals? What - permanently?"

"Oh no, you can shift back and forth into your animagus form," said Alphard knowledgably, before he scrunched his nose. "No wizard would remain in his animagus form forever. From what I've heard, it's not a good idea, it makes you have the characteristics of your animal when you're back to being a wizard. And some have even gotten stuck in their animagus form without being able to shift back!"

As it dawned on him what Alphard was saying, Harry jumped to his feet, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "So you think that we should learn how to do this, er… animagus thing, because then we could fit in there-" he gestured at the pipe "-and finally find the Chamber of Secrets!"

Smiling widely, Alphard nodded, as he piped in, "Hopefully, we'll both succeed, and if we're lucky, either you or I will have an animagus form that is small and useful."

"Fantastic!" said Harry joyfully, before his shoulders suddenly slumped, dejected. "But it takes years, right?"

"Yes, but it's the only thing I can think of," retorted Alphard adamantly. "From what I know, there are Human Transfiguration spells that can turn parts of your body into that of an animal, but not your whole body – and that's what we need." He shot him a large grin, as he added, animatedly gesturing with his hands, "If we start learning how to do the Animagus Transformation right away, then by the time we're in fifth year we could be doing it! And we'll still keep looking for another entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in the meanwhile."

Perking up, Harry beamed at him. "Sounds like a good plan."

Alphard happily nodded, as he intoned, "I'll ask Mother to send me books about Animagus Transformation-"

"Maybe you shouldn't," interrupted Harry uneasily. "We should first see if the library has books on that."

Two days after the beginning of their second year, Alphard had received a Howler.

Hearing the voice of the boy's mother shrieking, left Harry with no doubts from whom Walburga had inherited her screechy voice.

Alphard's parents hadn't been at all happy when they had discovered two books missing from their library. Though the Howler hadn't mentioned anything about the matter, just told Alphard very loudly and furiously that he was going to pay for his misdeed when he returned home for Christmas, and that he shouldn't be expecting any gifts for the foreseeable future, not until he got his first grey hairs.

His friend had gone pale, yet had tried to give Harry an unconcerned shrug of the shoulders and a weak smile.

However, Alphard hadn't dared to further risk his parent's wrath and had lent Harry the books on Occlumency and Legilimency for just three days before returning them by owl.

When Harry passed them on to his brother, along with the time constraint, Tom hadn't been pleased.

And three days proved to be too few, because it seemed that the Black books were protected with all sorts of magic that made it impossible to make copies of them with the use of spells.

Tom had apparently foreseen the problem, but hadn't found a way around it in three days, thus had to resort to taking some notes by hand about the subjects covered by the books.

It had left Tom completely dissatisfied and the boy was currently trying to find a way to buy tomes by owl from a bookshop in Knockturn Alley, without anyone finding out about it, of course, since the subjects, at least Legilimency, were considered Dark.

"Oh no, don't you see?" said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively. "My mother will be very proud of me when I tell her I want to start studying the Animagus Transformation. She will gladly send me all the books I want, for that. It's a Black thing." He then shot Harry a wicked grin. "And it will make her forget about the other books I took from the Black library without permission."

"If you're sure," said Harry, beginning to nod.

He yelped in the next second, staring disbelievingly at Nagini. The little snake was coiled around his ankle, with sharp fangs pressed against his flesh. She hadn't sunk them in fully, but had pierced through his skin slightly.

Alarmed, Harry instantly clutched his ankle, his eyes wide with panic. _"You're venomous, Nagini, you know that!"_

They had had ample proof of it throughout the years, when Nagini managed to instantly kill the mice in the orphanage by just biting them once.

"_I didn't let my poison flow, Master,"_ hissed the snake calmly, before her tone turned sharp and angered, _"You were talking to the stupid boy and ignoring me. You promised you would take me away from here! I demand you do it now!"_

Harry let out a deep exhalation of sheer relief, before he glowered at her, hissing hotly,_ "Yeah, yeah, you call me 'Master' because I'm the one who's taking care of you, but you wouldn't dare do to Tom what you just did to me. He would have snapped your neck for that!"_

Nagini flipped her tail dismissively, undaunted and unrepentant_. "But you're a nice Master. I'm not worried."_

"Unbelievable," grumbled Harry darkly under his breath as he picked her up. _"You have no shame. You've become worse than Tom."_

Nagini flicked her forked tongue out to kiss the skin of his hand, as she preened and hissed smugly and contently,_ "I know."_

"_That wasn't a compliment!" _snapped Harry, scowling, as he began marching down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" whispered Alphard nonplussed, quickly catching up to him.

"I have to take her out of the castle," said Harry with a sigh. "She fears the Basilisk and refuses to stay here." He frowned pensively as he kept walking, and cast his friend a quizzical glance. "Do you think I should take her to the Forbidden Forest?"

Alphard's eyebrows shot upwards, before he paled a mite and said nervously, "Well, I suppose it's a good place for a snake, but…" He lowered his voice, as he continued apprehensively, "But there are Centaurs in the Forest and all sorts of other dangerous creatures."

Harry snorted at that. "I would worry more about them than Nagini. She can be a very vicious little snake, let me tell you."

"Here," he then said as he passed Nagini to Alphard and took out his map from a pocket.

Apparently, being told that Nagini could be vicious hadn't put Alphard at ease when having to handle her, since the boy had instantly pulled her far away from himself, leaving half her body dangling in the air, as he stared at her with a white face and a scared, fixed gaze, as if ready to jump backwards at any given moment that Nagini could fancy making a lunge at him.

Harry merely shook his head as he unfolded his piece of parchment, tapping it with his wand. "All for one and one for all!"

With the model of Hogwarts Castle in his hands, indicating their precise location as they trudged forwards, the boys swiftly slipped outside the Castle without being detected.

Alphard was kind enough to cast Warming Charms on them -since by late October the grounds had already become covered with snow and the nights were very cold- while Harry took Nagini again as they neared the Forbidden Forest, explaining as much as he could.

"_A forest,"_ she hissed sounding puzzled, before her yellow eyes brightened with fascination and excitement. _"That's a place with many trees, yes?"_

Harry shot her a glance, feeling a bit guilty. The snake had hardly seen many trees or greenery in her life, since she had always been in London, stuck in the orphanage. She had certainly had a very restricted life, especially for one of her kind.

"_Yes, and I'm sure you'll love it,"_ hissed Harry softly, his tone then turning firm and stern, _"but did you listen to what I said about Centaurs?"_

Nagini bobbed her flat head up and down. _"Yes, they are horses."_

"_No,"_ groaned Harry, _"they are part horse, part human."_ He shook his head disparagingly_. "And from what I know they are very intelligent and consider themselves superior to humans, so don't go around calling them nags or something of the sort-"_ He blinked, and then shrugged. _"Well, call them whatever you want, they won't understand you, anyway."_

"_I will,"_ hissed Nagini, looking thoroughly pleased. Her eyes suddenly gleamed, as she asked avidly, _"Are they tasty?"_

Extremely alarmed, Harry hissed sharply, _"Don't you even try! They are big and you're too little – they'll trample all over you with their hooves, Nagini!"_

"_I'm not little!"_ she stated in a bristling hiss. _"I'll grow to be a very big snake. I know it."_

"_Sure you will,"_ said Harry with a roll of his eyes, _"but until that happens, I don't want you go biting more than you can chew, understand? You couldn't even gobble down one of their hands, right now, as much as you tried."_

Nagini let out a harrumphing hiss, but seemed to forget about the matter altogether when they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, her giddiness at the sight evident by the way she started squirming in Harry's arms.

He gently placed her on the grass, as he hissed sternly, _"I'll meet you right here every Saturday." _He gestured at the distant Castle. _"You'll know it's a Saturday because people will be out and about. And you must remember to be here after the sun has set, over the lake."_ He pointed a finger in its direction. _"When it starts to get dark. Alright? This is important because I won't be going into the forest looking for you, Nagini."_

"_I understand, Master,"_ she hissed quickly, shooting desirous glances into the Forbidden Forest. She halted to shoot him an inquiring look. "_Are there kinds like me in there?"_

"_Snakes? Yes, I reckon there has to be some."_

Nagini let out a long, vibrant, gleeful hiss. _"I'm going to find a mate, then!"_

And after that declaration, the little snake dashed into the darkness.

Mind boggled, Harry was left utterly speechless and discombobulated, his eyes popping out, before he roared, _"WHAT? You come back here!"_

"What did she say? What did she say?" pressed Alphard, bouncing on the heels of his shoes with curiosity.

Harry told him, carding his fingers through his hair so forcefully that he didn't realize he was tearing some off, as he added angrily, "I don't know where she got that from! I never said a word to her about 'mating'. Where on earth did she get that idea?"

Alphard started guffawing and laughing so hard that the boy bent over, clutching his midriff, as he choked out in between chortles, "You sound like a father worried about his daughter's virtue!"

"I don't," snapped Harry, scowling. "It's just that she really is too young and little, Al!" He threw his hands up into the air. "And what am I supposed to do if she has babies? She's become too much for me to handle, already!"

His friend didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation, though, since the boy kept chuckling and snickering.

"Oh shut up!" bit out Harry, thoroughly miffed.

It only made Alphard laugh harder and Harry left with a huff, dismayed by the possibilities of what he might one day encounter when visiting Nagini.

Nevertheless, after he had told Alphard about Grindelwald's connection to him and Tom, his friend had understood his reason for not wanting to be in the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

Harry let him believe it was just because he wanted to use every single second of spare time to study Dark Arts from Grindelwald's books, to be prepared. He didn't tell him about all the other things he was doing as well.

Alphard felt so anxious and concerned for him, and the boy had taken the matter so seriously, that he didn't question where Harry was all the time, when they didn't have class.

When Alphard was chosen as a Chaser for the Slytherin Team, as Harry had known would happen, it also meant that they didn't have much time to spend together, and their search for another entrance to the Chamber of Secrets inevitably dwindled.

Harry wasn't concerned about it: it wasn't a priority for him anymore.

He didn't tell his brother that, of course, but really, they already knew they were Slytherin's descendants and Tom only wanted to find the Chamber so that he could take Malfoy there, as a witness to the evidence that Tom and Harry were Parselmouths and Salazar Slytherin's heirs. All because Tom had his sights on becoming the leader of Slytherin House.

Harry didn't see the point. That wouldn't help them in the war.

And he was occupied in far too many other things: in the tasks Santi had given him, in learning Ancient Runes and Healing, in continuing studying German, and the Dark Arts from Grindelwald's books, in finding somewhere he and Tom could go practice dark curses without being detected by wards, and then he would also have on his plate learning Occlumency and Legilimency with Tom, and the Animagus Transformation with Alphard, when the boys got around getting their respective books on the subjects.

Finally, though, all his efforts began to pay off. The very first occasion happening on the day Harry had been dreading: the Yule Ball Celebration.

It would place another duty on his shoulders, a very awkward, bizarre one, but it would also solve several problems in one stroke.


	37. Part I: Chapter 36

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

I know it's been over a month since the last update but I was on holidays and didn't get the chance to write.

I haven't had the chance to read the reviews either, but I will as soon as I can and reply to them in the next chapter.

And Happy Birthday to Elelith! Hope you had a wonderful time ;)

Anyway, here's the long due chapter - Enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 36**

* * *

Harry was in a very bad mood. The Yule Ball was certainly more trouble than it was worth.

He had hoped that by the time the celebration approached, he and Tom would have been able to go to the orphanage for Christmas, like last time.

However, two weeks ago he had finally received a letter from Alice. St. Jerome's children and caregivers were still in a refuge in a small country town, with no expectations of returning to London anytime soon, even though England hadn't been bombed by Germans yet, as far as muggles knew.

Alice had expressed that they were all well and that their living conditions weren't that bad. Harry hadn't believed it. How could he, when she had written to him on the margins and blank spaces of an old newspaper and with a coal stick? The fact that Alice couldn't find paper and pencil was indication enough of how dire things had to be for them.

Moreover, Yuletide at Hogwarts wasn't like in the previous year. Most students had remained at school because, after Grindelwald had openly come out as a Dark Lord, there was such fear in Wizarding England that parents felt that Hogwarts was the safest place for their children.

Even most dark pureblood children had stayed, unlike before.

"Well, there isn't going to be a Winter Season," Alphard had piped in, when he explained why the Blacks and most Slytherins were staying at school. He deeply sighed as he played with his plate of food in the kitchens. "My parents and other purebloods cannot throw parties after what happened to Leisure Alley, can they? It would look very bad." He shot Harry an apprehensive look as he lowered his voice to an uncomfortable, apologetic whisper, "They cannot let anyone suspect that they support the Dark Lord. They have to keep up appearances. So we're staying put at Hogwarts, like all the rest."

Not only that, but the Castle seemed to be infused in a fever of exalted gossip of who was going with whom, what they were going to wear, what new hairstyle or fashion was going to be displayed, which dances there were going to be, and whatnot.

Harry didn't understand it. They were in the midst of war and girls and boys were more worried about having a date, getting someone popular to hang from their arms, and having a jolly good time.

"It's because no one wants to think about war," muttered Alphard, sighing sadly when Harry had grumbled about the matter. The boy then shot him an interested look. "Who are you going to take, in the end?"

"Dunno," retorted Harry peevishly, as he savagely speared a potato with his fork.

Alphard snickered at that, already knowing about Harry's ill-fated attempts in getting a partner.

Harry had remembered Felicity's suggestion for the last Yule Ball and had had every intention to march up to Minerva McGonagall to ask the older girl to be his date. Unlucky, he had gotten wind that she had already been asked by a fourth-year Ravenclaw.

Not yet daunted and dispirited, he had then decided to resort to a good friend.

"I'm going with Algie Longbottom," Felicity had said softly, looking downcast and regretful. Two high spots of pink colored her cheeks, as she added nervously, "He asked me first… If I had known you would have…"

She trailed off as her blush intensified, shooting him a fretful and deeply apologetic and remorseful glance.

Harry sighed in disappointment as he left the Gryffindor common room, only to be halted by Felix as he was about to climb into the portrait hole.

"You're an idiot," stated the red-haired boy, huffing with annoyance. "My sister waited for days, hoping you would ask her." Felix rolled his mismatched eyes at Harry's bemused expression. "You're completely oblivious, aren't you?"

Harry frowned at him, utterly confused. He had thought the boy would rail at him for attempting to ask Felicity out. After all, he had seen Felix glaring at and warding off all the boys who had given the merest inkling of being interested in Felicity. Felix had always been very protective of his twin; Harry had had ample evidence of that in the past.

"Next year," added Felix, looking irritated, "ask her before anyone else, you dunce. I rather it's you than any other boy. I know you wouldn't dare do anything frisky with her."

And after shooting Harry a reproving, miffed glance, the ginger-haired boy had marched off, his mismatched eyes narrowing at Algie Longbottom who was approaching Felicity from across the common room looking very smug and vastly proud of himself.

"Why does everyone think I should be worrying about girls?" Harry had groused out with vexation, as he violently carded his fingers through his hair, when he vented his spleen with Alphard.

Tom had been worse than Felix Prewett, demanding to know who Harry was taking to the Yule Ball, looking angered, irritated, and impatient. Which made no sense, because Harry's scar had throbbed with pain when he had told his brother he was going to ask Felicity Prewett out, and then Tom had sneered and berated him when he had disclosed that Felicity was taken and that he didn't have anyone else.

"You are going to make me look bad if you don't have a partner," Tom had snapped, shooting him a scathing look. "Get someone worthy and learn how to dance! You will not make a fool of yourself - it would reflect badly on me and I won't have it."

Harry had shot him a dark scowl at that, because Tom had already been inviting over Olive Hornby to the Slytherin's common room, and the Ravenclaw girl had been simpering and fawning over Tom ever since, gushing about what a perfect couple they made and how everyone was going to envy them on the dance floor of the Yule Ball.

"I don't fancy anyone!" bit out Harry at his friend, before he huffed, affronted and crossed. "I have other things to think about. Who cares about dates and girls!"

"Everyone our age and older," piped in Alphard matter-of-factly, with an exasperated roll of his grey eyes. "We _are_ thirteen. Of marriageable age, already, in the Wizarding World."

Harry cast him a disgruntled look. Tom and he would be turning thirteen soon, in New Year's, but he didn't see what that had to do with anything. He wasn't interested in girls, didn't even think about such things. Though he knew he was in the minority.

His very own roommates didn't seem to think about anything else, especially Orion Black who had become a consummate flirt with anything that moved, Neron Lestrange who smirked and leered at anything female, and Thaddeus Avery who stuttered and salivated like a Troll at anything more passable than a light post.

Abraxas Malfoy was another matter altogether. Now everyone knew that the boy was engaged to Kasimira Von Krauss, which apparently meant a great deal to their circle of purebloods since the boy's clout and prestige in Slytherin House seemed to have heightened after the news, if possible. Though Malfoy wasn't taking anyone to the Yule Ball. Apparently, per propriety rules, he couldn't and had to go alone.

Not only that, but Alphard was certainly right that thirteen marked an important age for purebloods. The other Blacks in their year were already suffering the consequences of being of legal age to be married or betrothed.

Alphard had told him that the Rosiers had approached his parents, and negotiations were well under way.

"Now that Druella's mother has baby Evan, the Rosier line is secured with a male heir," the boy had explained with a knowledgeable, worldly air about him, "but that means there's even more pressure for them to procure a good marriage for their daughter." Alphard scrunched his nose up in disgust. "Druella is very beautiful, I grant you, but she's still a selfish, spoiled hag. I do really pity my brother Cygnus." He let out an aggrieved, lamenting sigh. "Cygnus is not happy about it but he'll end up doing his duty because he's the heir. Father is very pleased with the match between our House and the Rosiers. 'Especially in times of war, allegiances with other powerful pureblood families are crucial', it's what he's always said."

And apparently, after Old Maximilian Malfoy had scorned Walburga, Alphard's parents had decided to kill two birds with one stone and secure the Black legacy by uniting the two branches of the family. It had been decided that Walburga would be engaged to Orion Black.

"But… he's your first cousin, isn't he?" Harry had choked out, thoroughly taken aback when Alphard had broken the news to him.

Alphard had blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "So?"

Harry had shaken his head and swallowed his remarks.

Though, unlike Alphard's older brother Cygnus, who seemed to take his responsibility to the family very seriously and by looking at him no one would be able to tell that the boy wasn't happy with the future bride chosen for him, Orion Black didn't seem to have any intention of changing his ways.

The handsome boy had a flock of students trailing after him and clearly took great pleasure in flirting back with them. It had led to several tumultuous scenes in the Slytherin common room, as Walburga Black shrieked like an infuriated banshee at Orion and the boy merely sneered at her and dismissively turned heel to lay his charms on thick on the nearest pretty thing.

Alphard, on the other hand, had it easy. It didn't seem the boy's parents were concerned about making a match for him, since he wasn't the heir. The boy had been simply instructed to be his cousin's –the pretty Lucretia Black's- escort for the Yule Ball.

Thus, all in all, it meant that everyone in Slytherin House had their dates and partners. All except Harry, and he had never felt so harried about the matter.

"Then I'll ask Myrtle Mimbletinion!" he bellowed, exasperated, when Tom once again badgered him about the issue.

His brother had already shot down every possible candidate that had crossed his mind, and Harry was thoroughly fed up.

"Moaning Myrtle?" hissed out Tom, his dark blue eyes flashing dangerously, his tone laced with deep disgust and contempt. "The mudblood mocked by the whole school? I think not."

"Who I take to the stupid, bloody Ball is my problem, not yours!" Harry snapped, as he slammed the door of the bathroom shut on his brother's face.

He was very late. He had spent the last hours meandering about the Castle like a lost soul, moody and disgruntled as he saw the whole school getting ready for the ball, as he dragged his feet, wishing he could just skip the whole thing.

The other Slytherin boys were already changed and dressed, with their dates awaiting in the common room, especially Tom who looked as if he had stepped out from some magazine, with his dark hair perfectly groomed and his spotless, rich formal dress robes of Monsieur Ermenegilde with white bow tie and stiff collar.

Harry, on the other hand, still had no clue what he was going to do. Though he was seriously considering the possibility of just asking Myrtle to get it over with.

He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, the girl still seemed a tad unbalanced, but he was at the end of his rope and he had seen Myrtle hanging in the corridors, at times scowling darkly at the couples passing by, other times glancing hopefully around for someone to ask her.

Sighing, Harry got undressed and sank into a bathtub filled with bubbly, purple water, tiredly closing his eyes. For a moment, he had the fleeting idea he could just soak there and pretend he had fallen asleep.

"So here you are."

Harry's eyes flew wide open and he yelped at the sight, seeing the ghost partly submerged in his water, staring at him with a scowl on her face.

He flattened himself to one side of the bathtub, frantically hoarding more bubbles with his arms to cover his parts, as his face turned red and he croaked out, flustered and disconcerted, "What are you doing here!"

The Grey Lady gave him a long, unperturbed glance. "Looking for you."

"What?" said Harry disbelievingly, to then feel a surge of anger. "I've been the one looking for you all over the castle for months! And you've been fleeing from me every time you've seen me coming!"

Undaunted, the ghost shot him a cool glance, as she said sharply, "I've changed my mind. I have realized that Santiago isn't going to make you help me until I've told you my secrets."

Harry blinked at her. "Santiago? Who the hell is Santiago?"

"Santi, boy!" snapped the Grey Lady, scowling at him. "Are you really as slow witted as you seem?" She gave him an impatient, irritated look as she floated up from the water, and added tartly, "Never mind, I know the answer already. Come, let's go."

Feeling utterly bewildered, Harry stared at her. "Go where?"

"I have something to show you," she replied shortly. "Now be quick about it."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" said Harry disconcerted, sinking deeper into the bathtub. "I'm not even dressed!"

The Grey Lady's lips twisted in a grimace as she shot the bubbles Harry was frenziedly using to cover himself a disparaging look. "I'm not interested in seeing your dangling bits, boy!"

"My what?" choked out Harry, scandalized, feeling he couldn't be getting any redder given the way he felt his cheeks blazing.

The ghost let out a scoff, leaning forward to peer down at Harry's bubbles, as she said flatly, "Nothing impressive down there. I've seen better in my day. Now that we're through with that, get up and follow me."

Beet red, Harry stared at her with mouth hanging open, not knowing if he should feel offended and outraged or just mortified and appalled.

"Very well," snapped the Grey Lady impatiently when he remained still and speechless. "Then preserve your modesty and come find me in the place we first met."

And with that, she swiftly whooshed upwards and disappeared through the ceiling of the bathroom.

Blinking, Harry finally shook his head, still feeling a mite perplexed. In the next second, he was quick to act, though. He doused himself with an Aguamenti Charm and then cast several drying spells.

He hesitated for a moment, as he glanced from his discarded Slytherin uniform to the dress robes he had laid out. He decided on the latter, to keep up appearances, and donned the garbs quickly.

It wasn't that hard to slip through the Slytherin common room unnoticed. The Yule Ball would be commencing soon and the room was filled with people and couples chattering excitedly.

He even caught sight of Tom, with Olive Hornby hanging from his arm, shooting smug looks at girls who were enviously gazing at her. Tom, for his part, didn't seem to be paying much attention to his admirers for once, since the boy was glancing around with searching, narrowed eyes and an angered expression on his face.

Quite sure he knew who Tom was looking for, Harry carefully tiptoed along the walls, ducking now and then when his brother's gaze roved over, and finally pelted out of the common room.

Now intrigued and excited by the unexpected encounter with the ghost, Harry quickly began climbing his way up.

On the ground floor, he saw plenty of students already making their way to the Great Hall, as lively music began to sound. And even though he waved at acquaintances here and there, like the Prewett twins with their dates and Dorea Black and Charlus Potter already hand-in-hand and glowing with besotted, sappy happiness, he didn't halt.

By the time he took a turn to take the moving stairs that led to the seventh floor, there was absolute silence and no one in sight.

"Are you looking for the Chamber of Secrets again?"

The lilting voice startled him so much that Harry nearly jumped in the air. His heart was thundering in his chest as he swirled around and saw Abraxas Malfoy standing a few feet away from him, in velvety pale grey dress robes that accentuated his fair features, though the boy looked distinctly ruffled, breathing hard, as if he had had quite a run.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, you scared me!" snapped Harry, before he narrowed his eyes at the boy, angered. "You've been following me! I told you not to do that!"

Recovering his breath, Abraxas Malfoy indolently leaned against a wall and drawled placidly, "Of course I followed you. I saw you in the common room, you were behaving very suspiciously."

"So what?" bit out Harry, scowling darkly. "I told you not to spy on me again."

"And I told you I would, if it pleased me," intoned Malfoy calmly. He tilted his head to a side, pinning him with his silvery eyes as he demanded, "Where are you going?"

Clenching his teeth, Harry gritted out, "It's none of your business. Scram and leave me the hell alone, Malfoy. Don't you have a ball to go to?"

Abraxas arched a pale eyebrow at him. "I have no interest in the Yule Ball, as I am without a partner." His lips quirked into a smirk, as he added loftily, "I'm much more interested in what you're up to." His eyes seemed to gleam as he said excitedly, "Have you found it yet?"

Glaring, Harry said flatly, "No. We'll tell you when I do, you already know that."

Malfoy's smirk grew larger, as he approached him in measured steps. "I do, now that you've confirmed it for me."

Harry stiffened, feeling a jolt of fury as he spat accusingly, "You _did_ know what my brother would want from you! You said it, I heard you-"

"What I told you were mere suspicions and speculations," interjected Malfoy in a satisfied drawl. He arched a cool eyebrow at him as he added curtly, "You do realize that I will not bear witness and spread the word without asking something in return, do you not?"

"Of course," said Harry bitterly, shooting him a disgusted look before he huffed and shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. "You'll have to settle that with my brother when the time comes."

"I certainly will," said Abraxas slowly, looking too pleased with himself. He glanced around curiously. "I expected Alphard to be with you."

Taken aback, Harry froze, staring at him, before he bit out contemptuously, "Black? Why would Black be with me?"

Abraxas shot him a patronizing, amused glance. "Come, come, there's no need to keep up pretenses between us. I've been following you. I know you meet him in the kitchens and that he's your secret little friend-"

"I haven't the foggiest what you're blabbering about," snapped Harry angrily.

Malfoy chuckled under his breath. "Even if I had not been following you, it wasn't that hard to piece together." He smirked at him. "You see, Alphard used to have a Comet 180, the same type of broom you have in your trunk, shrunken, inside a pair of socks-"

"You've gone through my things!" growled Harry furiously, his hands clenching into fists. "You had no right-"

"Of course I did," intoned Abraxas, giving him a pleasant smile. He then shook his head chidingly, as he tsked and clicked his tongue. "You really should cast stronger spells on your trunk, Riddle. But my point is that you have Alphard's broom now and his Scorcrup-"

"I don't know what Black had or didn't have," retorted Harry hotly. "My muggle parents bought my broom and Ulysses for me!"

"What muggle parents?" said Abraxas acidly, any traces of amusement or mock amiability vanishing from his face. "Let's not play games, Riddle. You're aware that I know that you and your brother are Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants." His face contorted with disgust as he sneered disdainfully, "Actually, I even know you are lowly orphans, raised in a grimy muggle orphanage in London, at that."

Harry's green eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat poignantly, "Your dear ole grandpa told you that, did he?"

"My grandfather?" intoned Abraxas, suddenly letting out a sharp, low chuckle, before his expression turned grave. "I'm not stupid. I did not ask Grandfather about you two. I tell him nothing. I gleaned that information from Professor Slughorn, who evidently didn't know that you and your brother had been telling people that you have muggle parents."

At first feeling a frisson of annoyance at their loose-tongued Head of House, Harry then frowned, giving the boy a long, considering look, cocking his head to a side as he muttered, "You don't like your granddad much, do you?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, before he gave a frosty smile and waved a hand dismissively. "My relationship with my grandfather is of no concern of yours, Riddle. Yet."

"Yet?" echoed Harry, a hard expression on his face as he demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That it will someday," drawled Malfoy pleasantly, giving him a sharped-edged smirk. "Soon, I hope." His eyes then suddenly narrowed, as he said bitingly, "Though I gather you already know a bit about me and my grandfather, do you not?" He shot him an ugly sneer. "Your little friends, the Prewetts twins, must have told you all about it, big mouthed, bloodtraitor scum that they are-"

"Don't insult them!" hissed out Harry, bristling and furious. "They're worth a dozen of you – at least they are on the right side!"

"Right side?" Abraxas stared at him, before he chuckled loudly. "Albus Dumbledore's side, you mean? And you consider that as the 'right' side, as in the side you'd want to be on?" He shook his head and tutted mockingly, looking as if he was immensely enjoying himself. "Oh, Riddle, Riddle... You have no idea what's coming to you, do you? The fact that you and your brother are orphans will only make it all the easier for them."

"Make _what_ easier for _who_?" snapped Harry heatedly, glowering at the boy.

Abraxas quirked an eyebrow at him, shooting him a taunting smirk. "Well, if you're so dimwitted that you haven't figured it out already, I'm not going to bother to enlighten you. I did tell you that I would be spending my next holidays in Germany with my betrothed, did I not?"

"Right," said Harry, scowling and feeling thoroughly fed up with Malfoy's pointless mind games. "You can sod off now, Malfoy, I have things to do."

"Indeed?" said Abraxas, glancing around their surroundings with an intrigued look. "What exactly, pray tell, if you're not looking for the Chamber of Secrets?"

Glaring, Harry squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not telling and I'm not moving until you're gone."

"Is that how it is?" drawled Abraxas in his lilting voice, abruptly looking amused and weirdly thrilled at the challenge, as he widely smiled at him.

Suddenly, as the boy stepped closer, something strange seemed to shift and change and Harry's green eyes widened, turning dazed as his breathing hitched.

Malfoy seemed to be glowing in a beautiful faint light, the boy's eyes looking like molten, swirling silver, mesmerizing and entrancing, his lips tilting upwards into a smug smirk that was a wonder to behold.

Harry didn't think he had ever seen someone so gorgeous and breath-taking in his life, the boy's hair looking so soft and enticing, like spun rays of sun and moonlight, golden, silver, and shiny, that he wanted to bring his hands up and card his fingers through it, to know if it felt as soft and silky as it looked. The features were a canvas of perfection of high cheeks, straight nose, and strong, sharp jawline, the skin so pale, immaculate, and smooth that he felt the urge to feel it, caress it.

The boy before him was like a wondrous, ethereal dream, so astonishingly perfect that it had to be declared, hailed, and celebrated for the magnificence that it was. Surely there were sonnets about such handsomeness. There had to be.

Harry scowled at himself, vexed. How come he didn't know any? Poems were for that, weren't they? But he didn't know any with which to impress the other boy, and he fervently didn't want to make a fool of himself.

But he had to say something to Malfoy! Something grand that would make him sound very intelligent and interesting because he needed Malfoy to keep looking at him that way, as he was now, pinning him with his gaze, widely smiling with satisfaction. He was making him happy and it had to go on!

"Tell me, Riddle," said the wonder, in that amazing, melodious tilting voice that sounded like a beautiful song, "what are you doing here? Where are you going?"

"I have to see her," breathed out Harry instantly, gazing at him dazedly, feeling amazed and ecstatic that the boy was actually speaking to him. "I've been looking for her and she came to me. Said she would talk to me. Finally!" He grinned happily at Malfoy, feeling so supremely proud of himself that he puffed his chest out, as he declared, "I'll succeed in my task!"

"A task, indeed?" the boy said softly, as his silvery eyes seemed to become even more astonishingly beautiful and mesmerizing. "What task is that?"

"To speak with the Lady!" gushed out Harry, smiling widely, feeling so deliriously and feverishly besotted by the sight before him that his knees suddenly turned weak and started to give way.

The boy swiftly caught him in time, as if he had been prepared, and if he had known beforehand, clearly because he was so amazingly smart and perfect! Indeed, the boy gently grabbed him as Harry clambered to find his balance again.

"I'm sorry!" cried out Harry, mortified and thoroughly ashamed of himself as he ducked his head and hung it low, his cheeks flushing and his eyes starting to water.

He wanted to sob because of his stupid clumsiness. The boy had to think he was a bumbling, blundering idiot!

"I'm sorry!" he repeated, distraught and wretched, peering up at the wondrous beauty that had taken him into his arms. It felt so right and amazing! The boy was hugging him!

"Hush," said the boy, giving him a soft, breathtaking smile as he patted Harry's cheek. "It's alright, Riddle… Harry… Tell me more about this 'task' you've mentioned. With which witch do you have to speak to? And why?"

The bedazzling smile grew larger, it looked warm and affectionate, and the boy knew Harry's name!

Harry beamed a joyous smile at him. Malfoy knew his name!

Something odd niggled at the back of his mind, making Harry blink in confusion. Of course Malfoy knew his name… they were housemates, and the boy had been stalking him…

Harry frowned, suddenly feeling disoriented and dizzy, and he shook his head repeatedly, like a dog shaking water from its ears. Something wasn't right…

Abruptly, he gasped as piercing pain exploded in his scar, and he clutched his forehead, moaning as he bent over, feeling sick and ill. Tom was furious, his brother had to be looking for him, and he was in…. Where was he? What was he doing?

"Harry? Riddle, look at me," said a lilting voice sharply, sounding angered.

Harry instantly snapped his head up, blinking with stupefaction as the pain in his scar was overridden by the sudden surge of sheer rage that encompassed him.

"You did something to me!" Harry choked out as he gritted his teeth and straightened up, so spitting mad that he could barely find his words. "You used your Veela allure thing on me!"

Abraxas Malfoy frowned and scowled at that, looking irritated and vastly disappointed, before he smirked widely and drawled condescendingly, "Of course I did. My abilities are getting stronger and I've been learning from books-"

"Confringo!" roared Harry, before he even knew he had ripped his wand from his pocket and cast the Blasting Curse.

With wide eyes, Malfoy ducked just in time before the spell hit the wall behind, causing a small explosion that had chunks of stone crashing to the floor.

"You're using Dark Arts, you fool!" bellowed Malfoy, looking both disbelieving and panicked, glancing around as if he expected the whole staff to suddenly appear to expel them.

But Harry was deaf to the boy's words, his own fury at what Malfoy had done to him compounded and fueled by the pain of Tom's anger at him, since giving his unrelenting, throbbing scar it was clear that Tom wasn't happy with Harry's absence from the Yule Ball. It all served to make him feel all the more infuriated.

"Sectum!" he spat as he slashed his wand in the air as he had so often practiced with his brother.

A cut ripped through Malfoy's pants and leg, causing a hallow wound to start spurting blood and the boy seemed to get the gist that Harry wasn't kidding around, quickly wielding his wand to frantically cast spells back at him.

It all seemed to merge in a blur of swift motion and beams of light. Half the time, Harry didn't know what spells were careening towards him; he reacted with the reflexes and instincts borne from his mock duels with his brother, veering, swirling around, erecting shields and flinging back curses and hexes.

Though it was quite different, because with Tom, they had always needed to restrain themselves since they couldn't end up in the Infirmary given that Miss Nightingale would ask them too many questions.

With Malfoy, Harry didn't have the constraint. He was free to harm the bastard – a bit.

"You're mad! You could've killed me!" yelled Malfoy frenziedly as he dived away from a Severing Curse.

They were both panting hard, their muscles aching, though while Malfoy's silvery eyes were wild, Harry felt exultant and giddy as he instantly took advantage of the boy's split second of a pause.

"Conjunctivitus! Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy cried out in pain as he was blasted against a wall, the boy's wand instantly flying towards Harry, which he effortlessly snatched out of mid air.

Feeling supremely triumphant and self-satisfied, Harry twirled Malfoy's wand in his hand as he watched the boy rolling on the floor, howling and shrieking at the top of his lungs as he desperately scratched at his eyes.

"The Conjunctivitis Curse isn't very pleasant, is it?" Harry asked coolly. "Very painful from what Tom and I have read." He approached the boy and caught a glimpse of the bloodshot eyes and the pus and fluids leaking from them. He grinned nastily, as he added in a lofty tone of voice, "And very ugly. You're not so incredibly handsome anymore, are you, Malfoy? Not as you made me believe when I was under your thrall."

Harry shuddered at his own words, grimacing in remembrance. He still felt horrified, extremely disquieted, awkward, and appalled by the experience. He had been utterly besotted with Malfoy, in awe of his 'beauty', hungering for it, wanting to make the boy blissfully happy, to please him in every way that Malfoy could have wanted.

Merlin, he would have even kept cheerfully answering all of Malfoy's questions if he hadn't started to gather his wits back, or perhaps even if he hadn't felt the pain of Tom's anger.

"Take it off!" choked out Malfoy in a hoarse, distressed voice, sounding agonizing and frantic as he kept pressing trembling hands against his eyes. "Please!"

Harry narrowed his eyes, before he pursed his lips and flicked his wand at the boy, lifting the curse.

Malfoy immediately released a sigh of deep relief, his body turning limp with exhaustion as he laid spread on the floor, panting hard. Though the moment he made a motion of an effort to move, Harry quickly pounced on him, sitting on Malfoy's chest as he pressed his wand into the boy's neck.

Malfoy groaned at the weight, his injured leg jerking with a spasm, though Harry paid it no mind as he poked his wand's tip harder into the boy's throat and hissed out enraged, "You listen to me, you piece of shit. What you did to me was no better than the Imperius Curse. I'm not your plaything or test subject. You'll never use your Veela allure on me again." His green eyes narrowed to slits, as he added, seething, "If you ever do, I'll beat you to a pulp and I'll break your wand in two and shove the pieces so far up your arse you won't be walking straight in years. Got it?"

Apparently, that 'lowly vulgar muggle expression' was indeed understood by Abraxas Malfoy and made an impact, since the boy's silvery eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open, speechless out of scandalized sensibilities or perhaps because the boy did understand the crux of the threat.

Alas, the shock of the words didn't last long, as Abraxas' expression turned hard, with two pink spots of relishing vindictiveness appearing on his cheeks as he sneered acidly, "You're going to get expelled for this, Riddle! You used the Dark Arts. The professors will be here in any second!"

"Is that what you think?" Harry said, as he sat back on the boy's waist, shaking his head in mock sadness. "Oh no, Malfoy. Did you believe that the wards of Hogwarts are encrypted in Ancient Runes with a long list of curses and spells the Ministry considers illegal?" He scoffed, and shot him a nasty, toothy grin. "They aren't, Malfoy, so I'm quite safe."

"What are you rambling about, Riddle!" spat Abraxas, glaring at him venomously. "Everyone knows that the wards detect the Darks Arts!"

"Well, then the general beliefs are mistaken," said Harry, widely smirking at him. "You see, I did use Dark Arts curses or borderline ones, but it's intent and consequences that the wards detect. And I didn't pour the necessary hatred into my curses or wishes of pain and death, nor did I maim you permanently-"

"You cannot know that!" snarled Abraxas, shifting under Harry's weight as if ready to buck him off, which he swiftly halted when Harry warningly poked his wand's tip's deeper agaisnt his throat. The boy glowered at him hatefully, as he spat out snidely, "Hogwarts' wards are invisible, you imbecile! You can't know if-"

"It doesn't matter how I know," interjected Harry sharply, narrowing his eyes at the boy. "The point is that I do and that I'm right."

Indeed, he hadn't spent months reading books upon books about Ancient Runes and going around the school gazing at the wards he saw for nothing. He had managed to at least understand the essentials of how they functioned.

He had still plenty of work ahead of him, but he was slowly getting better at understanding Ancient Runes and their different meanings and significance in the way they were linked or chained together when forming sets of instructions.

He shot Malfoy a stern look, as he added with finality, "The wards haven't detected our duel because I didn't gravely injure you-"

"You have!" roared Abraxas furiously with a pale, ashen face. "You have crippled me, I'm bleeding to death!"

At that, Harry shot him a baffled look.

"My leg, you fool!" spat Abraxas, to then let out a very dramatic and loud groan of what was supposedly agonizing pain, as he pointedly shifted his leg to catch Harry's attention.

Turning his head around to stare at the blood-soaked limb, Harry snorted. "You must be joking. That's only a flesh wound!" He shot the boy a disgusted look. "You're such a wimp, Malfoy."

"It's killing me!" moaned Abraxas in a high-pitch, before he pointedly dropped his playacting and hissed out viciously, "I'll go to the Infirmary and tell the halfblood how you attacked me, unprovoked, with a Slashing Curse."

Harry gave him a nonchalant glance, before he aimed his wand and cast coolly, "Episkey! Ferula!"

As he observed how the skin knitted itself back, closing the wound as bandages wrapped it and a splint secured the leg in place, Harry picked himself off Malfoy and said calmly, "Go ahead and pay a visit to Miss Nightingale. Let's see how you'll explain that I healed you." He shot the boy a look of warning. "And if any teacher comes asking questions, I'll give my own version of what happened."

Abraxas clutched his leg, glaring at the bandages and splint, before he pierced Harry with narrowed, silvery eyes, as he spat in a chilly, icy tone, "You'll pay for attacking me, Riddle!"

"I'm sure I will," said Harry undaunted, as he shrugged and tossed the boy's wand at him. "But I've given you fair warning. Don't ever use the Veela thing on me. In fact, don't mess with me again in any way."

He didn't stick around as Malfoy spat some more threats at him as the boy ungainly tried to work around the splint of his leg to get up from the floor.


	38. Part I: Chapter 37

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

To those asking about time skips, there won't be any, many things still have to happen in these years of Harry's life as 'Harry Riddle'. Though you'll see that his school years at Hogwarts will not drag on unbearably, I'll only go into important events.

On another note, I'm sure that who Minerva McGonagall's parents were or the Minister of Magic in that year or other is information that can be found somewhere, in other things JKR must have written in filler books or her website and interviews. But I only consider canon what is mentioned in HP books, because I haven't read anything else of JKR's nor will I. So I'll only follow what's in the HP books, sorry.

About the whole Hetalia debacle, I don't mind readers commenting on other fics, animes or whatever else, in the reviews for this fic. Indeed, it makes me quite happy to hear and learn about other things that I might like :) And the person who recommended Hetalia was doing it as a kindness to me, to share something with me that they loved. And that's very nice. If you don't like Hetalia it's fine to say so, but please don't criticize or insult the person who does. We all have different tastes that we should respect.

Also, I did read the review left by a reader, though I didn't comment on it since it had been posted anonymously. But I did feel deeply touched that my fic helped someone through a tough situation in life, as words cannot express. You have my heart-felt admiration for what you overcame and gratitude for sharing such personal things with me, and my best hopes and wishes that you'll always be well.

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 37**

* * *

By the time Harry finally reached the seventh floor, all the previous excitement he had felt for being approached by the ghost had fairly dwindled, now feeling simply tired.

"I've been waiting for you for over an hour," snapped the Grey Lady ill temperedly as soon as she caught sight of him, as she floated before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his tutu-wearing Trolls.

"I'm sorry," said Harry with a heavy sigh. "I was… sidetracked."

The ghost was certainly utterly uninterested in his exploits, since she merely waved a hand impatiently, as she turned around and demanded sharply, "What do you see?"

Harry glanced at the expanse of wall she was floating before, and replied in a toneless voice, "Blue and bronze magic."

The Grey Lady snapped her head around to pierce him with a scowl, as she said with poignant sarcasm, "Oh, and it's just such an ordinary sight that you stand there, seeing it and acting as if it was nothing significant?"

Having lost all lingering traces of patience after his confrontation with Malfoy, Harry glared at her and snapped acidly, "Yes, it is a common sight for me. I see the Founders' magic all over the bloody castle!"

The ghost narrowed her eyes at him, and said sharply, "This is different, silly boy. Or don't you recall-"

"I remember what Santi called it the first time we all met," interjected Harry with frustration, carding a hand through his messy hair. "He called it the Room of Requirements." He then pointed an accusing finger at the expanse of wall covered by the lattice of magic. "But there is no bloody door, is there? So there's no room there!"

The Grey Lady shot him a snide look. "Children nowadays, you don't have an ounce of intelligence."

"Look, I should be in the stupid Yule Ball right now. Or better yet, in my bed, sleeping," groused out Harry, bristling and exasperated. "So just tell me whatever it is that Santi thinks is so important, and let's get it over with!"

The ghost let out an incisive, brittle bark of laughter. "Oh no, boy. It won't be as easy for you as that. I might have come to terms with the fact that Santi won't aid you in giving me salvation unless I disclose my secrets to you. But I won't give you all that information in exchange for nothing."

She paused for a split second, skewering him with her greyish, translucent eyes, before she said dourly, "And it seems that you'll not be bringing my salvation soon. You're not ready yet, according to Santi." Her lips twisted at that, before her voice hardened as she added, "Hence, I demand something else in return, for the time being. And in repayment, as a gesture of good will, I'll reveal to you the secrets of this Room."

Harry glanced at the lattice of colorful magic and then frowned at her, as he demanded curtly, "What do you want from me?"

"You'll know shortly," said the Grey Lady dismissively, before she gestured at the expanse of wall before them. "This _is_ what Santi said. My mother created it."

"Your mother?" Harry stared at her, boggled. "But the magic I see is blue and bronze – it is Rowena Ravenclaw's."

"And who do you think I am, foolish boy!" she bellowed at him. "You know my name is Helena – Helena Ravenclaw, child!"

Harry blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded, before he trailed his gaze up and down over her and shot the ghost a very dubious look. "Are you sure? I've never heard that Ravenclaw had a daughter-"

"Of course I'm sure!" The Grey Lady gave him a dark, seething glower at that. "You want more proof of the truth of my words? Very well, stand aside!"

Harry was quick to do so, very wary of her clearly unbalanced temper. And he stared, frowning and mystified, as she floated up and down before the wall, as she had being doing the first time he had seen her.

Though instead of desperately mumbling 'I need redemption', she was now repeating thrice, "I need a place to speak to him, a beautiful place. I need a place to speak to him, a beautiful place. I need a place to speak to him, a beautiful place."

Harry gaped when a large, ornate door suddenly appeared on the wall, glowing even more powerfully and beautifully with Rowena Ravenclaw's magic than the wall had been.

The loony ghost – Ravenclaw's daughter, if she was to be believed– sank through the door immediately, leaving Harry to stare at the doorknob, shifting uneasily on his feet.

However, he was too intrigued and curious to give it another thought, and swiftly yanked the door open and trotted inside.

He instantly skidded to a halt, letting out a hitched and stunned exhalation of breath, as he was utterly awestruck by what he encountered.

He was in a meadow of a forest, filled with vibrant green grass under his feet and towering trees, with a spring and meandering creek a few feet away, its water indolently rolling by, the sound and rhythm lulling and soothing as it was accompanied by the chirps of birds, from somewhere above.

Furthermore, everything was doused in Rowena Ravenclaw's magic: thin strands of blue and bronze, like sparkling threads of dew, weaved through the grass, the water, the tree leaves - even to the sky, Harry saw, as he glanced upwards, gobsmacked.

It was strange, he realized. There was no ceiling but no sky and clouds either, just sunlight that seemed to cover everything. Glancing around, he also glimpsed, in the far away distance, how the grass and trees merged into faint, fade walls.

The Grey Lady was floating about the grass, not looking entranced and filled with awe and wonder as Harry was by the beauty of their surroundings and its mere existence inside a 'room'. Instead, she was glaring, her expression profoundly bitter, as if the Room had constantly failed her, unforgivably.

"My mother was very proud of this creation of hers," the ghost muttered quietly as she floated before the brook and stared down at its clear, rumbling water. "Its magic does as its name tells. One has to walk, thrice, before the wall outside, saying or thinking about something that is needed, 'required', and the Room will provide."

She abruptly turned away from the stream to pierce him with angered eyes, as she snarled with rage, "It has its limitation of course! The Room cannot create food, cannot conjure books that haven't been written, or provide knowledge that hasn't been discovered, it cannot give you salvation, it can't dispel a Curse within you!" Her expression morphed into one of hatred and despise, as she spat out, "My mother wasn't all-knowing, perfect, and all-powerful as she liked to believe. Indeed she wasn't! In her quest for knowledge she made many mistakes. She did things she shouldn't have, she created a terrible thing, didn't she? Yes, Santi wants me to tell you about it, but not yet. Not without a price, as I've said."

Harry stared at her with wide eyes, startled and unsettled by the ghost's evident loathing of her mother, and one as famed and exalted as Ravenclaw, at that.

The Grey Lady gestured upwards as she hissed out scathingly, "That which looks like sunlight is magical, artificial – it's not the same as the true thing."

Her expression abruptly turned wretched, as she clamped her arms around herself, shuddering as she closed her eyes and breathed out fervently, "I remember, I still do, how the sunrays felt when they touched my skin, the feeling of prickling grass under my bare feet, the soft rumbling of a nearby stream, the sound of birds singing in a forest. I want to feel all those things again, the real thing, not an imitation that pales in comparison - what this room provides."

With her eyes still closed, she carried on in a distraught, embittered tone of voice, "Not even my mother's Room can pander to the needs of a ghost. I cannot touch what this room can conjure up. I cannot run through the meadow, or swim in the water, or even have grass feeling solid to my touch."

She went silent, and Harry felt a surge of pity as he gazed at her, before he frowned in puzzlement and shook his head. "I don't understand. What are you asking of me?"

The Gray Lady snapped her eyes open, her expression looking feverish as cried out impassionedly, "To help me in having my senses filled with sensations and feelings! To know the taste of food again, to be able to sleep and know its peacefulness, to have dreams once more, and feel the warm, gentle touch of another!"

Harry merely had the time to blink before the ghost was upon him, clutching his shoulders in a painful grip, as she said desperately, "I already told you who I am and showed you how to summon the Room. I'll tell you everything I know, even beyond what Santi wants, if you help me now in return. I'm not asking for much, just to let me feel, to let me live again! I only ask for one day of every month, during a year, until the next Yuletide."

"You're not making any sense," groused out Harry, shaking his head. "How do you expect me to help you with 'living again'! You're dead!"

The Grey Lady's eyes seemed to brighten and gleam manically, as she breathed out, "Let me show you."

If her expression had instantly made Harry feel very wary and apprehensive, what happened next made him jump several steps backwards, in fearful astonishment.

The ghost had suddenly shrunken, so fast that he wasn't even sure what had happened when there was merely a ball of white light floating before him in her place.

Before he even had the chance to gather his wits back, the ball shot towards him, striking him and sinking into his chest, disappearing from sight.

"What's happened?" Harry cried out frantically, glancing down at himself, frenetically clutching the dress robes on his chest. "Where are you – what have you done!"

_Do not fight me. Calm down, child! You're going to expel me, if not!_

"What?" croaked out Harry faintly, his face losing all its color, as he unseeingly stared forward with wide eyes. "Where are you!"

_Relax, boy! You're not making this easy for me. Stop fighting me!_

With his heart stuck in his throat with horror, Harry frenziedly glanced around, though he knew it was pointless. There was no one else in the Room of Requirements now, and he had a fairly good idea of where she was.

He didn't think he had ever felt so ill in his life. He felt as if he was unbearably filled to the brim, about to break from his seams, with his stomach churning sickly, his head pounding, dizziness and disorientation sweeping through him as his breathing turned haggard and wild.

_Stop panicking!,_ the voice in his mind said sharply. _This takes a great deal of concentration, will power, and energy-_

"I'm not panicking!" roared Harry furiously, feeling thoroughly insulted and indignant. "I'm feeling sick, I feel about to throw up!"

He suddenly bent over, pressing a hand over his mouth as he gagged convulsively and panted, "Please get out! It's horrible!"

_Give me a chance, I beg-_

"Get out!" yelled Harry hoarsely, feeling so faint he was certain he was going to lose consciousness soon.

_You have to relax. You have to clear your mind!_

"How can I clear my bloody mind when you're speaking to me in it!" snapped Harry hotly as his wobbling legs abruptly gave way and he haphazardly fell to the grass in a bout of sickly dizziness.

_Yes! Lay on the ground, breathe slowly, and calm down-_

"I don't want to calm down," said Harry woozily, feeling as if his head was swirling vertiginously. "Get out from me."

_Please! I beg of you, I implore you!_

At the despair and wretchedness of her voice, Harry tightly closed his eyes, biting his lip.

"Alright," he mumbled with a heavy sigh, and he let himself collapse backwards unto the ground, feeling utterly expended, not thinking he even had the energy to move a finger.

"What did you do?" he then said weakly as he tiredly laid spread on the grass.

_It's called possession._

"What?" choked out Harry, his eyes flying open in dismay, anxiety, and alarm.

_It doesn't hurt you!,_ quickly said the Grey Lady's voice in his mind. _I won't harm you in any way, child. You felt ill because you were battling me, but now you're feeling better, are you not?_

"Maybe," croaked out Harry uncertainly. "But I feel drained."

_It's to be expected, the first time it happens, _said the Grey Lady coolly._ It will pass._

Harry scowled, as he retorted crossly_, "While you sound quite well. Jolly good for you, I suppose!"_

_You are my only resort, _she said pleadingly._ I dare only do this with you, because we can strike a deal. Hogwarts' ghosts are forbidden from attempting possession on the living. If any of the teachers found out, I would be banished from the Castle, and I would forever drift in a limbo. In the nothingness between the living and the dead._

Harry frowned at that, perturbed and shaken by the picture she was giving him, though still unconvinced of yielding to her wishes.

_When I became a ghost, _she added grimly,_ I appeared in Hogwarts. I am forever bound to it. _Her voice turned despondent, as she added in a murmur,_ I cannot leave its walls. I can only gaze from the windows, and see suns setting, moons dwindling, and I can only look from afar, as life passes by all around me and I'm trapped in my cage, in isolation._

Sighing, Harry absentmindedly rubbed his prickling scar, as he muttered quietly, "Fine. We'll give it a shot, all right? But I make no promises if I can't bear it again."

_I understand. I thank you for the chance. _

Harry nodded, feeling quite stupid at doing it at someone he couldn't see, or actually speaking out loud to empty space, but at least his stomach had settled and his strength was returning to him.

_Well… this is a… _

…_surprise…_

"What is?" said Harry, frowning at her hesitant, disturbed, and wary tone of voice.

Suddenly he felt very weird, as if something was shifting inside him, as if she was carefully prodding and poking about.

"What are you doing?" he said as he felt a strange surge of agitation and a rush of blazing rage that wasn't his own, his head beginning to pound again as his scar began to prickle even more painfully.

_I didn't expect to have company in here, _she said, still sounding unnerved and unsettled. _You're much more than you seem, Harry Riddle._

"What?" Harry blinked, thoroughly confused. "What company? What are you talking about?"

_It's Dark…. Oh yes, very much so. Is it a-? _

She went silent, before she spoke again, her tone highly disturbed and fearful, _A despicable, dangerous evil thing it is, but…_

Abruptly, Harry felt as if something within was gripping him tenaciously, not painfully, but suffusing him with cajoling warmth, holding onto him resolutely and possessively.

"What are you doing!" demanded Harry frenziedly, feeling strange at the bizarre sensation that felt tingling and pleasant yet also so very odd.

_It's not me!_ said the Grey Lady in an astonished tone of voice. _It likes you. Indeed, it seems to be contently ensconced and coiled up with your own. Even merged, I dare say._

"What the bloody hell are you blabbering about!"

_Nothing, boy! _she snapped, though she still sounded stunned and flustered._ There's nothing to be done about this. I don't think it will hurt or bother me, if I leave it alone._

"I want to know what you're talking about!" roared Harry at the end of his rope, jerking upwards to sit up straight on the grass.

_You have a peculiar soul, _said the Grey Lady coolly, _that is all._

"A peculiar soul?" he echoed, perplexed, before he bit out churlishly, "What's that supposed to mean? What was moving in there!"

_A component of your own soul,_ she retorted flatly. _There's no danger to you. Nor me, I believe, if I'm careful. Thus, now that we've regained our strength, let me concentrate on the task-at-hand! _

And then Harry moved.

It was the strangest, most uncomfortable sensation he had ever felt, as his limbs moved with a volition of their own, jerkily and awkwardly, his body clumsily clambering upwards to his feet.

"How can you – don't do that!" gasped out Harry, thoroughly rattled and shaken. "Don't take control over my body!"

_That was the deal,_ snapped the Grey Lady impatiently, as she moved Harry's feet, one after the other in the direction of the door. _One day a month, I'll live through you!_

"I didn't agree to hand my body over to you!" hissed out Harry furiously. "I thought you'd only be along for the ride!"

_That's not good enough,_ she said sharply.

"Well, that's all you'll get," snarled Harry infuriated as he dug his heels in, managing to abruptly halt his feet.

In the next moment, though, he tripped and stumbled as he battled against a force that wasn't his own, his muscles aching and struggling as they attempted to obey two opposing wills.

"Stop it!"

Abruptly, a loud, shrieking, piercing cry of pain boomed in his mind, making Harry clutch his head, wincing and moaning.

"Helena?" he croaked, cringing. "Helena, stop screaming - stop whatever you're doing!"

_I'm not doing,_ she gasped out in a pain-ridden voice, sounding weak, frail, and terrified, _I didn't… I won't take control over your body again!_

Harry blinked, as he was suddenly encompassed by a mantle of viciously triumphant satisfaction, abruptly being suffused with chilly calmness.

_You have a very nasty, _said the Grey Lady stiffly_, possessive, and merciless protector in your soul._

Harry frowned at that, before he shook his head and gritted out, incensed by what she had attempted, "Right. I think I've had enough. You've had your fun for the day. Now get out, I'm going to bed!"

_I don't think so,_ she said sharply, her tone hard. _We struck a bargain. We still have some hours left._

"To do what?" said Harry incredulously. "It's nighttime, and after the stunt you tried to pull-"

_I've said I won't take control again,_ she interjected acerbically. _And I prefer it's night for what I wish to do. We'll go to the Forbidden Forest._

Harry gaped, before he said disbelievingly, "It's filled with dangerous creatures – I'm not going in there!"

_I can help with anything we might encounter,_ she said nonchalantly, _if you willingly subject yourself to my control. I don't think your… soul would hurt me if I had your consent. I can wield your wand for you, and use your magic and voice to cast spells-_

"Absolutely not," bit out Harry, scowling darkly, before he grumbled crabbily under his breath, "I'll manage."

* * *

_Can't you do anything about your jingling bits!_

Harry's ears turned red for the umpteenth time. "My family jewels don't jingle – they aren't bloody bells!"

_They bother me. How can you walk with those dangling things constantly getting in the way-_

Turning scarlet, Harry hissed out with supreme aggravation, "You're welcome to posses a girl, then!"

_I would certainly prefer it,_ muttered the Grey Lady glumly. _But you know why I can't._

"Exactly," Harry griped sourly. "We're stuck with each other, Helena. So for both our sakes, stop talking about my private parts!" He scowled as he added sharply, "And don't call them wiggly, dangly bits or jingly, bitty pieces or anything else!"

_What should I call your 'unmentionables', then?_ she demanded flatly.

"Don't call them anything at all!" cried out Harry with exasperation. "You shouldn't be even thinking about them!"

He shook his head, feeling he must be in some bizarre nightmare, arguing with a female ghost about his private parts because they annoyed her. Honestly, it was the height of wackiness. He didn't think he could feel more discomfited or weirded out.

"You're Ravenclaw's daughter, right?" he said finally, trying to put a closed lid on the subject once and for all. "I hardly think witches of your times spoke about such things!"

_You'd be surprised,_ said the Grey Lady dryly.

Harry groaned, rubbing his face with a hand, now not even wanting to think what girls got around together to gossip about.

Catering to the Grey Lady's wishes was proving to be more trouble than it was worth. Harry had half a mind to swirl around, stomp into Professor Slughorn's office, and demand an exorcism.

In the beginning, their incursion into the Forbidden Forest had gone fairly well. Harry had been alert and cautious at first, gripping his wand and shooting wary glances at shadows.

But it had become pleasant, as the Grey Lady asked him to stop in that bush or other, to smell at this or that flower that bloomed at night, or to caress a tree leaf, or to walk without shoes so that she could revel in the feeling of cold, soft snow and crushed old leaves under the soles of his feet. Or to stand, staring at the moon to bask in its beauty, to take a deep breath of fresh air and slowly let it out, taking pleasure in such simple things which she found so marvelous.

It had been peaceful and enjoyable, even for Harry, since through her he felt the wonder and awe caused by ordinary experiences he had taken for granted and never paused to consider or take pleasure in.

However, she became more and more demanding, increasingly finding fault in everything about him because it wasn't the same for her as when she had been alive: Harry didn't walk properly –_you shuffle and lumber too much_!- he wasn't fluid and elegant in motion, or as willowy and lithe as would have been preferable to her tastes.

In short, his boy's body and ways marred things for her, clearly crushing whatever idealized notions she had envisioned about the experience beforehand.

Harry had the inkling that, in life, Helena Ravenclaw must have been a very supercilious, spoiled, and demanding witch; clearly too perfectionist, haughty, and filled with lofty, high expectations that must have been impossible to meet by others, or even by her life or herself, at that.

It was certain that her demands and complains soon fed him up, added to his tiredness and to the surge of blazing pain he once felt in his scar. The latter giving him a clear indication that the Yule Ball had to be over and his brother must have gone back to their dorm, finding that he wasn't there either.

Indeed, Harry was fairly sure that Tom must have been in a towering rage, and he didn't have the foggiest idea of how he would explain his absence. He couldn't even come up with a remotely convincing lie to tell.

"Well," said Harry with faked cheerfulness. "This was nice, wasn't it? I think we're done-"

_I'm not tired,_ said the Grey Lady curtly, her tone then turning fervid, _I want to see more, feel more!_

"Of course you do," grumbled Harry under his breath, lifting his lit wand again as he wearily dragged his feet forward.

Only once a month, he reminded himself hopefully.

For a year.

Harry groaned.

Whatever mysterious, crucial secrets she possessed, they had better be bloody fantastic or he would string up Santi to the highest goal hoop in the Quidditch Pitch and invite Alphard over to shoot some Quaffles.

He sighed as he cast on himself another Warming Charm, to then glance around pensively.

"Well, if you want to keep on going," he said musingly, "we could pay a visit to a friend of mine that lives somewhere in here."

He might as well kill to birds with one stone. He had been meeting Nagini every Saturday night at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, as they had agreed, but the snake had always only lingered for enough time to tell him she was well before giddily and excitedly rushing back into the forest.

And last Saturday, Harry had waited for hours but she hadn't turned up.

"You're like a mother hen with a bad case of empty nest syndrome!" Alphard had cried out in between amused snickers and chortles, when Harry had expressed his anxiousness. "All worried for your little darling who has spread her wings and gone into the big bad world! What - Tom was the dad and you the mom?"

The boy had guffawed even harder at his own quip. Harry hadn't been amused.

Tom hadn't been of much help either.

"She's always been quite self-sufficient," his brother had hissed out irritably, "there's no cause for concern. She's fine, I'm sure."

And Tom had waved a hand dismissively to return to his studies of German, which was quite rich since the boy hadn't bothered, once, to go see Nagini.

At present, Harry glanced around the dark forest with a frown on his face, as he lifted his lit wand, trying to discern where she could be. "Helena, do you know where snakes go-"

Suddenly, he jumped in the air and instinctively ducked as a whooshing thing zoomed a hair-split away from his head, twanging loudly as it pierced bark.

Harry stared, utterly startled and perplexed, at the arrow embedded on the tree trunk behind him, which would have speared his head if he hadn't moved out of the way out of sheer reflexes.

_Don't use magic!_ cried out the Grey Lady anxiously. _And lower your wand – NOW!_

Harry obeyed instantly, though he gaped at the small figure that appeared through the trees and galloped towards him.

It had to be younger than him, with a face and torso of a little boy, and the body of a colt, carrying a bow in hands, already stringed with another arrow as he aimed at Harry again.

"You're trespassing, human!" spat the little centaur, in a high-pitched, squeaky voice like that of a toddler, which didn't serve much to sound threatening, no matter the bow and the harsh expression and hate-filled glare.

"We do not attack children, Bane," said a low, deep voice reprovingly.

And Harry suddenly found himself surrounded by more centaurs that had sprung from behind trees: all of them very young except the one who had spoken last, who seemed ancient, with long white hair, a strong torso marred with old scars, and a greyish pelt on his horse-like body.

"He's a wizard, Elder Muno!" snarled the little centaur, who was cantering up and down before Harry, menacingly striking his hooves on the snowed ground as he kept his bow aimed at him. "He's invading our territory!"

"He is but a child, Bane," interjected the old centaur, trotting forward to pierce Harry with a slow, considering, and pondering look. "And he's not alone."

"He's the one foretold!" piped in another little centaur that came cantering up towards them, looking smaller and younger than the rest, with a coltish palomino body and blue eyes that gazed at Harry with wonder, fascination, and excitement. "The companion of The Fates, isn't he?"

"The what?" said Harry baffled, blinking at them.

_They're speaking of Santi_, said the Grey Lady dourly. _The Fates is what Centaurs believe him to be, when they see the signs of his existence in the Stars._

At that, Harry felt even more bewildered than before, while the old centaur gave the little one a proud and fond look, patting him on a shoulder. "Perhaps he is, Firenze." He shot Harry a grave look. "But we've been known to make mistakes when reading the movements of planets."

"But it is certain that his presence has brought changes in the Heavens," chirped Firenze, looking thrilled and intrigued as he gave Harry another glance over.

"Changes that should not have occurred," interjected the Elder Muno, as he shot Harry a piercing, narrowed-eyed look.

"We do not discuss before humans what we learn from the Stars!" snarled the other little centaur, the hostile one, as he glowered at Firenze and the Elder, and brought up his bow again to menacingly aim at Harry.

"Yes, that's quite correct," said the old centaur in his low, deep voice, to then turn to the little ones. "Go back to your lessons."

Grudgingly, they all trotted away, not without first shooting Harry looks of dislike or distrust.

"You too, Bane," added the old centaur sharply at the only two who remained, "and take your brother with you."

Bane narrowed his eyes and spat angrily in his high-pitched, squeaky voice, "He should not be allowed passage-"

"Go."

At the Elder's sharp command, Bane struck his small hooves on the ground furiously, but then turned around and galloped away, soon followed by the smaller one, Firenze, who gave Harry a parting glance filled with lingering, awed curiosity.

Harry was then left alone, to be confronted by the adult centaur, who stared at him as if seeing through him and beyond.

"I will allow you passage through our territory," said Elder Muno in his gravely tone of voice, laced with a hint of warning, "as long as you are carrying her within."

Harry gaped, while something in him stiffened.

"Her mother was always very respectful to my kind," continued the old centaur, "and it is due that we repay that kindness by granting her daughter access to the forest which was once hers and of the Founders."

_My mother was 'respectful'_, snorted acidly the Grey Lady in his mind, _because she wanted to glean from them the knowledge of their Seeing abilities._

"Beware of my condition," added Elder Muno sharply, narrowing his eyes. "Next time, if you're alone, you'll be forcefully expelled from our lands."

Harry warily nodded his head in understanding, before he said quickly, "I'm only looking for a friend. She's a snake. Do you know where she might be-"

"A snake? She'd be where all snakes go," replied the old centaur dismissively, before he turned and galloped away.

"And where's that!" cried out Harry with exasperation, but the centaur had already vanished into the darkness of the surrounding trees.

_It's a snake you're looking for?_ said the Grey Lady impatiently. _Then I know where it must be._

"You do?" said Harry, frowning. "How-"

_Just follow my instructions_, she said sharply, _and we'll get there._

Harry did as she asked, and it wasn't that long until they reached a clearing in the forest – and a very strange one at that.

He hadn't realized for how long they had been in the Forbidden Forest, or all that they had walked, since they had to be at the other end, where the forest ended. He could see Hogsmeade not far away, and the hill filled with caves that he and Alphard had discovered, very close by.

But the strangest thing was the vast clearing itself. There wasn't a tree standing, no snow on the ground, that was blackened, no greenery in sight, as if they were on infertile land, and everything looked ravaged, as if a hurricane had passed through long ago, ripping out everything, leaving only stumps of trees or coils of old roots, all which seemed to have been scorched by fire.

"What is this place?" he breathed out, disconcerted.

_A place ruined, wrecked, and laid to waste by magic,_ replied the Grey Lady flatly. _Touch the ground, and you'll understand._

Mystified, Harry complied, crouching down and sinking his fingers into the black earth. It felt wet, as if snow melted as soon as it touched it, which was explained by the fact that the ground was unaccountably very warm.

"It's hot and we're in the middle of winter," muttered Harry, frowning. "I don't understand." He shot his surroundings a bewildered look. "What happened here? You said something about magic?"

_Indeed,_ said the Grey Lady dourly. _In their duel, they used such magic and powerful, terrible spells, that they destroyed this land. It still bears the lingering consequences, as you can see._

"A duel?" asked Harry bemused. "Whose?"

The Grey Lady heavily sighed, as she replied quietly,_ I was fifteen when it happened. My mother and I were in her Astronomy Tower, from there, we saw it. The beams of light coming from the faraway treetops of the Forbidden Forest, the clouds of smoke and blazes of fire, the blinding lights of powerful incantations, the destructive winds that tore… Indeed, such a display of power as none have ever seen since. Godric and Salazar were, after all, the most powerful wizards Wizarding kind has ever known._

"Here? They dueled?" Harry glanced around, flummoxed, and quite astounded at the devastation caused. He shook his head, frowning. "I thought they had only argued. Everyone thinks that – all books say that!"

_Of course books tell such_, retorted the Grey Lady with an incisive scoff. _Helga and my mother didn't want students to know what had truly happened. Didn't want to alarm them. Thus, they were only told that Godric and Salazar had argued, and nothing more._

Harry blinked at that, still crouching and with fingers dug into moist, hot earth. He cocked his head to a side, then, intrigued and curious. "So who won the duel?"

_Neither, boy!_ snapped the Grey Lady waspishly. _Salazar didn't come back, did he? And was never seen or heard from again. And Godric returned to the castle, gravely injured._ She let out a brittle bark of scathing laughter. _Oh, my mother and Helga tried to aid him, to heal him as much as they could, but he only lingered for some months. He eventually succumbed to his injuries and died._

"From Salazar Slytherin's spells?" breathed out Harry with wide eyes, utterly taken aback. "So Godric Gryffindor was basically killed by him and didn't die of old age as books say? And Slytherin left right after the duel so he couldn't have known that he had actually managed to kill Gryffindor?"

_Precisely,_ she replied flatly.

Dazed and perplexed by the revelations, Harry shook his head, before he sighed and stood up.

"Well, I'll just check on my friend and then we'll leave, alright?" he said firmly, as he looked around searchingly.

It made sense that Nagini had to be there, since snakes liked warm places, and the earth was moist and hot. He just wanted to make sure she was well, because he was already dead on his feet, feeling as if it must have been the longest night of his life.

He wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts and flop down on his bed. And he had many things to mull over, at that: all the strange things the Grey Lady had said, for starters.

Moreover, after knowing about the Room of Requirements, there were two problems he fully intended to solve with its aid.

"_Nagini!"_ Harry hissed as he glanced around. _"Come out, wherever you are!"_

_You're a Parselmouth! _the Grey Lady gasped out, sounding astounded.

"What?" Harry jerked his head to a side, startled, before he scowled. "Of course I am!" He frowned the next second, as he added uncertainly, "Didn't Santi tell you?"

_No, he did not!_ she snapped, sounding extremely aggravated and infuriated. _He hasn't deigned to pay me a visit since the time you and I met!_

"Oh," said Harry, then flapping a hand dismissively. "Well, now you know." Then he hissed impatiently, "_Nagini, come out, I know you're here!"_

_It is not possible!_ bit out the Grey Lady, apparently not in the disposition of doing Harry the favor of not delving into the subject. _There hasn't been a Parselmouth in ages, boy! And you cannot possibly be one, since the last of Salazar Slytherin's line died in-_

She seemed to clamp shut her figurative mouth, for which Harry was very grateful, before she breathed out slowly, sounding struck, _Her baby, and the Caretaker who stole it._

"What?" Harry skidded to a halt, bringing up his perusing gaze to stare forward unseeingly. "You were there? You know about that?"

In the next instant, he nearly slapped a hand on his forehead. Of course she had to know about that – she had been a ghost since the times of the Founders!

He hadn't even though about asking Hogwarts' ghosts about the matter! Granted, he hadn't known until that day who the Grey Lady was. But still, he had wholly focused on plotting on how to get that information from the paintings of the Castle. They had to have been witnesses to a lot of stuff that must have happened in Hogwarts throughout the centuries. Furthermore, there were paintings in the dungeons that could have seen something – like that of a ship struggling in a stormy sea, with the pirates who had wanted to throw Harry overboard.

But if he was understanding things correctly…

Harry's heart started to thunder loudly in his chest, as he breathed out excitedly, "It was you, wasn't it? You were the witness! You heard Sherisse Slytherin's cries for help, and you went there, and saw Morgon Gaunt taking their baby away from her, and you told someone in the school about it and they chased him!"

_How do you know about such things…_ the Grey Lady's voice dwindled, before it turned acerbic. _Of course, Santi must have told you._

"Yes!" said Harry animatedly, widely grinning in triumph. "And he wanted me to find out who had witnessed it!" He paused, frowning deeply. "Though I don't understand why he didn't simply tell me, if it was you-"

_It wasn't me,_ said the Grey Lady curtly.

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded hotly, darkly scowling, certain his leg was being pulled. "You just said that-"

_I was, indeed, in the dungeons,_ she interrupted in a sharp tone of voice, which turned grim and bitter, _hiding from the Bloody Baron, with futile hopes he would not think of looking for me in his own territory._

"Right! So you did see-"

_I only saw the Caretaker fleeing from a room with a wailing baby in his arms_, snapped the Grey Lady impatiently. _And Fawkes giving chase, shrieking, before he disappeared in a blaze of fire. He was the one who alerted-_

"Fawkes?" Harry's eyes widened in bewilderment. "As in Albus Dumbledore's phoenix?"

_Dumbledore's?_ she bit out snidely. _Did you think that Fawkes hadn't chosen any other wizards before Dumbledore? Fawkes is as bound to Hogwarts as I am, boy! He has always been in the castle, choosing one of the professors to bind himself to, child!_ She paused to let out a scathing scoff. _Oh, there's been decades in which none were worthy of him, given his standards, but he's always been around._

Harry didn't think he could feel any more confused than he already was. Though, slowly, the things Santi had said started to click together and make odd sense.

The 'witness' had answered the 'call for help' of Sherisse Slytherin, and she couldn't have been screaming that loudly, giving she was weak and dying from childbirth. And her rooms had been warded –though Morgon Gaunt had known how to go through them because he had gotten that information from Sherisse the night he had violated her.

It could only mean that Fawkes had heard her and gone through the obstacles of the wards in the same way in which he had when he had helped Harry.

Hadn't Santi said that phoenixes could hear cries for help and were able to cross barriers of magic when answering those? And that was why Fawkes had been able to fly into the portrait Harry had been in, no matter the magic that didn't allow the living to enter wizarding paintings.

And the 'witness' had tried to help Sherisse, because she had been 'good of heart, even though she was a Slytherin'. And Fawkes could have indeed helped her –Harry knew about the healing properties of phoenix tears ever since Alphard had bought a couple of them, to use for when they encountered the monster of the Chamber of Secrets, if they were attacked- but she had bled to death too quickly.

Fawkes saw, tried to help, chased Morgon Gaunt and then went to alert whichever professor he had been bound to – Santi had said that phoenixes could communicate thoughts to their bounded wizards through their singing. So that professor must have written down, one day, all that Fawkes had seen, and ages later, Mortimer Mullhorn must have found those records and written his unfinished book, copy of which the 'Pink Quill' later found and used to write her article in the Witch Weekly about Sherisse Slytherin and the 'M.G.' wizard who had taken advantage of her.

So, the witness had been Fawkes all along, who had always been in Hogwarts, apparently, though not always bounded to someone and not always in sight.

There was something he didn't understand, though.

"Why did Santi want me to know that it had been Fawkes?" Harry said in puzzlement. "Why is that important?"

_How should I know?_ snapped the Grey Lady irritably. _Why does Santiago do anything? Why does he want what he does!_

Ignoring her mood, Harry frowned pensively as he said under his breath, "Unless what's important isn't that Fawkes was the witness, but rather that he's always been in the castle?" He cocked his head to a side. "Who was his first owner?"

_I don't know_, retorted the Grey Lady curtly.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, his excitement dwindling.

Vanishing the subject to a corner of his mind for later perusal, he crossed his arms over his chest, impatiently tapped his foot on the hot ground, and hissed warningly, _"If you don't come out at the count of three, there'll be consequences to pay, Nagini!"_

With narrowed eyes, Harry scoured with his gaze the moonlight surroundings, as he began, _"One… Two…"_

"_Very well, I'm coming!"_ spat a put upon hissing voice. _"I'm coming!"_

Nagini's flat head poked out from underneath a coil of black, scorched tree roots, looking very irritated as she let out another vibrating, vexed hiss.

Harry scrunched his nose at the sight of her. She was incredibly filthy, her scales filled with dirt, as if she had dug for herself a cozy, warm little hole in the earth underneath the roots.

"_Why didn't you meet me last Saturday?"_ he demanded angrily, glowering at her.

"_I was busy,"_ she hissed coolly, flicking the tip of her tail at him, which made mud splatter on the hem of his costly dress robes.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, and said very suspiciously, _"With what?"_

The little snake opened her maws, baring her sharp tiny teeth, making her look as if she was giving him a gleeful, sharkish grin, as she declared triumphantly, _"I have a mate – many of them!"_ She preened and let out a smug hiss, _"I am wanted by all!"_

A horrified Harry didn't have a chance to say anything as the ruined grounds seemed to come alive, countless of snakes of all sorts suddenly slithering out from behind tree stumps, from roots or the earth, all hissing at the same time as they dashed to Nagini's side and peered up at him.

"_This is your pet human?"_

"_He truly is a Speaker!"_

"_Doesn't look much."_

"_This has to be the stupid one." _

"_Where's the other you say is the smart one, Nagini?"_

"_He's very scruffy looking – what's that on his head?"_

"_His hair!"_

Harry stared at the snakes chattering and happily criticizing him, squirming and coiling and writhing all around Nagini, who now looked like a supremely haughty, worshiped, and fawned-over Queen with her harem, and he groaned, utterly dismayed.


	39. Part I: Chapter 38

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots or characters are mine.

AN:

Answering some questions:

When the Grey Lady possessed Harry, she spoke to him in his mind, but Harry spoke out loud. She hasn't given any indication of wanting or being able to read his mind so that they could communicate without speaking. Furthermore, given what she found in Harry's soul and how it reacts whenever she tries to stirs things inside Harry, I don't think she'll ever try to rummage inside Harry's mind either.

About the Horcrux in Harry, last chapter we saw that it was protective of him, possessive, and 'contently ensconced' in Harry's soul and even partially merged. This is all due to the close proximity between Harry and Tom for years, the Horcrux in Harry being affected by it and sensing his 'vessel's (Harry's) relation to a nearby soul it recognizes (Tom's). So that explains why it acted like it did when the Grey Lady possessed Harry. But while the Horcrux obviously reacts to Tom's soul mood, mainly anger and fury, making Harry feeling it through pain in his scar, there's no reason for Tom to feel anything from Harry, not anything that he could recognize anyway. So Tom will never feel Harry's mood's and etc, in this case, given that Tom has a complete soul, thus, which isn't surging forward trying to grasp something 'missing'. It's a one way channel between them.

About what Tom knows: he doesn't know that Harry has ever spoken or interacted with Abraxas Malfoy since the first day when Tom and Harry where thrown out of the compartment in the Hogwarts Express when Malfoy found out they were muggleborns. Tom thinks that was the only interaction between them. Tom DOES know that Harry and Alphard are secret friends (remember when Harry received his Scorcrup from Alphard as a birthday present?) but has no idea that Harry has told Alphard that they are Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants, or that Alphard knows about their goal of finding the Chamber of Secrets, much less that the boy is actually helping Harry with that, and certainly doesn't know that Harry told Alphard about the letters and books they had received from Grindelwald.

Usually in my fics, every little thing is important and comes up, having impact in the plot, eventually. Some details, of course, are just for plot-building, to give a sense of the times the characters are living through and such, or just anecdotes. But in last chapter's scenes with the Grey Lady, everything she said falls into the category of 'little things that become important'.

**IMPORTANT: I've had many reviewers saying that since I did Slash for Black Heir and Vindico Atrum, they would prefer that this story has HET pairing for Harry. I must say that Het wasn't my original intention, but if most of you prefer Het for this story instead of Slash, I can do that. I wouldn't mind trying my hand at Het for the first time, so please let me know what you prefer! Or maybe both - Bi? Well, let me know soon, please, because that kind of stuff will be coming up and I can't change it later if I've already set more bases for Slash. At this point, I can still turn it either way without making a complete mess.  
**

**_Here's another uberfast update, enjoy and let me know what you think of it! ^.^_**

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 38**

* * *

It was late April and much had happened.

Harry had celebrated his thirteenth birthday and New Year's Eve -1940! the date had seemed amazing to him- mostly with Alphard in the kitchens, as they happily gobbled down the delicious feast the friendly house-elves prepared for them and the mouth-watering cake they had baked for Harry - his most absolute favorite, chocolate on top of more chocolate.

Alphard had even given him a marvelous present: a gorgeous Broomstick Servicing Kit, in a brown leather case with golden lettering spelling Harry's name, containing a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a brass clip-on compass, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

"You must keep the Comet 180 up to par," Alphard had said, grinning as he shot Harry a hopeful glance. "For next year, if you decide to try for the Team."

Tom, who had never been one for celebrations, festivities, or birthday parties, had unsurprisingly spent the day ensconced in the library, surely studying something stuffy and boring that only he found fascinating.

No matter how much Harry had cajoled and wheedled, his brother had refused to take a free day to have some fun, though he had done something unexpected.

"What's this?" said Harry, startled and astonished when his brother thrust a book into his hands.

Gazing at it, Harry saw that its covers were made of a smooth, soft black leather, with his initials in silver thread.

"A diary," replied Tom shortly, as he unpackaged another one, very similar to Harry's, only with T.M.R. inscribed instead.

Harry couldn't have been more surprised or deeply touched by his brother's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

They had never traded presents before, because they hadn't had any money of their own, for starters. But now that Tom did have his plentiful pouches of galleons, which kept steadily multiplying in number given the boy's activities, Harry hadn't expected a gift either.

When Harry shot him a warm, beaming smile, Tom stiffened instantly, as if he was being outrageously accused of having any snuggly, cozy feelings.

"Don't make a big deal of this," Tom hissed out in a warning, dangerous low tone of voice. "I ordered a catalogue from Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade because I wanted a diary for myself. And I saw I could buy two for one, so I did. There's nothing more to it!"

For a moment vastly tempted to rile his brother up and mercilessly taunt him about the issue, Harry was won over by his curiosity nonetheless, and he cocked his head to a side. "What do you want a diary for?"

"To write in it," retorted Tom with incisive, mocking sarcasm, before he shot him a snide look and went back to studying German, holding the tome so high up that it prevented Harry from seeing his face.

Harry rolled his eyes at that, though from then onwards his curiosity and intrigue only escalated, since Tom carried his diary wherever he went and frequently wrote on it in a feverish, exultant pace, always refusing to show Harry what he was up to the many times he had attempted to sweet-talk him.

Nevertheless, he was soon busy with many other things to further dwell on the matter.

The night Harry had found Nagini in the scorched clearing of the Forbidden Forest, he had marched back to Hogwarts, grilling the Grey Lady for more information regarding the Room of Requirements and the ways it worked.

Given her answers, certain that there was no way Tom and Alphard could cross paths in it since the Room couldn't be used by another if there was already someone inside, he had revealed its existence to both boys, separately of course, using it as an excuse to explain his absence from the Yule Ball.

"You needed to use the loo and a room filled with toilets appeared?" Alphard sniggered in amusement, accepting Harry's words without an ounce of mistrust or any further questions about what he was doing on the seventh floor when he should have been in the Yule Ball in the first place.

Harry had showed his best friend where it was and how to summon and use it, and they had had a blast, making the Room of Requirements turn into all sorts of things: a sandy stretch of beach with tall palm trees and two hammocks in which they had placidly swayed to then engage in a battle of swinging hammocks and thrown, conjured pillows; a room filled with muggle toys like tin soldiers and airplane models or toy trains with a circuit of tracks, and foot balls, and whatnot, Harry having the time of his life as he showed his friend how everything was used; a large, lavish tent with hanging veils and colorful, feathered fans that magically floated and gave them pleasant breezes, as they sat on huge, plush pillows on the floor, snacked on sweets and pastries they had taken from the kitchens, and felt like pampered sultans; a room filled with mirrors, each distorting their image in bizarre and outrageously funny shapes, making them roar with laughter and guffaws until their sides ached and they clutched each other, grinning and panting; and finally, a cozy room stacked with a whole library with books on the Animagus Transformation – the very reason Harry had for showing Alphard the room.

Tom had been another matter altogether.

"What were you doing on the seventh floor?" he demanded, piercing Harry with narrowed eyes.

"I wanted to give it another quick search," said Harry impatiently, "to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything."

"You told me you were done searching for the Chamber of Secrets on that floor," retorted Tom sharply, his eyes narrowing even further, "last year." His expression then turned infuriated. "And why would you go there when you were expected to be in the Yule Ball!"

"Because it was more important than a stupid dance!" snapped Harry hotly.

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, filled with suspicion. "You expect me to believe that?" His lips twisted, as he sneered contemptuously, "And you couldn't contain your urge to urinate, like a little, bitty baby, and wished for a loo?"

"Yes," gritted out Harry as he stood before the expanse of wall covered by blue and bronze magic.

Tom shot him his most scathing look. "What do I want to see a bathroom for?" He gave Harry a disgusted glance. "And what happened to you? Got stuck in a toilet for hours?"

Glowering, Harry snapped, "No, you idiot. I spent hours figuring out how the room worked!"

"How a loo works, really?" jeered Tom acidly. "I knew you were thick, but not that much."

At the end of his rope, Harry said heatedly, "Shut up and observe! Then you'll understand!"

And he proceeded to walk up and down before the wall, stating loudly what he wanted so that his brother realized what it was all about.

The moment a door appeared, he yanked it open and shoved a puzzled and suspicious Tom inside.

His brother did stop asking mocking and incisive questions the instant he saw what was awaiting them, Tom's dark blue eyes marginally widening in understanding, amazement, and gleeful giddiness.

The Room of Requirements conjured exactly what Harry had desired: an exact replica of Slytherin House's Dueling Chamber, with all the types of dummies, the arena, adding shelves with books on the Dark Arts, and even wards, in Rowena Ravenclaw's blue and bronze magic, that shone before Harry's eyes displaying the same sets of Ancient Runes of the real Dueling Chamber, thus making him certain that they could cast any sort of grave and injurious curse and they'd be insulated from detection by the rest of the school's wards.

"And," Harry said smugly, reveling in his brother's marveled expression, as he pointed towards another addition, a shelf filled with books on Legilimency and Occlumency, "I've also solved our other problem. No need to buy those kinds of books from Knockturn Alley anymore."

He wouldn't have showed Tom the Room of Requirements if he had known what the consequences would be.

There wasn't a single second of spare time in which Tom didn't demand that they went to their very own 'Dueling Chamber', to continue learning and practicing from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks, added to all the others in the shelves of the room, to advance in their studies of German, and to begin delving into Legilimency and Occlumency.

Indeed, the following months were all about reading and studying until late hours and dueling against each other until Harry could barely stand on his feet, and proving to Tom how much German he was mastering, and sitting on the floor and trying to 'clear his mind' and 'meditate' for the first steps of learning how to shield his mind.

In particular, Harry hated the latter. Tom didn't seem to have any problems in closing his eyes and instantly concentrating to empty his mind.

However, Harry had never been good at sitting still. Poor Alice would know, from the many times in his childhood, during lessons, when Harry had been unable to focus for two minutes straight without having to do something with himself, squirm on his seat, shoot a longing look at a toy, pull at Amy Benson's pigtails, or daydream about Robert Hutchins' stories of the heroic battles of Achilles and Hector, Ulysses' thrill-filled voyage, the Musketeers' adventures, and whatnot.

Now that he was older, he didn't have the urge to do any of those things, thankfully, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the other things he had on his plate.

To his misery, the first stages in learning the Animagus Transformation also required deep meditation for months, to 'ponder about one's innate personality traits' and mull over and detect their resemblance to 'animal characteristics'.

At least, Alphard was just as bad as Harry was at the whole humming and ruminating and seeing the 'Inner You' crap, both too naturally filled with bubbling energy to be able to cross their legs and 'lose themselves in their inner being' like a wizard Yogi from the wild mountains of India – as the Animagus books reiterated, since the Transformation had apparently been discovered by those sorts of wizards millennia ago, along with the Egyptians and American Indians, and by very similar, accidental means.

"This is rubbish!" exclaimed Alphard one day, hurling one of the books to a wall, fuming. "There has to be another way! If I wanted to be like one of those levitating idiots, I'd go to Nepal!"

"Well, it does say we need to 'discover ourselves'," said Harry grumpily as he flipped the pages of the book on his lap. "And only then, we can do the Egyptian test with animal parts to see which 'calls to our soul'."

"What about the potion?" demanded Alphard, gazing at him with big grey eyes filled with a gleam of hope.

"The one that will make us hallucinate?"

"Yes," said Alphard excitedly, as he leaned forward to take a peek at Harry's book. "The one that will give us daydreams about our Animagus form and all that."

"To brew the potion we need the base ingredient first," interjected Harry with a frown, "this peyote magical cactus from Mexico."

"I can order that from the apothecary in Knockturn Alley," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively.

Harry nodded, before he heavily sighed. "But the books say we can't drink the potion until we've done all the rest first, or the hallucinations will be about any other thing and can be 'dangerous and terrible' – 'not even the Aztecs dared without previous preparation', and all that."

They both shared a dejected, glum look, and went back to attempting to 'enter deep trance' for two seconds straight.

But it hadn't been all work and no fun for them either. There had been the Quidditch matches, with Harry on the Slytherin stands, roaring and cheering for his housemates, especially Dorea Black and Alphard. It couldn't raise any suspicions, after all, that he was cheering for the Team's new Chaser, and a brilliant one as Alphard proved to be.

Though the competition was tough. The Gryffindor Team had also undergone some changes when some of their players had graduated last year. Felix Prewett had become one of the Beaters, surprisingly fierce and brutal, and Minerva McGonagall, most astonishing of all, was their new Seeker, stunningly skillful and fast.

It was certain that the final Quidditch match would be riveting and amazing, since the Slytherins had beaten the Ravenclaws spectacularly, while the Gryffindors had effortlessly trounced Hufflepuff's Team.

Moreover, a happy, proud, and satisfied Dorea Black had eased a tad the frequency and exhausting brutality of the Team's Quidditch practices, allowing Alphard to have some more spare time to spend with Harry.

They had instantly used it to go looking again for another entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, besides the small pipe Nagini had discovered. With Ulysses perched on top of Harry's head as usual, and The Three Musketeers' Map in hand, they had resumed their exploration of the sixth floor, marking on the map the rooms examined.

Also, at Harry's insistence, they had checked the tunnel-like, immense pipe behind the Mirror of Desires. They spent a whole, long night at that, with Harry hissing at all the torch-holders with decorative figures of snakes, but it had been to no avail. Not one had moved or even shifted an inch.

"Maybe it opens from the other side?" Harry proposed, as he eyed the last of the torch-holders with a musing frown. He gestured at their surroundings. "Maybe this pipe is connected to another, and that's the one which leads to the Chamber, but can't be accessed from this side…"

"Maybe," said Alphard dubiously, and sounding exhausted. "But if that's the case, it's of no use, is it? Unless we find the other pipe, if there is one…"

Harry sighed deeply and merely nodded, too tired as well to even care. All the things he was involved in, with his brother and Alphard, added to his own secret ones, left him dead on his feet most days.

Though his dealings with the Grey Lady had improved a bit. She had begun to treat him better, even calling him by his first name instead of 'boy' or 'child' and complaining less, as she started to increasingly enjoy the things Harry did for her.

One day, he had gone to the kitchens, asking the house-elves to prepare all the dishes she went whispering about in his mind, and had slowly tasted every one of them, even the ones which look outright disgusting to him, like stewed snails, the French bouillabaisse with icky, slimy shellfish, a plate of frog entrails and whatnot – all apparently delicacies in her time- to the Grey Lady's deep sighs of marveled appreciation.

On another occasion, Harry had gone through a whole school day with her possessing him, though behaving, while she found pleasure in reminiscing about her own school years as Harry went from class to class.

_The wonder of learning,_ she had exclaimed exultantly, _of feeling again knowledge sinking in! In your mind…_

By springtime, one Saturday morning, he had marched to the Black Lake. The Grey Lady had even kindly suppressed her remarks about his 'dangling bits' as Harry discarded all his clothes and took a plunge.

The water had been a bit chilly but still excellent, as he placidly swam and then dove into the depths of the lake for as long as he could, caressing the undulating, aquatic weeds for her, so that she could feel their touch, gazing at the schools of colorful fishes zooming by, and even having a struggle with some Grindylows, which hadn't been intended.

But she had had the time of her life, since swimming had apparently been her favorite pastime when alive. And it seemed that Robert Hutchins had done a fantastic job in teaching him how to swim, since the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw hadn't complained once about his skill in the water.

Another month, he had spent a whole Sunday evening simply asleep, so the Grey Lady could know what it was to rest and dream again.

Though the following morning, as they woke up, she had remarked uneasily before flowing out of him, _You have peculiar… dreams._

Harry wondered, at the time, to which one she referred.

His ever-recurring nightmare of the red eyes and flash of blinding green?

Or the beautiful and mysterious woman with golden hair and blue eyes that that night had once more been singing Alice's lullaby to him, as she lovingly caressed his hair, murmured with pride and satisfaction what a 'breathtaking, beautiful, powerful little boy' he was, a credit to his 'two exalted bloodlines', and called him by that strange name again: Antares.

But he hadn't bothered asking the Grey Lady what she was speaking about.

He had already tried to glean from her the meaning of the many strange things she had said the first time she had possessed him. Particularly about his 'peculiar soul', with something 'Dark and evil', coiled with his own, merged, a 'nasty, possessive protector'.

It had been to no avail, she always remained tight-lipped: either dismissing his questions loftily or becoming angered with him, snapping that she was in no mood of being pestered with silly, unimportant inquiries.

And last weekend, he had slipped out of the castle with his Comet 180, and had gone to the site where last year Dorea Black had given him his secret Quidditch lessons along with the Team's Keeper, Antonin Dolohov.

In such a perfect place, out of sight from Hogwarts, he had zoomed into the skies, laughing with sheer joy.

He had forgotten just how much he loved flying, the glorious sensations of freedom and carefreeness it gave him, melting all his troubles and concerns away from his mind, and leaving him to simply revel in the feeling of wind against his face, flapping and twisting and pulling at his robes, his body pleasantly aching with the effort expended, the sensation of a magical broom underneath him, to be reined and controlled and mastered with skill and will, and the sheer zest for life it made him feel.

Harry had even executed some midair acrobatics and daring, dangerous, and thrilling twists and dives, so much so that the Grey Lady was left speechless for a moment when he had landed back on the ground.

_I never knew,_ she had then breathed out, sounding awe-struck and immensely delighted, _that it could be that way. I wasn't much of a flyer in my day._

Harry had smiled, satisfied that he had so thoroughly pleased her, for once, and quite content and proud of his own abilities. Though, he had also been left yearning for more, regretting he wasn't actually in his House's Quidditch Team.

"Perhaps next year," he had muttered under his breath hopefully, though given the situation of things, it wasn't likely.

It was late April, but many things had happened outside of Hogwarts in the previous months.

By January, Tom and he had received a letter from Alice, this time written in proper paper and pen, with the news that the refugees had been allowed back to their homes. They were all back in St. Jerome's Orphanage, and well.

That had been the only good news, since in March the Germans had finally bombed Muggle Britain for the first time, killing many in Orkney. And given Alice's letter then, London was once again suffused in fear and panic.

By early April, the war escalated, with the Daily Prophet announcing that Denmark and Norway –which had tried to slither out of trouble by declaring themselves neutral- had been invaded by Grindelwald's wizarding and muggle Nazi forces.

Furthermore, unlike the case with Czechoslovakia and Poland, it wasn't an instant victory for the Dark Lord. The battles dragged on, now that Muggle Britain and France were in open war with Germany and had sent forces to aid the Norwegian and Danish.

It seemed that Grindelwald was being cautious of not using his followers of wizards against the Allied Forces of the muggles, so that the secret of the existence of the Magical World wasn't compromised. Apparently, there was no such thing as a mass-Obliviation. So it was muggles against muggles, and wizards against wizards, in this occasion, which balanced the scales.

The fact that Wizarding France had declared war on the Dark Lord, and sent their vast Corps of Aurors, also seemed to be the reason for Grindelwald's failure at conquering Norway and Denmark in just a matter of days.

"It's thanks to Dumbledore," Felicity had explained that day they met, her tone proud. "He has many ties with important wizards and witches in France-"

"And he's been going there to convince them to oppose Grindelwald directly, and he succeeded," interjected Harry musingly. "Yes, I've noticed that Dumbledore has been missing from meals in the Great Hall during the weekends." Then he scowled angrily at the red-haired twins. "But why hasn't Minister Marchbanks done the same as the French Minister of Magic? Marchbanks appointed Dumbledore the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, had Unspeakables cast those wards all over Wizarding Britain to protect us from muggle weaponry, has been recruiting more and more Aurors, but still doesn't declare war on Grindelwald?"

The Prewett twins remained in grim silence, and Harry's hands clenched into fists, as he then spat furiously, "What is he waiting for! Even Muggle England has been at war since last year!"

Felix looked angered himself, while Felicity bit her bottom lip fretfully, but none replied.

It was Tom who gave him a useful opinion on events.

"Gravius Marchbanks might have been Dumbledore's advocate and little friend once," his brother sneered, "but he's no fool. He was the Head of Law Enforcement for decades and an Elder of the Wizengamot for some more, he's not going to act stupidly." He shot Harry an irritated look, as he demanded sharply, "Why do you think he's first waiting to see how the tides turn?"

"Because Wizarding Russia and Hungary are already on Grindelwald's side," said Harry slowly, a frown on his face. "And according to the Prewett twins, their father thinks the Italian Ministry of Magic will soon fold too and declare allegiance to the Dark Lord before he attempts to overtake them. And because you think that the Italian muggle leader is already secret allies with Grindelwald's Nazi puppets."

"Exactly," said Tom curtly, satisfaction lacing his voice. "And what's left of Europe will follow when the Dark Lord takes over the Nordic countries, and it will only be the French against him." His voice turned scathing, as he added, "Do you think the English Ministry of Magic will ally with France against the Dark Lord, given such odds against them?"

"The English muggles did!" bit out Harry incensed.

"And they'll pay the price for it," said Tom coolly, though with a gleeful glint in his dark blue eyes that Harry didn't miss.

A day later, Harry sat glumly in the Great Hall, with his untouched plate of breakfast before him.

Tom had just received the Daily Prophet, with more news about the battles still going on in Norway, because Denmark had already surrendered. The war in Norway, however, had dragged for almost a month, increasingly turning fiercer and more brutal, though much of the country was already occupied.

Harry was startled when a couple of owls swooped in and dropped letters before them.

Frenziedly, he opened his envelope quickly. He hadn't heard from Alice in weeks, and that was strange enough.

He had been fearing that something had happened to them, that perhaps Muggle London had been bombed and the Daily Prophet had failed to give the news – he wouldn't put it past them, filled with idiots as that newspaper seemed to be.

He frowned as his eyes flew over Alice's sentences. 'All was well' was the gist of her letter, but her handwriting was wobbly and shaky, and he could swear that that smudge of ink had been a teardrop.

"What did she write to you?" he said as he turned to look at his brother.

"Nothing relevant, the same old nonsense as always," replied Tom scornfully, sticking his letter into his school robes' pocket.

Harry stared at that. Tom never kept Alice's letters.

In fact, his brother always dismissed her missives right away after barely reading them, casting them a snide, irritated look before abandoning them on the table as if they were yesterday's rubbish.

His green eyes narrowed to slits, filled with suspicion, as he demanded sharply, "What did she write? Let me see."

"See what?" drawled Tom indolently, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Her letter!" hissed out Harry impatiently.

"What for?" said Tom with dark annoyance, waving a hand dismissively as his voice turned contemptuous, "She wrote to me the same half-brained stupid ramblings she must have written to you."

His brother's refusal only served to make Harry even more certain of the ominous feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach, and his heart began to pump tumultuously as a wave of distress swamped over him.

Without thinking it twice, with something stuck in his throat, Harry whipped out his wand in the bat of an eyelash, and roared, "Expelliarmus!"

He caught his brother completely unawares and unprepared, and Harry instantly snatched the incoming wand and then hurled it with all his might to the furthest corner of the Great Hall.

Tom was a force to be reckoned with, and impossible to beat with a wand, but without it, his brother didn't stand a chance. His brother had never deigned to learn from Robert Hutchins how to fistfight, after all.

If Harry had managed, when he had been a little boy, to defeat the much older Dennis Bishop, his brother was a piece of cake.

And before Tom had the time to gather his wits back from his stunned and startled stupefaction at Harry's actions, he lunged at him.

They went rolling to the floor, as their housemates jumped to their feet and away from their scuffle, staring in silence and wide eyes, clearly not knowing how to best react to such an appalling public scene.

"Stop this nonsense!" Dorea Black yelled commandingly as she and other older Slytherins started to hurry to reach them and put some order.

The students of other Houses in the way, however, made it impossible. Many had risen to their feet, eager to watch, comment, gasp, bring hands to their mouths, excitedly gossip, stare with astonishment, or do like the Gryffindors, as Harry and Tom continued to grapple with each other.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Gryffindors were standing up at their table, gleefully cheering and roaring for blood, obviously thrilled at seeing Slytherin against Slytherin.

"Mr. Riddle!" one of the professors boomed from the Staff Table, as several of them, Headmaster included, hastily tried to climb down and reach them.

However, Harry was deaf to all, as he struggled with Tom on the floor, his brother snarling infuriated, such a murderous look in his eyes and with such anger that Harry felt his forehead was splitting apart. But it didn't stop him from finally rearing a fist backwards and then smashing it into his brother's face.

A loud crack resounded, and Tom roared in pain and clutched his bleeding, broken nose with his hands, while Harry, panting wildly, wasted no time in digging his fingers into his brother's pocket to fish out Alice's letter.

"MR. HARRY RIDDLE!"

Amazingly enough, it was their Head of House who reached them first, panting with effort and with his protruding belly wobbling. Professor Slughorn looked baffled though aimed his wand nonetheless, clearly to cast some spell to put an end to the brawl and then dole out grave detentions.

But with the letter in his possession already, Harry jumped to his feet, away from his brother, and effortlessly swirled out of the way of the beam of light that shot from Slughorn's wand.

He was pelting out of the Great Hall before anyone had the time to blink, clutching letter against heaving chest.

Harry didn't stop until he was in his dormitory, where he dropped on his bed, panting loudly to catch his breath, as he snapped Alice's letter open.

Soon, as he read, all color drained from his face, his chest constricted, and his throat turned dry.

Alice had stopped receiving letters from Robert Hutchins and, fearful, she had gone to the War Office, demanding an explanation. She had been told nothing at all, as much as she insisted. Not the name of Hutchins' unit, where they were, why she wasn't receiving letters, or what could have happened to him.

She'd only been dismissively told that his unit had been engaged in some campaign, and he was presumed 'missing', and not to worry, as the War Office didn't get reports of updates on the situation of their soldiers until many days later. 'Missing' meant that he was alive, just unaccounted for: 'war is a disorderly, messy thing, Missus'.

But she didn't sound as if she believed that at all.

She ended by writing in a shaky, tear-stained scrawl: _I thought you had the right to know since Robert has been such a large part of your lives, but I ask you not to tell your brother. I don't want to worry Harry, as I know he would._

Harry crushed the letter in a trembling hand, his green eyes wide, unseeing, and beginning to tear, such a piercing, unbearable ache in his chest as he had never felt before.

Ignoring the sudden blaze splitting his head in pain, and swallowing a moan, he was on his feet the next second, at first dizzily and unsteadily, wiping his eyes with a sleeve, to then suddenly know what he had to do.


	40. Part I: Chapter 39

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots or characters are mine.

AN:

WOW! So many of you have put in your two cents about the Het or Slash issue, I'm so thrilled :) And completely blown away and happy, since from what I've already seen, most had never reviewed before, lol! I thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

I'll be going over all reviews to count the votes as soon as I can. I hope to have the results for the next chapter update.

Oh, and don't worry about me getting influenced by what my readers want instead of writing what I like.

When I ask about things like this, it's always because it helps me a lot to really know what readers prefer. It helps me to write better, give more interesting plots, and even come up with new ideas.

But I would never wreck the story to please some readers when I know that the suggestions just wouldn't go well with the fic. Like, for instance, if I'd been told to put Dorea Black or Charlus Potter with Harry, then I would have said no. Simple as that.

It's also one of the reasons I don't like to use polls for things like this, because in polls you can only choose one of the options given by me and you have no chance to write or express anything else, so I don't learn much from it.

That said, thanks again to all of those who already reviewed and gave their votes! I hope you enjoy this chapter too ^.^

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 39**

* * *

After the brawl during breakfast, Harry had to put up with much.

Professor Slughorn, with Dorea Black at his heels, had found him in the common room when he was about to make his escape.

At first, the Slytherin Head of House had tried to cajole from him the reason for his outburst. When Harry remained tight-lipped, Slughorn had sighed and assigned him detention – two full hours helping Miss Nightingale sort bandages in the Infirmary.

Harry's green eyes had gone wide, amazed at his good luck, but had been quick to scowl as if deeply irritated and then hang his head low in gloomy acceptance of his punishment.

Looking satisfied at having so easily sorted out a difficult child, Horace Slughorn had merrily left the room, leaving Harry to be confronted by a seething Dorea Black, so mad that she hadn't even noticed that her customary Grooming Charm needed a renewal.

Indeed, with a mop of long, wild black hair sticking in every direction, Dorea Black had raged at him for a full hour, at his audacity for giving such a 'disgraceful spectacle of muggle brutishness', dishonoring the whole House with his 'despicable and shameful display of boorish loutishness', and whatnot.

Harry's ears had been left ringing, but he had bore it all with equanimity.

Knowing he couldn't give any cause for suspicion, given what he had in mind, he had gone to all his morning classes and acted as if nothing at all had happened.

Tom didn't speak or look at him, completely and smoothly ignoring his existence, though the frequent stabs of blazing pain in Harry's forehead allowed him to be certain that his brother's unexpressed fury was one of those that were serious and dangerous.

Indeed, Tom wasn't one who ranted and yelled and stormed when he was most enraged.

If Tom snapped, snarled, hissed, and raised his voice, Harry had always known it wasn't that big of a deal and he didn't have much to worry about.

In those cases, more often than not, he always managed to soothe his brother's temper by wheedling and softly telling him how sorry he was, and peering up with wide eyes filled with regret, and such.

The danger was when Tom was most quiet, seething in silence, stoking his rage, compounding and multiplying it, utterly ignoring Harry's existence, to then, always, enact some sort of viciously cruel vengeance when least expected.

Indeed, when his brother was silent, Harry knew to be very wary and guard his back.

Miss Nightingale had perfectly fixed Tom's broken nose in a jiffy, but Harry knew that meant nothing. Tom wouldn't forgive or forget, and it was pointless to apologize.

Furthermore, Harry's housemates gave him a wide berth, as if not wanting to be associated to his lowly, muggle-like barbarity and lack of any civilized manners, which they accentuated by shooting him disgusted sneers or malevolent glares for having so thoroughly besmirched their reputation before the whole school.

The other students peered and gazed and stared at him, as they excitedly gossiped about him between themselves, or snickered.

The only two exceptions were Alphard, of course, who in public pretended as if he didn't know him at all, but didn't go to the extent of imitating their housemates' treatment of him, and Abraxas Malfoy.

Indeed, since their violent confrontation of Yuletide, Malfoy seemed to have gone through several stages.

During the first days, the boy seethed and shot Harry very frosty, chilling looks filled with vengeful intent, and Harry had been alert and on guard, expecting it at any given moment.

Though, the boy then began frowning now and again as he glanced at Harry, the looks turning pensive, calculating, and pondering.

The moment Abraxas Malfoy's glances became intrigued and fascinated, even more than ever before, Harry had groaned under his breath.

Nevertheless, the boy hadn't made any attempts of approaching him, though during that day, as the rest of the Slytherins glared and sneered, Malfoy looked gleeful, with a pleased smirk on his face.

With immense patience, Harry waited till lunchtime, and then, he acted.

Knowing his friends' schedules by heart, he hovered by the entrance of Hogwarts as Gryffindors made their way towards the castle after their Herbology class in the greenhouses.

Harry pounced on the Prewett twins the moment they took their first steps into the castle, and instantly grabbed their arms, pulling them into the nearest broom cupboard.

"What's all this about?" said Felix bewildered, squinting in the darkness, just as Harry pulled on the string dangling from the ceiling.

With a 'click', they were suffused in light, as the stood squashed between mops, buckets, and shelves with bottles of detergents and cleaning sponges.

"Are you well?" said Felicity, eyeing him with deep concern, her voice quiet and hesitant. "What happened with your brother today at breakfast-?"

"I need to ask a huge favor from you," cut in Harry hastily, shooting them a pleading look. "I need to know the whereabouts of a muggle soldier of the British Army. His name is Robert Hutchins, he's in his mid thirties, born in-"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" said Felix holding up a hand as he stared at him, looking baffled. "Who? What?" The boy shook his head. "Go slower. What are you asking of us?"

"Well, your dad is the Head of International Magical Cooperation," said Harry, impatiently carding his fingers through his hair, "so he has access to stuff, right?" He shot them a hopeful look, as he rushed out, "He could find out about my friend in the Muggle War Office. I'm sure there must be information about him somewhere in there! What his unit is, where he was sent, what was the last battle he fought and such!"

"Who is this Robert Hutchins?" said Felicity, staring at him uncomprehendingly. "And what's happened?"

"He's a friend of the family," replied Harry quickly, "and, er... my aunt's betrothed, and we've just learned that he's been declared 'missing'." His jaw clenched as he shot the ginger-haired twins a hard look. "I know what 'missing' means but I won't believe he's dead until I've got proof!" He shook his head violently, his hands clenching into fists as he muttered, "And he can't be dead. I know he must be alive somewhere."

"This is why you fought with your brother?" said Felicity in a soft voice, her expression crumbling with compassion as she gently squeezed his arm. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry-"

"There's nothing to be sorry for!" snapped Harry, scowling as he jerked away from her touch. "He's not dead!" He then shot them an anxious look. "Will you help me, please? Will you ask your dad to find out about him?"

Felicity, at first startled by his violent reaction, bit her bottom lip fretfully, while her twin shook his head as he said firmly, "Our father would never do it. He doesn't have access to the Muggle Ministry and its departments." Felix let out a heavy sigh. "The only way he could get that information for you is by using magic on muggles and steal whatever records they have. And Father would never agree to do something like that even if we asked-"

"Oh, but!" breathed out Felicity, making her twin look at her with a frown on his face, which quickly cleared, Felix's eyes widening in some sort of realization.

Indeed, the red-haired twins stared at each other, their mismatched eyes suddenly glinting mischievously as they shared a wicked, conspiring grin.

They glanced at Harry, and shot him identical, roguish grins as they chorused, "Our cousin Ignatius, on the other hand…"

* * *

Harry had given the Prewett twins every bit of information regarding Robert Hutchins that could be relevant: the man's full name, age, place of birth and such, even remarking that the muggle had dark hair, blue eyes, and two missing fingers from his left hand.

Felicity had conjured parchment and inked quill and scribbled it all down. The twins then assuring him that their cousin, who worked for their father, would undoubtedly do his best to help and get that information for them.

Furthermore, that late evening, after classes, Harry had served detention in the Infirmary, putting especial attention on where Miss Nightingale kept the key of the supply cupboard.

But the two days that followed were sheer torment. He couldn't focus in class, he was constantly jittery and anxious as hours ticked by and he got no news from the Prewett twins.

Hutchins could be giving his last dying breath while Harry was there, stirring a Minty-Breath Potion, or suffering Professor Binn's droning lectures about Goblin Wars, or enduring explanations from their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of how to cast Shields he could already perfectly perform in his sleep, or clipping the Amorous Brier's twigs in Herbology so that the bush could feel more pretty and thus give better magical berries.

By Friday evening, as he sat for dinner in the Great Hall, Harry was a mass of nerves, anguished, miserable, and distressed, with dark circles under his eyes, his stomach rolling with constant apprehension and misgivings, and his heart permanently lodged in his throat.

So much so, that he jumped in the air when an owl sudden swooped in to drop a letter in his soup.

Scowling at the bird that instantly took flight again, Harry grumbled under his breath as he cast the letter a Drying Charm.

He then opened it, instantly recognizing the penmanship. As he scanned the brief sentences, he let out the most powerful exhalation of deep relief of his life.

He felt Tom stiffening by his side, even the pressure of his brother's piercing gaze boring into one side of his head, as his scar began to prickle.

Harry didn't look at him, though. Tense silence had reigned between them since their scuffle.

Indeed, Harry simply rose to his feet and calmly left the Great Hall, leaving his untouched supper behind.

He spent the next hours in his bed behind closed curtains, as he heard his roommates chattering and commenting about the following Quidditch matches, then rummaging in trunks, preparing for sleep, and finally giving some snores in their beds.

All the while, Harry absentmindedly petted a sleepy Ulysses while he obsessively reread Felix Prewett's letter over and over, as if it could help make the unbearable hours of waiting pass swifter.

_Midnight. Our common room. Password for Fat Lady: 'Gryffindors are the Champions'._

Harry had merely rolled his eyes at that, once – the Gryffs weren't letting anyone forget that they had won last year's Quidditch Cup for the umpteenth time in a row, even though Slytherins had gotten the House Cup, mostly due to Tom.

Then he had gone back to anxiously bit his bottom lip, impatiently casting Tempus Charms again and again.

The instant the latest charm's glowing red letters finally displayed '23:50', Harry carefully moved Ulysses unto the pillow, the little Scorcrup cozily snuggling with it and letting out a small yawn without being awoken.

Then he yanked his bed curtain's open and jumped to his feet.

"Lumos!"

Harry froze.

Tom was lounging on his bed, with opened curtains, his lit wand in hand as he pierced Harry with narrowed, dark blue eyes.

Tensing, Harry gazed back at him, and they remained silent, staring at each other.

He waited, his scar pricking painfully, but his brother didn't say a word, not even when Harry tested the waters and took one step in the direction of the door.

He took another slow step and glanced back at Tom.

When his brother did nothing but further narrow his eyes to slits, Harry sprung forward, reached the door, and yanked it open.

"Whatever you're plotting," said a cold, deadly tone of voice, "I won't let you go through with it."

Harry stiffened at the threshold, before he quietly shut the door behind him.

* * *

As soon as he climbed through the hole of the Fat Lady, he saw the Prewett twins waiting for him, donned in their nightgowns, standing in the middle of their empty common room.

Felicity rushed to him, taking him by the hand as she led them to the couch in front of the grand hearth that had a fire merrily crackling.

"We received this by owl today," she said, her pretty face enlivened and bathed in the soft, warm light coming from the fireplace, as she placed a package on Harry's knees.

Harry immediately tore the wrappings apart and stared at the thick folder in his hands, heart pounding fast in his chest, his breathing hitching.

"Where is he?" demanded Felix as he stood by the side of their couch, casting impatient looks at the fireplace before glancing with wariness at the stairs that led to his housemates' dormitories. "If anyone comes down fancying a midnight snack, we're done for…"

Barely listening to what the twins were saying, Harry uncoiled the string of the folder and took out its contents, spilling them on top of the low table in front of him.

With jerky moves of his fingers, he spread the numerous papers, his green gaze wildly jumping from one to the other, searchingly.

Though what instantly caught his attention was a large map, of Norway, with drawn figures of battleships on the depicted coastline of the country, or figures of soldiers or artillery, all with arrows stretching from the drawings to other locations on the map, all over the place.

"Army mobilizations and troop movements," said Harry under his breath in realization, before he frantically pulled out another map, this one with black crosses on top of the names of towns, annotations underneath with the number of dead soldiers in such or such battle lost, with red dots marking 'German Occupied Territory', which spread over the majority of the land.

Another was a lengthy report on strategies and tactics proposed to be employed, with information about the enemy troop's numbers, military capability, resources consumed, water, food, and ammunition levels, all given by persons called 'Foxtrot' or 'Scotch' or 'Charlie' – codenames for British muggle spies, he realized with awe, before feeling utter dismay.

With his jaw clenching at the dismal picture that the reports were presenting, Harry frenziedly shuffled through the papers -discarding report after report with attached large black and white pictures of Norwegian towns left in shambles and mere rubble after German air-raids or tank and artillery attacks- until he suddenly halted, gripping one paper with shaky fingers.

It had a small black and white photo stapled on one corner, with all sorts of information underneath, like weight, height, age, and then the name of the soldier's Battalion, the number of his Unit, and the list of battles he had engaged in.

Harry glanced at the picture again, recognizing Robert Hutchins' face immediately.

"Is that him?" Felicity whispered softy by his side.

"Yes," replied Harry hoarsely, his dry throat constricting as he kept staring at Hutchins' picture.

It had been stamped over with red-inked, bold letters: 'Presumed Dead'.

With his heartbeat shuddering to a halt, his eyes flew to the very bottom of the list of battles of Hutchins' file, and he choked out, "Namsos Campaign… a week ago…"

He felt a hand landing on his shoulder, squeezing in sympathy, as Felix's voice said quietly, "I'm sorry, mate."

"Namsos, you said?" gasped out Felicity as she grasped a stapled sheaf of papers that must have caught her attention, her eyes roving over it, becoming wide and disbelieving. "Harry, look at this!"

Harry instantly moved closer to her, even Felix leaned over the back of their couch, as they all read the document that had 'Top Secret' stamped across its pages.

Reading and reading, flipping page after page, they remained in stunned silence.

"It cannot be," finally said Harry in a coarse voice, his eyes wide and wild, given the shocking, sordid, and repulsive information that had just sunk in his mind.

"The British muggles had planned to invade Norway themselves?" said Felix, shooting them a dumbfounded look.

"Yes," breathed out Felicity, her eyes still incredulously scanning the pages, her expression horrified, "to ensure that Norway's merchant fleet kept transporting goods to Britain at low rates… to take over the country's ports and harbors so that the British Royal Navy could control the North Atlantic… and to form a trade blockade against Germany… to freely mobilize armies across Norway to reach Sweden and destroy their iron ore mines… to lay their own mines in Norwegian waters and ensure resources for British factories…"

She trailed off and shot Harry an appalled, aghast look. "Your friend's Battalion wasn't sent to Namsos to help the Norwegians, he was sent because-"

"Because the Germans invaded Norway before Britain did," gritted out Harry, peeling his gaze away from the document, his fisted hands shaking so badly that his arms trembled, as his eyes narrowed to slits in a surge of such rage that he could barely speak. "Because Grindelwald must have spies in every shadow and knew what our muggles were up to, and he beat them to it."

Harry felt sullied, utterly befouled. To think that Tom's cynical notions about politics seemed to be absolutely right. That Britain and France hadn't sent their armies to aid the helpless, severely outnumbered Norwegians out of humane support and assistance, but to attempt to stop the Germans from taking over a country they had coveted too, still striving to take it for themselves.

And Hutchins had been sent, like a disposable little tin soldier, to battle and sacrifice life for national self-interests, for trade routes, mines, and ports, not to 'save lives and protect freedom' as the British Army propaganda spouted.

Harry's chest ached.

"Oh, this is horrid!" cried out Felicity with teary eyes, shoving the document into a file as if it had burned her fingers.

Felix shot them a grim look. "Who knew the muggles were so-"

They all jerked backwards, startled, when the fire before them spiked and spat, before abruptly turning green, a figure appearing in the flames.

"Finally!" exhaled Felix, looking deeply relieved. "What took you so long, Ignatius?"

Harry stared at the head and shoulders of a handsome young man, who had to be the twins' cousin, and appeared to be crouching on his other side of the Floocall.

"It wasn't easy," said Ignatius with a heavy sigh, rustling his curls of hair with a hand. "Had to first convince my mate in Magical Transportation to tweak a bit the Floo connection of my office so that I could call to your common room instead of ending up waking your Headmaster." He pinned the twins with his gaze. "Have you received my-" He halted as his eyes shot to the table covered by papers. "Ah, yes, you have."

"How did you get this?" said Felicity, looking at him admiringly and in awe.

Ignatius' lips twisted wryly. "Wasn't easy either to make copies of that, let me tell you. I'm never Polyjuicing into a muggle again." He shuddered as his expression turned disgruntled. "I spent all yesterday being yelled at. That Winston Churchill muggle curmudgeon certainly has a temper on him, barking orders left and right at me, to get him this or that report or file or glass of scotch and case of cigars – loves those to bits, he does- and of course I didn't know where anything was. I got sacked." He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, the poor sod I assaulted on his way to work and took a hair from did, anyway. Must have figured that out today, the chap."

"And you," continued the wizard without pausing for a hitch of breath, his eyes swiveling to Harry, "must be my cousins' friend in Slytherin House."

"Um, yes," said Harry, blinking, still a bit dazed by all that the wizard had rattled off.

From the green flames, Ignatius pierced him with a narrowed-eyed, weighing gaze.

Apparently, he found something he liked or approved of during his split-second assessment, since his expression relaxed and he grinned widely. "Glad to finally meet you, I've heard much about you from Felix and Felicity." He shot his cousins a warm, fond look, before he glanced at Harry again, his expression turning somber. "Sorry for your friend – your aunt's betrothed, was he?" He sighed wearily. "Things aren't looking good, not for the muggles or us."

"But he's been listed as 'presumed' dead," said Harry hastily, leaning forward towards the green flames, his tone turning hopeful, "so they really don't know. There's still a chance-"

"Not likely," interjected Ignatius, shooting him a pitying glance. He sighed deeply. "And even if he was still out there, somewhere alive, if he hasn't already been taken prisoner by the Germans, there's no chance that his army is going to look for him."

Harry frowned at him. "Why not? They can't leave him behind if he's just missing."

Ignatius shook his head in the green flames. "The British Muggle Army is retreating from Norway – it's a lost cause already, the Germans are everywhere. The muggles of the War Cabinet spent yesterday making the final evacuation plans. They are heading their armies to France." He shot them a glum look. "They got reports that vast German armies are mobilizing towards there. And here in the Ministry of Magic we also know that Grindelwald will strike the French Ministry soon, once he's done with the north."

Harry shot to his feet, his jaw clenching, as he demanded forcefully, "When is the British Muggle Army leaving Norway?"

"In four days," replied Ignatius, shooting him a startled look, before he heaved a deep breath, a hand appearing in the green flames to gesture at the documents lying on the table. "I suggest that you don't show any of that to your aunt. Let the muggles give her the news. Must go now." He roguishly grinned at them, and winked at the twins. "Your father thinks I'm putting in extra hours at work because I'm so very ambitious, but he won't believe it if I stay after one in the morning. He knows I like going carousing with my mates at nights!"

At that, Felicity pursed her lips reprovingly and Felix gazed with envious longing, just as Ignatius gave them a cheery wave of the hand and disappeared from the green flames -apparently with every intention of going straight to indulge in drinks, dancing, and debauchery with his friends- the fire soon dwindling down back to normal.

Harry didn't waste any time in gathering back all the papers, stuffing them into the folder.

"Harry…" murmured Felicity quietly by his side, tentatively touching his shoulder.

He glanced at her, seeing her cheeks coloring as she continued softly, "I'm sorry about your friend. I had hoped that, well-"

"Yeah, me too," cut in Harry, straightening up with folder against his chest. He took the edge off his expression as he warmly smiled at the twins, and said sincerely, "Thanks for the help, I owe you big." He gestured emphatically at the fireplace. "Give Ignatius my thanks too. I didn't get the chance."

"Sure thing," said Felix, eyeing him worriedly. "You'll be well?"

"Yeah, of course," muttered Harry, "I just wanted to know... to be certain…" He shot the twins a forced, weak, tremulous smile. "I'll be fine."

He gave them a faint wave of the hand in parting as he headed for the portrait hole.

"Harry!"

Felicity rushed to him as he was about to climb in, pinning him with her beautiful mismatched eyes, frowning, as she then stammered anxiously, "You can't still think - you're not going to try-"

"Try what?" interjected Harry, blinking at her in puzzlement.

Felicity eyed him closely, and he blinked at her again.

The next second, she exhaled deeply, looking vastly relieved as she mumbled with a smile, "Nothing."

Harry shot her a baffled look, before he patted her on the shoulder and went through the portrait hole.

* * *

The moment he rushed into his dormitory, Harry encountered just what he had expected and hoped for.

Tom was still awake, sitting on his bed, a dark scowl appearing on his face as soon as Harry stepped inside, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits.

Not wasting any time, Harry plopped himself down on his brother's bed, opened the folder and dropped the sheaf of documents, maps, photos, and reports on Tom's lap. "Read it."

Glancing down, Tom frowned as he bit out harshly, "What's this?"

"What Ignatius Prewett got for me," replied Harry calmly, "from the War Office."

Tom shot him a surprised look, before his eyes narrowed again, though obviously he was too intrigued since he said nothing as he swiftly grabbed the pages and began to read.

Harry patiently waited until his brother was done, not even commenting when Tom perused the 'top secret' document that had so thoroughly shocked and disgusted Harry, regarding Britain's true motivations for sending troops to Norway.

"Churchill isn't that much of an idiot as I had thought," murmured Tom as he read that classified document, his tone laced with approval.

"Well," finally said Tom when he was done, as he laid down Robert Hutchins' file, his tone acid and sneering as he skewered him with an intense gaze, "so now you know he's dead."

"_Presumed_ dead," corrected Harry coolly.

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits. "Meaning?"

"You know what I mean," said Harry, staring back at him. " 'Hutchins isn't going to die', remember?"

It had become a motto to him during their Summer Holidays, when they had gone to the orphanage and been told by the caregiver Magda that Robert was gone, that the man had enlisted in the army, when he had heard Alice wretchedly sobbing in the kitchen, when he had punched Tom for saying snidely that he'd always known that Hutchins would end up dead.

'Hutchins isn't going to die' was what Tom grudgingly ended up saying after their fight, that night when his brother had climbed into his bed.

'Hutchins isn't going to die' was Harry's promise to himself and Robert Hutchins. One that he would fulfill no matter the cost.

"You knew what I would want to do the moment I read Alice's letter," added Harry in a hard voice. "I'm going to find him. I'm going to Norway."

"To Norway?" hissed out Tom in a deadly tone, his fury clear by the way Harry's scar began to throb. "To look for a muggle that has been missing for a week?" He violently waved Hutchins' file in front of Harry's face, and spat, "If he wasn't killed or captured, he wouldn't have survived a week without food or water anyway, you half-brained imbecile!"

"Soldiers always carry supplies in their bags," retorted Harry calmly, before he deeply sighed. "I'm not saying that I know if he's alive or not. What I'm saying is that I'm going to find him either way." He shot his brother a steely look. "Because if there's any chance he's still breathing, then I'm making sure he's coming back home."

Tom let out an incisive, jeering laugh, giving him his most scathing glance. "Oh yes, because going to Norway is just a matter of snapping your fingers, is it? How are you planning on getting there, do tell." He shot him a contemptuous look, as he sneered mockingly, "And how will you find him? With your powers of Divination and mind vibes, will you?"

"I'm not saying its going to be easy, you idiot!" retorted Harry, bristling and incensed. "But I did nothing when I knew beforehand when Grindelwald was going to attack Czechoslovakia, because I let you convince me that there was nothing I could do!" He glowered at him, as he gritted out, "And I told you that 'next time' I would take action, no matter the cost. Well, this is my next time!"

"It's not the same situation, you fool!" spat Tom in a cold, harsh tone of voice. "You have no chance of finding him-"

"I do," interjected Harry firmly. "I've been planning how to do it for the last few days." He gestured pointedly at the documents spread on Tom's bed. "I just needed information first." He shot him a sharp-edged grin. "And now I have it."

Before he gave his brother the chance to open his mouth again, Harry said quietly, "I'm going to Norway with or without you, but I rather it's with you."

With an infuriated expression on his face, Tom hissed out acidly, "I'm not going into a mad search for a stupid muggle who's already dead!"

Abruptly, Harry clutched him by the shoulders, locking gazes with him, as he said vehemently, "I'm asking for your help, because my chances are better with you coming along." He clenched his teeth. "I'm asking you to help me, just as I've been helping you with things that are important to you, like searching for the Chamber of Secrets. I'm asking you to repay the favor, because Hutchins is what's important to _me_."

Snarling, Tom jerked backwards, making Harry's hands fall from his shoulders, as he said, seething, "I'm not getting expelled just to help you satisfy your pathetic need of being Hutchins' savior–"

"We won't get expelled," interjected Harry hastily. "Today is Friday. Teachers won't notice if we're gone for the weekend. And I already have a plan of how to get out of the castle and to Norway."

When Tom scoffed snidely in utter disbelief, to then shoot him a sneer, Harry sighed, carding a hand through his hair.

He then stood up, gathering back the papers into the folder, before he gave Tom one last glance as he muttered, "I'm asking you, _my brother_, for help. You have until tomorrow to decide if you want to give it."

"Why till tomorrow?" jeered Tom scornfully.

"Because I'm making the last preparations tomorrow," replied Harry shortly, "and with any luck, I'll be in Norway before nightfall."

And with that, he reached his bed and yanked the curtains shut.


	41. Part I: Chapter 40

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots or characters are mine.

AN:

Finally, the results! About 40 have asked for Het, other 20 don't care whether its het/slash/bi or just no pairing at all, but the vast majority -over 100!- want it to be slash, so SLASH it is, as you have decided and as originally intended! :)

I'll ask about possible pairings you prefer later, though we pretty much know, given hints, who the two candidates for final pairing for Harry are ;) But there can be others in between, so that can be fun. And some of you have already told me which ones you'd like, so I'm already writing those down ^.^

Enjoy another fast update, I'm spoiling you, deservedly, for all the reviews and votes ;)

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 40**

* * *

The following morning, Harry woke up his familiar and rose from his bed before his roommates even stirred. Indeed, even the depths of the Black Lake that could be seen from the round windows of their dormitory hadn't yet faintly lit with the spearing beams of sunrise from above.

Carefully and very quietly, with little Ulysses perched on top of his head and with folder in hand, Harry made his way to the ground floor and the wing of the castle where the Staff's quarters could be found.

He halted before one of the doors and knocked repeatedly. When no one answered, Harry rapped his knuckles more urgently.

He heard a shuffling of feet, and suddenly the door was drawn open slightly, a head poking out.

Professor Tilly Toke looked distinctly ruffled, with blonde hair disheveled from sleep and blue eyes that groggily squinted down at him.

"Mr. Riddle?" croaked out the Charms professor, still looking sleepy but now also startled. The wizard glanced around at the empty corridor, before staring back at Harry, nonplussed. "Is there anything the matter?" He frowned, rubbing his face. "What time is it?"

"Early," said Harry shortly, before he shot the wizard an entreating look. "Can I come in, please? I would like to speak to you."

The man blinked at him, before nodding and opening the door wide.

Harry quickly trotted inside, glancing around with curiosity. The sitting room was small but cozy, in tan and blue colors, a large fireplace on one side with dying embers in the hearth, a couple of shelves filled with books, and a door that seemed to lead to the teacher's bedchamber.

"To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" said Tilly Toke amiably, though still sleepily blinking, as he took a seat before a small tea table, gesturing for him to do the same.

Harry plopped down on a chair, settling Ulysses on his lap as he shot the puzzled wizard a warm smile.

During the previous few days in which he had been plotting and hashing out the details of his plan –since reading Alice's letter– it was his Charms Professor and Head of Hufflepuff House who first came to mind. The wizard was the one adult in Hogwarts he most liked and trusted.

Furthermore, Toke was the one man who he knew he could persuade, given the wizard's personality and feats. Tilly Toke had been the one who had taught him plenty of Charms outside of class and helped him create The Three Musketeers' Map, after all.

Without any further ado, Harry opened the folder and yanked out Robert Hutchins' file and the map of Norway filled with marks and annotations of battles.

He spread them on the tea table, before Tilly Toke's perplexed eyes.

"Where did you get all this from?" said the Charms Professor, blinking down at all the papers, maps, photos, and documents.

"Can't say," replied Harry firmly, not wanting to get Ignatius Prewett in trouble, and then added without beating around the bush, "I need to go to Norway." He pointed a finger at Hutchins' file. "To look for this man. A muggle in the British Army, and a friend."

When the teacher merely stared at him in mute incomprehension and bafflement, Harry continued quickly, "He was last seen in Namsos, a town in middle Norway, defending it from Germans. The fastest way to get there is by portkey-"

"Portkey?" Tilly Toke stared at him, taken aback. "You're asking me to make you a portkey to go to Norway?"

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "_Can you_ make a portkey to go there?"

"No, I've never been to that country before…" The wizard trailed off, shaking his head in bemusement, before he sighed deeply. "Even if I had, I wouldn't-"

"Right, it's what I thought," interjected Harry swiftly. "I just need for you to buy a portkey from the Ministry of Magic." He waved a hand dismissively. "To Namsos or whatever other town is closest to there." He cocked his head to a side, as he intently gazed at his teacher. "You said in class that the Department of Magical Transportation has pensieves filled with memories of places all over the world, that they use to make portkeys. And I'll repay whatever it costs. My brother has galleons."

Well, more likely, if Tom refused to help, he would just steal one of the countless pouches of galleons his brother had in his trunk.

"And of course that you want to go to Norway," added Harry vehemently, nodding at him, "to check up on your friends there."

Tilly Toke gave him a thoroughly perplexed look. "I don't have any acquaintances in-"

"You've often said in class," said Harry, shooting him a pointed stare, "how worried you are about them."

The wizard seemed to cotton on about the excuse Harry intended him to use in the Ministry when asking for a portkey, though the man then heaved a deep breath as he glanced at Robert Hutchins' file and said in sympathy, "I understand your wish to find and help a friend, Mr. Riddle… Harry. But I can't-"

"He's like a father to us," said Harry, his eyes going big as he blinked twice, making tears appear. He fretfully clenched his hands on top of the table, looking miserable as he peered up at the wizard, mumbling softly in distress, "And I fear what Tom might do. He wants to go to Norway at all costs, sir!"

"Your twin…" Tilly Toke stared at him, utterly surprised. "He's the one who-"

"Yes!" cried out Harry in utter anguish. "Robert Hutchins is like a father to him. I don't know what he'd do if he lost Hutchins!" He leaned forward, peering at the man with distraught eyes. "The muggle is like a dad to both of us, and you and the rest of teachers know that Tom and I are orphans, sir." He sniffled, a tear rolling down his cheeks. "You wouldn't want us to lose the only father-figure we have in our lives, would you?"

The Hufflepuff Head of House eyed him with concern. "Well, of course not, but-"

"And surely you know how my brother can be, Professor. Once he gets something in his head, he'll do anything to accomplish it!" Harry shook his head in despair, as he muttered wretchedly, "He's been ranting about all the other ways we can go to Norway if you don't help us get a portkey." He shot the man an anxious look, as he choked out, with big, fearful eyes, "But they are all very risky, dangerous ways, sir!"

There was just one option left for him if Toke didn't help, but his teacher didn't need to know that, just as it was best if the man thought that Tom was on board and the one of the idea.

The point was that by portkey was the fastest way, especially since he didn't know that much about Thestrals.

They had studied about them in Care of Magical Creatures, but just the theory, as they did about any 'dangerous' animals. Professor Kettleburn certainly never dared to go into the Forbidden Forest to capture a specimen of anything more troublesome than a Pixie - the man had already lost too many limbs. But supposedly, there were Thestrals in the forest, and Harry hoped he could see and find them if it came to that.

After all, he had seen Death once: the previous Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage, Mrs. Sharpe, lying dead on the floor after 'tripping' and taking a tumble down the stairs. Harry hoped that the cruel, nasty, odious woman's death at least served for something.

Tilly Toke eyed him with deep worry. "Harry, I must impress upon you the need to convince your brother of not doing anything drastic." The man fretfully rustled his locks of blonde hair with a hand, as he sighed deeply. "I wished I could help you boys, but I could not possibly aid two students to do something so dangerous as going to a country that is at war-"

"Oh, of course!" interrupted Harry, gazing at him with immense gratefulness. "You know my brother and I can't use magic, because of our Traces, so you'll need to come along to help us. I understand!"

The Charms Professor shot him an alarmed glance, then looking discomfited as he shifted on his seat, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Um, yes, two students alone, without an adult as an escort, is out of the question… " He frowned and shook his head, his expression turning stern. "No, Mr. Riddle, what I meant is that-"

"I should have known you'd want to help us!" breathed out Harry, staring at him with huge green eyes filled with worshipful admiration. "You're a hero! You saved all those muggles in the beach from the rogue dragon. You have an Order of Merlin First Class!" He excitedly gestured at the reports on the table. "And saving Hutchins, a muggle soldier, would be the same – you've done it before!"

"Well, yes, I have," said Tilly Toke, a proud, pearly-white smile gracing his handsome features as he straightened his shoulders. He then frowned, eyeing him uncertainly. "However, going to Norway is-"

"And you said in class," interjected Harry, gazing at him in reverence, "how muggles need our protection. How it's a wizard's duty to help them!"

"Yes," said the Head of Hufflepuff House with a pleased smile. "It is the honorable thing to do, to aid muggles that are in danger-"

"As wizards, we are honor-bound," cut in Harry, fervently nodding and parroting what the man often said in lessons, "to give aid to those who cannot protect themselves." He gazed at the man in sheer awe and veneration. "I understand! Of course you want to save our muggle friend too, now that you know about what danger he must be in!"

Tilly Toke began to nod, before he halted, giving him a troubled look. "Well, not quite, you see-"

"Oh, I do!" said Harry, beaming a smile at him. "You're thinking about all the things we'll need, in order to find Hutchins. You're so clever!" He nodded at him repeatedly. "Yes, we'll need brooms, to fly as we look for him– it will only take us some hours to find him, I'm sure. We'll be in and out, with the portkey you've agreed to buy! No one in the castle will find out that we have even left!"

Harry grinned at him, and as soon as the teacher opened his mouth again, he was quick to grasp Ulysses and present him before the man's eyes. "You're so very smart, to have thought about using him! My Scorcrup knows Hutchins – knows his smell." He glanced down at his familiar, his eyes inquisitive, as he muttered from the corner of his mouth, "You could find him by his scent, if we're nearby, right?"

Little Ulysses stared up at him, looking musing, before he licked Harry's palm and bobbed his head up and down.

Harry grinned, to then flash his professor with smile. "You think about everything, sir! And of course, we don't want muggles to see us flying in brooms all over the place, so you can cast on yourself that Disillusionment Charm you were telling us about the other day in class, the one you'll teach us in Seventh Year." His smile broadened, as he winked conspiratorially. "And my brother and I will use something else, since we can't do magic. Don't worry about that, Professor!"

He jumped to his feet, only pausing to tilt his head to a side, making himself look pensive, as he muttered somberly, "And I'll see what my brother's state of mind is. Then I'll know if he should come along with us or not, sir." He heaved a deep breath. "He's so concerned about our muggle friend that perhaps it's best if he stays here. But we'll decide that later."

"Harry-"

Harry was upon Tilly Toke, hugging him tightly, before the man could get out another word, as he cried out with tears of gratefulness in his eyes, "Oh, I knew you'd help us, sir! I knew you're the bravest, most honorable wizard!"

He peeled himself away from the wizard, and patted him on the shoulder with a warm smile on his face. "A portkey to Namsos or any other town near it, Professor, remember! And I'll be prepared with all the things you've said we'll need. Don't worry, it will be a piece of cake. Just let me know when you have the portkey!"

With a hasty flick of his wand and a muttered spell, all the documents, photos, files and papers flew into the folder, and Harry was dashing out of the room with Ulysses and folder in hand before the teacher could gather back his wits, leaving a dazed, blinking Tilly Toke behind.

* * *

Harry grinned with supreme smugness and satisfaction as he strolled down a corridor with Ulysses perched on top of his head.

Tilly Toke would do it, he was certain.

He had left the man with no other choice - thoroughly wheedled, inveigled, and confused the wizard into an inescapable trap of the man's own sense of honor and duty. And the Charms Professor was a wizard who was fond of thrills, adventures, and saving muggles in distress, after all.

Yes, Harry had no doubts, the wizard would come through for him.

He merrily made his way to his dormitory. None of his roommates had awoken yet, as early as it still was, and he carefully extracted his satchel from his trunk, instructing Ulysses to stay on his bed, before he tiptoed out.

Harry soon reached the kitchens and partook of a pleasant breakfast in solitude, waiting for the time to execute the next stage of his plan.

He knew from Felix Prewett, the new Beater, that the Gryffindor Quidditch Team had practices every Saturday early in the morning.

Indeed, around ten o'clock, Harry left the kitchens, gratefully waving a hand at the friendly house-elves, and made his way to Gryffindor Tower.

He caught sight of the Team –all sweaty, with mud splattered on their Quidditch uniforms, tired but also excitingly and proudly patting each other on the backs- on the stairs, some already going through the portrait hole of the Fat Lady.

"Charlus!" called out Harry, racing towards them, "Charlus!"

"There's a slimy snake looking for you, Captain," grunted one of the players, tall and burly, a nasty look in his eyes as he glowered at him.

"Who is it?" said a puzzled voice, as Charlus Potter's head appeared in between those of his teammates.

"I need to speak to you alone," said Harry hastily, as he finally reached the group that had halted to stare at him. He even saw Felix Prewett shooting him a curious look. "I… um, have a message from Dorea Black, for you."

At that, one of the boys by Potter's side hooted, as he made good-natured, taunting smooching noises. "Ooohhh, kissies-kissies from pretty Dorea! Wants you to meet her today in the Astronomy Tower for some more petting, eh!"

Charlus Potter grinned rakishly at the boy, who had to a be friend, since besides Felix Prewett and Minerva McGonagall -the only girl in the Team- he was the only one who wasn't scowling, or eyeing Harry with mistrust and dislike, or outright glaring at his Slytherin uniform with despise.

"Shut up," said Charlus, still grinning, digging an elbow into his friend's ribs, though it couldn't have been that hard because the other boy just chortled. He then glanced at his Team, and barked, "And go inside, you oafs, my darling's sweet words are for my ears only!"

At that, they all complied, some huffing, grunting or scowling, except the boy who had taunted, who shot Charlus a wicked grin before glancing at Harry, winking. "You tell Dorea that if my best mate isn't satisfying her as she deserves, she can come to me, and I'll show her a good time!"

"You try putting a paw on my fiancée and I'll trounce you, James!" shot Charlus, as the other boy chuckled and disappeared into the portrait hole.

The instant they were alone, the Gryffindor Captain swiftly turned to Harry, a besotted expression spreading on his face as he asked excitedly, "What's her message for me?"

"Um, there isn't any." Harry winced at the sixth-year boy's expression of disappointment and crushed hopes. "Sorry. I just wanted to speak with you in private."

Charlus deflated, sighing as he carded his fingers through locks of sweaty, wet, wind-blown hair. He stared at him with his hazel eyes, and grunted, "Well, what is it?"

"Can I borrow your Invisibility Cloak for today?" said Harry quickly, peering up at him with eyes filled with hope. "You see, Alphard and I want to use it again – but just for today!"

"You imps are up to some mischief or other, huh?" Charlus Potter grinned at him, before he frowned. "Not planning on pranking one of us, are you?"

Harry rolled his eyes at that. "We don't prank. That's stupid."

Charlus guffawed. "Shows how little you know." He then waved a hand dismissively. "Well, if you two little snakes aren't going to cause trouble, you can have it." He pierced him with his eyes, as he added sternly, "But take good care of it because-"

"It's a Potter heirloom," said Harry, nodding to then grin at him. "Yeah, I know. I'll treat it as if it was my own."

"Good," said Charlus, smiling as he ruffled Harry's already messy mop of hair. "Wait here, midget."

In a few minutes the boy returned, handing over the Invisibility Cloak, which Harry swiftly put inside his satchel as he voiced his deepest words of gratitude.

"And give Dorea this," said Charlus, grinning roguishly as he handed him a piece of folded parchment. "Tell her to meet me there tonight, wearing what I asked." His hazel eyes narrowed. "But don't you go reading my note, eh."

"As if I'd want to," grumbled Harry, shooting him a disgusted look as the tip of his ears went red.

Charlus Potter chortled at that. "Oh, just you wait until you're older, little runt. You'll be changing your mind soon."

And with a wink, the Gryffindor climbed back into the portrait hole.

* * *

Harry caught sight of Dorea in the corridors soon after, and he was quick to convey Potter's message in an embarrassed mumble as he shoved the letter into her hands.

When the girl read the note, her mouth hung open and she turned a bright, beet red – a hue Harry had never seen on her face before- though the moment a gleam of interest sparked in her grey eyes, Harry was swift to dash away before he could see her expression morphing into anything else. He really didn't want to know.

By lunchtime, he was under the Invisibility Cloak, hovering next to the entrance to the Infirmary.

The instant he saw Miss Nightingale coming out of the doors to make her way to the Great Hall, Harry swiftly slipped inside before the doors closed behind him.

The Infirmary was nearly empty, he saw, except for a bed occupied by a student, who appeared to be moaning in discomfort in a potion-induced sleep.

Harry scuttled forward and recognized the boy in the next second. It was hard not to, since he was the seventh-year Ravenclaw who had become the Head Boy –the Slytherin Algernon Wilkes had graduated last year.

Moreover, it was clear what ailed the boy, and just what a wrong foot he must have already stuck, obviously having annoyed the rule-breaking Gryffindors in some way, since the boy's head was completely bald, with a smattering of huge pustules flashing red and gold, spelling in big letters all across his head: Head Prat.

Harry quietly snorted at that, having the inkling that Charlus Potter must have had a hand in it, and then wasted no time in tiptoeing to the mediwitch's office.

She didn't seem to have warded it with any difficult spells, since he managed to get rid of the locking charms in just a matter of minutes. Miss Nightingale was either too careless or trusting, which he doubted, or she didn't fathom that any student would dare steal anything from her Infirmary.

It was her desk, its last drawer in particular, which interested him. And after sweeping his wand several times and ascertaining there weren't any other charms to dispel, he opened it.

There, was the key he had seen the mediwitch sticking inside the drawer during his detention with her.

Seconds later, Harry was opening the supply cupboard, perusing the many flasks of Healing Potions on its shelves.

He'd been studying about Healing since the start of the school year, though he wasn't an expert in any way thus far, obviously, but he had revised the chapters about potions during the last few days.

Many vials were labeled, but the others which weren't, he could recognize, remembering the stuff about color, consistency, texture, and whatnot.

Not really knowing in what state he would find Robert Hutchins in, Harry chose the most commonly used potions and brews for many afflictions and injuries: Blood-replenishing, Pain Dimming, Skele-Mend, Pepperup, and Wound-cleaning potions, besides some Burn-healing Paste, Restorative Draft, and Murtlap Unction.

He was careful to cast Unbreakable Charms on the glass phials as he stuck them one after the other in his satchel.

Harry only stiffened once, alarmed, when a loud thud resounded.

Still under the Invisibility Cloak, though, he saw that it had only been the Ravenclaw Head Boy who had rolled over the edge of the bed in his sleep, and fallen to the floor.

Shrugging, he left the moaning boy there as he returned the supply cupboard's key to its place, and then slipped out of the Hospital Wing, his heart thumping in contentment in his chest.

* * *

He went looking for and, no surprise, found Tom in the library, ensconced in one shadowy corner, at a table nearly toppling with books.

Harry shot the titles a fleeting glance. His brother was still researching about how to disable their Traces, since the boy hadn't made any progress in that regard, so far.

"If it was easy," Tom had hissed out once, looking harassed and ill-tempered, "then every underaged wizard in Britain would be cancelling their Traces during holidays - or their parents doing it for them! I'll find a way whenever I do, stop asking me!"

"Tom," whispered Harry quietly at present, as he leaned towards the boy. "Come with me."

His brother shot him a baleful look, as he sneered dourly, "If this is about your half-witted, lame brained intentions of-"

"Just follow me!" bit out Harry impatiently, scowling, before he lowered his voice to a mere murmur. "Let's go to the Room of Requirements."

Tom shot him a malevolent glare, before he gritted his teeth, looking as if he was being unmercifully pestered beyond endurance by some bothersome bug.

"Fine," the boy then said crisply, flicking his wand violently, making the books fly back into their shelves.

He rose to his feet, slinging his school bag across his chest, as he glowered at him. "Let's go there, and you can tell me how you've finally realized what a complete dunderhead you are because there's no way you can find the stupid muggle!"

"Yes," said Harry hastily, though he couldn't help the triumphant grin that spread on his face, "that's exactly what I want to talk about."

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, certainly suspicious and vexed at Harry's expression, but the boy then turned on his heels without saying another word and marched off the library.

Harry was quick to follow, and they easily reached the seventh floor without being noticed. The castle was nearly empty since it was the early days of May and everyone was out and about on the grounds that Saturday, enjoying outdoors in springtime.

The Room of Requirements became a nearly exact replica of the Slytherin common room – Tom's notion of an ideal place, apparently, even just as chilly, shadowy, and damp.

Harry sighed as he concentrated and wished for a pleasant, warm fire. The moment one of the fireplaces burst with flames, he happily trotted to it and slumped into the black leather couch in front.

Tom sat on an ornate, winged armchair across from him, like an impatient emperor on a throne, as he said testily, "Well?"

Immediately, Harry fully explained his visit to Professor Tilly Toke, recounting the whole conversation.

The moment he was done, he saw Tom staring at him, slowly arching an eyebrow, looking surprised and even grudgingly impressed.

Harry snorted at that, crossing his arms over his chest. "What – did you think I was just going to tromp by myself into a country filled with Nazis? When I can't do magic because of my Trace?" He shot him an annoyed glance. "I want to be expelled as little as you do!" He then shot him a toothy grin. "I knew I needed an adult to come along and do magic for me. So I got myself one."

Given Tom's expression, his brother had indeed thought that he would just recklessly jump into it without any preparation, like the idiot Tom clearly believed him to be.

"And you're telling me that Toke agreed to it?" Tom then demanded with narrowed eyes.

"Well," said Harry loftily, waving a hand dismissively, "not in so many words, but-"

"So he didn't," bit out Tom harshly, skewering him with his gaze.

"He will!" snapped Harry, scowling. "He'll get the portkey and he'll come along. You'll see."

"If he does," sneered Tom with dripping snide, "he's more of a vain fool than I thought!" His dark blue eyes thundered. "He's a Professor of Hogwarts – he should know better than to assist a student in a plan as mad as yours!"

"What I want to do is not crazy," gritted out Harry, irked. He swiftly opened his satchel, tilting it so that his brother could see its contents. "See, I already got plenty of potions to heal Hutchins when I find him. And look!" He quickly yanked out the Invisibility Cloak from one corner, and spread it on one arm of the couch, so that his brother could see how it vanished from sight. "I also have this, so that I'm not seen!"

Tom stared, before he was instantly on his feet, leaping forward to make a grasp at the invisible arm of the couch.

Harry saw the Invisibility Cloak like a mantle of glowing light, as he always did, as his brother turned the sheer cloth this way and that –his hands disappearing, his fingers, one arm, the other- Tom's stunned expression turning awed, before he pierced Harry with narrowed eyes, demanding forcefully, "I know what this is. I've read about them. Where did you get an Invisibility Cloak from?"

"Charlus Potter," replied Harry simply.

Tom stared. "Potter? The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain? How would you-" He clamped his mouth shut before he sneered contemptuously, "Of course, your little friend Black knows him, and you know him through Black."

"Yup," said Harry placidly. "Charlus has lent Alphard and I the Cloak before."

"And what did you two imbeciles use it for?" demanded Tom churlishly, his eyes narrowing to slits with suspicion, and also what appeared to be jealously and seething annoyance.

"Oh, nothing important," Harry lied smoothly, his tone airy. "It was pretty boring, in truth." He widely grinned at him, as he added cajolingly, "The Cloak is big enough for two, brother."

Tom acidly scoffed at that, irreverently tossing the Invisibility Cloak to the couch. "If you think a stupid invisibility piece of cloth is enough to save us from all the risks-"

"We'll have Tilly Toke!" snapped Harry with exasperation. "And my Comet 180, and Ulysses-"

"Your wee, bitty pet?" jeered Tom scornfully. "As if he'll be of any use-"

"You don't know him," interjected Harry crossly, glaring at him. "You've never bothered to get to know him! You don't know all the things he can do. He's like a bloodhound – he can find Hutchins. And he can protect us too! That's what Scorcrups are – fierce protectors when their bonded owners are in danger!"

Tom glowered at him, as he said poisonously, "I know what the beasts can do. Unlike you, I read. But what you mean is that he'll protect _you_-"

"And you, if I tell him to," retorted Harry impatiently. He carded his fingers through his hair, and demanded shortly, "Look. Are you coming or not?"

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits, before he simply turned around and stalked out of the room without giving him a reply.

* * *

Harry was in his dorms, worriedly biting his bottom lip.

It was already nightfall, they had already partaken of dinner in the Great Hall, and he didn't have any news from Tilly Toke. Hadn't even seen the wizard since the Professor hadn't been at the Staff Table during supper.

He glanced at his brother, who was sitting on his bed with some textbook in hands. They were the only two in the dormitory, since the others were in the common room with the rest of the Slytherins.

Harry cast a Tempus Charm again, dismayed at the hour. He then sighed and slowly rose to his feet.

He was rummaging in his trunk the next second, taking out as many bits of winter clothes as he had.

"What are you doing?" demanded Tom's voice sharply.

"Getting ready," Harry said curtly without sparing him a glance. "I'm not waiting any longer. I'm going to use the Thestrals to get to Norway."

Tom was towering before him in the bat of an eyelash, his face contorted with anger, as he hissed out, "I'm not letting you go anywhere-"

'Pop!' and a house-elf suddenly appeared before them, fretfully yanking his long, flopping ears as he stuck out a small, green hand, squeaking nervously, "Biddy was asked to give you this!"

Harry blinked as he took the small piece of parchment, mumbling, "Thanks."

The house-elf gazed at him with big eyes and gave him a watery smile –Harry was certain he was one of those who knew him well from the kitchens, and quite used to his gratitude for all the delicious food- before it vanished with another 'pop'.

Harry opened the letter, soon grinning triumphantly.

_Be in my office in an hour. Dress in warm, muggle clothes. Bring your broomsticks and something belonging to your muggle friend, if you have it, or at least something he has touched._

It was unsigned, but obvious who had written it.

Harry merely paused to wonder at the last bit Tilly Toke was requesting, before he shrugged his shoulders and tossed the letter to his brother.

"The fool!" snarled Tom as soon as he read it, crushing the piece of parchment in his hands.

Tom went on to virulently spit out why it was all such a bad idea, what a dunce Harry was for even considering it, all the things that could go wrong and end up in disaster, and the 'grievous' consequences there would surely be, all for looking for a lowly muggle who was already dead! – while Harry carried on, taking things from his trunk, fishing out his shrunken Comet 180 from a pair of socks, the toy motorcar Hutchins had once given him as a birthday present, the large map of Norway with the names of towns, the black crosses marking battles and red dots of 'German Occupied Territory', from the folder Ignatius Prewett had sent to him, to then glance musingly around the room and quickly reach his desk, opening the Broomstick Servicing Kit Alphard had given him, and taking the clip-on compass.

"Are you listening!" spat Tom furiously, who had followed Harry around and was now looming before him like some ominous shadow.

"No," said Harry coolly, before he rubbed his throbbing scar and scowled. "And stop being angry." He then shot him an assessing glance. "Will you come?"

"Of course I have to come along, don't I?" hissed out Tom acerbically, his expression dark and seething. "You're such an imbecile that you'll most likely get killed if I'm not there to prevent it!"

Harry merely nodded. "Good. Get ready then."

Tom clenched his teeth, glaring at him for full measure, before he turned to his own trunk.

About thirty minutes later, Harry decided they were quite prepared. Both dressed in their warmest muggle clothes, with mittens and Slytherin scarves added to the mix, with Ulysses snuggled inside Harry's jersey, head and front paws popping out from above the collar, compass and shrunken Comet 180 in a pocket, and satchel with Invisibility Cloak, Norway map, and vials of potions.

"I think that's all," said Harry, casting his surroundings another look in case he had forgotten anything that could be useful.

When nothing came to mind, he widely grinned at Tom. "Let's go."

His brother glowered at him for his efforts, before he ill-temperedly followed Harry to the door.

Just when Harry was about to yank it open, someone else did from the other side, and he nearly smashed into Alphard.

The boy quickly regained his balance and stared, his big grey eyes swiveling from one to the other, before his eyebrows shot to his hairline, as he blinked at them, baffled. "Where are you going dressed like a pair of wizeskimos?"

Harry brightened at the sight of him, and quickly shot his brother a glance. "Go on, I'll catch up to you in a second."

Tom gave them both his most ugly sneer, particularly venomous at Alphard, before he stalked through the door.

When they were alone, Alphard glanced up and down Harry with amusement. "It is spring, you know? And the evening is not that cold outside, I just came from-"

"Al," Harry said urgently, grasping his friend's shoulders, "Tom and I will be gone from the castle for some hours. In case someone comes asking for him or me, can you cover up for us? In any way you can think of?"

It wasn't likely it would be needed, but ever since the Yule Ball, Olive Hornby had taken to appear in Slytherin House at all hours, wanting to see Tom.

Harry hadn't asked his brother how the dance had gone, though it was clear that it must have been Hornby's most dreamy night of her life, given the unhealthy obsession she seemed to have developed for Tom.

If there were any students the Slytherins deigned to allow into their territory, it was Ravenclaws as pureblooded as them. Though Harry wasn't particularly thrilled that his brother was giving Olive Hornby their weekly passwords. It outright irritated him to see the girl always hanging out in their common room, breathlessly waiting for Tom to show up.

Alphard stared at him in complete bewilderment, and Harry was quick to add, "Say we're feeling sick - something bad we ate for dinner."

The boy then stared at him, frowning with worry. "You'll be gone from Hogwarts? Where are you two going?"

"Don't have time to explain," said Harry hastily. "I'll tell you when I'm back." He shot him a pleading look. "But will you do it?"

"Yes, of course," said Alphard instantly, giving him a decisive nod of the head.

Harry shot him a deeply grateful smile, and turned to leave, but the boy halted him by briefly touching his arm.

"Harry, whatever has happened, wherever you're going," said Alphard softly, gazing at him with big grey eyes filled with concern, "you are going to be alright - right?"

Harry stared at his best friend, feeling a swelling surge of warmth and fondness for him.

He grinned and patted him on the back. "Sure."


	42. Part I: Chapter 41

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots or characters are mine.

AN:

Answering reviews:

I don't think Harry was being mean, cruel, etc with the way he acted in last chapter. Yes, he manipulated and used his friends and teacher to get what he needed, showing his Slytherin side and all that, but he's doing it to help someone he loves, not out of self-interest and such.

I think it clearly showed his Gryffindor-Slytherin mix, sometimes using sly, underhanded or even lowly tactics but always to do what he thinks is the right thing – much like using whatever means to attain a good end. And the 'whatever means', obviously, he learned that from Tom, inevitably. I wanted to show how he's been changing, and how he'll still keep changing as he grows up and keeps being affected by his brother and the times they are living in. In this instance, he has showed that his fierce determination can border into ruthlessness if it's required.

And of course that Harry's manipulation of Tilly Toke was a bit 'laying it on too thick' as some have said – it certainly wasn't perfect. Harry still has much to learn, that was another point, lol. Anyway, we can never expect him to be as suave in his manipulations as Tom, they are too different to be able to do the same things in the same way.

About Tilly Toke being a fool for having been steamrolled by Harry into agreeing to do something so dangerous, well, not everything is like it seems in stories, one just has to keep on reading ;) We'll understand better with what will happen in these chapters.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 41**

* * *

Harry dashed through the corridors with little Ulysses poking out from inside his jersey, and caught up with his brother just as Tom was about to enter Tilly Toke's office.

The Charms professor presented quite a sight when Harry and Tom stepped into the room. Toke looked like his usual self, cheerful and friendly, with prettily groomed blonde hair, a charming, pearly-white smile on his face, which he flashed at them, and looking quite like a handsome muggle.

At least, the wizard seemed to know what muggles wore, since he was donned in warm clothes that weren't weird or flashy, just with black leather gloves and a pretty, soft blue scarf around his neck.

The wand in his hand was the only thing noticeable. Harry and Tom had theirs stuck inside their trousers. Even if they couldn't use them, Harry at least felt safer just knowing it was there.

And he knew Tom would not ever even consider parting from his wand for two seconds, no matter the reason. Indeed, if there was something his brother loved more than himself, it was his wand, given the stunning and marvelous, albeit admittedly disturbing things, the boy managed to do with it when they practiced dark curses in the Dueling Chamber provided by the Room of Requirements.

"Here it is," said Tilly Toke proudly, as he held up a mangy boot before them. "The portkey you requested."

"So we're going through with this?" bit out Tom acerbically.

Apparently not noticing the boy's tone of voice or dark expression on his face, Tilly Toke flashed him with a smile, as he patted Tom soothingly on the shoulder and said gently, "Yes, do not fear. We'll save the muggle you care so much about!" The wizard eyed him with sympathy. "You love him greatly, I hear."

Harry saw Tom darkly scowl and hesitate for a second, and his chest constricted with apprehension. If his brother-

"Yes, I deeply love Robert Hutchins," said Tom tartly, to then covertly shoot Harry a murderous glare, apparently because he fully blamed him for having to say such lies to the wizard, having to spill such repulsive, unbearable words from his mouth.

Harry merely stared back at him, deep relief sweeping inside him, although also a frisson of musing assessment. For a moment, he had thought that Tom would say something to prevent them from going to Norway. For a split second, he had thought his brother would thwart him.

Yet, he realized the next moment, Tom had apparently chosen to go forth with the lesser of two evils.

Indeed, his brother knew that if Tilly Toke didn't help him in going to Norway to find Hutchins, he would just turn around and go look for a thestral. And Tom could hardly be able to stop him from doing that, unless he went to the Headmaster and spilled the beans about Harry's plan. And his brother seemed to realize that that could only get him expelled at worst and even then wouldn't stop Harry either, that he would find some other way no matter how many obstacles jumped in his way. When it came to pig-headed stubbornness, Harry always won, they both knew well.

Better go to Norway with an adult that could do magic, than letting Harry go alone with just a wand he couldn't use. At least that was what Harry thought his brother must have reluctantly decided.

"Do you have everything we'll require?" said Tilly Toke pleasantly, as he tied the shoelaces of the shabby boot in order to hang it from his neck as if it was a necklace, then tucking his scarf this way and that so that it hid it.

Harry was quick to nod, showing his shrunk Comet 180 and then the toy motorcar. "This is something Robert Hutchins has touched." Then, he took the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel, demonstratively draping it over an arm. "And this is what I mentioned before. What Tom and I will use instead of a Disillusionment Charm."

The Head of Hufflepuff House stared, his sky blue eyes going wide as he gazed at Harry's arm that had just then vanished from sight.

"Is that a- a- " mumbled Tilly Toke breathlessly, looking utterly astonished.

"Yes," said Harry, shooting him a smug look.

The wizard seemed thoroughly gobsmacked, before he clapped his hands together in utter delight. "Spiffing! It will indeed prove to be highly useful!"

Tilly Toke chortled happily as he swept forward, reaching the large fireplace and taking hold of a broomstick lying against the wall – a Cleansweep by the looks of it. With a tap of his wand, the wizard shrunk and pocketed it, before he turned around to stare at Harry and Tom, his expression suddenly turning grave.

"I expect you to follow my orders in every regard," the wizard said sternly. "You'll follow my lead and my instructions to the letter. Is that understood?"

Harry instantly nodded his head, while Tom scowled for a split second before he intoned softly and solicitously, "Certainly, Professor."

Tilly Toke returned to his usual buoyant and cheerful self as he beamed at them in pleased satisfaction, looking thrilled and excited as he herded them to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a pot on the mantelpiece.

"Let's embark in our adventure and save your friend, then!" said the wizard jovially. "Invisibility Cloak on, my boys, and follow me!"

They swiftly obeyed, though given the brief stab of prickling pain in Harry's scar, he knew that Tom wasn't at all pleased with the teacher's view about what they were about to plunge into.

"_Adventure_… he's more of a witless Gryffindor than a pathetic Hufflepuff," he heard Tom sneering with utter scathing revulsion under his breath, just as green flames burst and enveloped them as Tilly Toke boomed happily, "The Three Broomsticks!"

Covered in soot, they emerged from another fireplace, and Harry felt so dizzy after the spinning, disorienting sensation of his first foray into Floo-travel that his stomach was churning unpleasantly, to the point that Tom had to grab him by an arm to steady him as they stepped out of a hearth.

He even had to bring up a hand to his mouth and nose to prevent himself from coughing and chocking on the cloud of soot and dust. Ulysses wasn't doing much better, though the sneeze the little Scorcrup let out was thankfully swallowed by the noise in the pub.

Indeed, The Three Broomstick seemed to be packed that Saturday night. A group of rambunctious warlocks were trading jokes at a nearby table with pints of beer in their hands, a bunch of hags were playing wizarding cards as they cackled with their hoarse, screechy voices, while a pair of dwarves were dancing to the tune of some jaunty ditty played by an enchanted bagpipe that was floating and bouncing in midair.

Under the Invisibility Cloak beside his brother, Harry stared in amazement. The ambiance in Hogsmeade was certainly much different than the one they had experienced in Diagon Alley before the start of classes. The patrons of the pub didn't seem to have a care in the world, as if Grindelwald was some distant, feeble threat. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were so close to Hogwarts, the safest place in wizarding Britain, as impenetrable as Gringotts itself, allegedly.

Nevertheless, both Tom and he were soon taking care of swerving around bodies as they followed after Tilly Toke, as the professor made his way through the crowd, greeting acquaintances here and there with exuberant waves of his hand and pearly-white, ebullient smiles, and several perky winks at witches that gazed admiringly.

It was with much relief that they left the pub and walked several blocks, before Tilly Toke halted in the middle of some dark, small alley at the outskirts of the town.

The wizard glanced around, flicking his wand as if checking for any presences nearby, and then whispered, "It's safe here."

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, and gazed back at their professor, feeling a renewed sense of urgency. "We can portkey from here, right?"

"Indeed," said Tilly Toke, untying the boot from his neck to then present it forward on a palm of a hand.

"Is it to Namsos?" asked Harry hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," replied the wizard, though his expression wasn't somber or crestfallen, but rather matter-of-fact. "The worker in the Department of Magical Transportation refused to sell me a portkey to a town that's considered a-"

"A warzone," cut in Tom sharply, a dark, brooding expression on his face.

Tilly Toke blinked at him, before he flashed a glowing, charming smile at them. "Well, yes. But fear not!" He brought up a hand as if forestalling cries of dismay that never came. "This will take us to Vinje, which still hasn't been occupied by Grindelwald's muggle forces. From there, it will take us about three hours of flight to reach Namsos, according to my estimates."

"Vinje?" said Harry frowning, the name ringing a bell. He plucked out the map of Norway from his satchel, squinting down at the marks of battles and names of cities and towns, before he found it –one of the few areas not depicted with the red dots signifying German Occupied Territory. He glanced up at the wizard, some color draining from his face. "It's in southern Norway, close to Oslo. And Namsos is in _central_ Norway-"

"Yes," interjected Tilly Toke calmly, "but while Oslo has been taken over by the German muggle forces-" he gestured pointedly at Harry's map, the capital of the country so punctuated with red points that it looked as if the map had a bad case of pimples right on that spot "-Vinje still isn't. It was the only town for which the Ministry could consent to give me a portkey to."

Harry had no choice but to nod jerkily in acceptance, though he couldn't help being filled with misgivings. It was too far away from Namsos.

A three-hour flight? It was too long. What if Hutchins would be giving his last dying breath while they were whooshing through clouds? If Hutchins was still alive right at that moment but they were too late in reaching him, he didn't think he would ever forgive himself.

And he couldn't help feeling, either, a surge of anger at his brother, a need to yell at him and violently shake him until his teeth rattled. If Tom had a shred of human emotion, especially towards a man like Hutchins who had always been nothing but kind and good to them, who had, just like Alice, made their years in the orphanage not only bearable but even enjoyable, his brother would have also been the one wanting to find Hutchins, and they would have already been in Norway by now. He was certain.

In the next second, Harry sighed at that, as he cast Tom a glance. There was no point in wishing his brother was any different. Tom was who he was and wouldn't change in that regard, he knew well. He felt grateful, at least, that Tom had finally decided to go along with this plan, however reluctantly and ill temperedly.

"Alright," said Harry at last, his tone hurried, as he felt his heart beginning to thump loudly in his chest with urgency and anxiety. "Let's get going then."

He obeyed Tilly Toke's further instructions without another thought, handing over the items the man requested: his shrunken Comet 180 and the toy motorcar. And before the professor even spoke again, Tom was already grabbing his wrist as he pulled him away from the wizard.

Harry went along without a word. He trusted that Tom knew what he was doing. It was his brother, after all, who had been researching about their Traces and had to know how far away they had to stand so that their Traces wouldn't detect the magic used by Tilly Toke.

Indeed, the teacher pocketed the toy motorcar, turned the Comet 180 and the Cleansweep to their original sizes, and then tapped his wand on his broom and then on his head as he cast the same spell twice.

It was strange to watch it, how the Disillusionment Charms first made the Cleensweep disappear, followed by Tilly Toke himself. Yet they weren't fully invisible, but rather like some faintly rippling distortion. Both wizard and broom were camouflaged with their surroundings, like chameleons, but Harry could see a sliver of their outlines if he focused and squinted in their direction.

And it was easy to see where the wizard was, since the Comet 180, the boot, and the man's wand hadn't been altered, and they looked as if they were floating in mid air, gripped by two hands that looked as if they were part of the objects.

Tilly Toke's wand moved as if by itself, tapping on the boot, as the wizard's disembodied voice announced, "Three minutes before it activates. Get on your broom and grab the portkey. Once we appear in Vinje, immediately throw the Invisibility Cloak over yourselves and fly up as quickly as possible."

Harry nodded as he could finally move ahead, now that the last of the spells had been cast. And he hurried forwards to take the Comet 180 from the wizard, but Tom beat him to it.

"What are you doing?" he said, frowning at his brother.

"What does it look like?" sneered Tom shortly, as he took hold of the broom, clearly about to throw a leg over.

Harry instantly snatched the broom from his brother's hands, as he snapped impatiently, "I'll be the one on the front, directing it, not you."

Tom skewered him with a seething look. "I'm not riding on the back. I'm an excellent flyer-"

"You're passable, no more," scoffed out Harry, undaunted when his brother shot him a venomous glower, "I'm the one who's superb on a broom, so I'll be the one at front."

"Getting vain and arrogant, are we?" jeered Tom acidly, his eyes narrowed to slits in anger and contempt. "Dorea Black's exaggerated gushes about your abilities have inflated your big head-"

"I'm merely stating facts," bit out Harry sharply, and he mounted the Comet 180 briskly, shooting his brother a last crisp look. "There's no way I'm putting my life in your hands when it comes to flying a broom. Now get on!"

Tom didn't move an inch, standing there like an ominous dark figure teeming with thundering rage. But Harry didn't have any intention of budging.

During Flying Lessons of their first year at Hogwarts, Tom had made himself master how to fly a broom, just as he had made himself learn how to swim when Robert Hutchins had taught them in the beach of Southend-on-Sea, because Tom would learn anything that could prove to be useful, because he refused to be lacking in any way.

Yet, Tom derived no pleasure or joy from either. Harry knew well that it was because his brother hated when he had no full control.

When it came to swimming, it was the tides and the pull of waves that Tom didn't like because they were forces he had no sway over. When it came to flying, it was having to rely on something else rather than himself that he despised. And that was the reason why Tom would never be excellent at either.

Indeed, Harry was certain that if there was a way Tom could fly around on his own, without having to depend on anyone or anything else, he would be great at that, giddy and gleeful of his own awesomeness, no doubt. But wizards couldn't sprout wings, so that was that.

"Boys!" said Tilly Toke's voice sharply, as the boot was pointedly bobbed up and down in midair, a blue light beginning to glow and emanate from it.

"Get on, Tom!" shouted Harry anxiously.

Tom clenched his jaw, but complied, even though he was clearly in a very foul mood.

The moment he felt his brother's weight settle behind him, as Tom clutched him around the waist tightly, Harry kicked off from the ground.

He brought up the Comet 180 to hover a few feet above the alley, not high enough to be seen from the top of the roofs around them, just right in front of the glowing boot that looked as if it was floating all on its own.

Harry glanced down at Ulysses, making sure the Scorcrup was safely ensconced under his jersey, and then quickly checked that the Invisibility Cloak was inside the satchel strapped across his chest, along with the clip-on compass, the map of Norway, and the phials of Healing potions.

It took him an instant, and then he was reaching forward, just as Tom did the same over one side, both clutching tightly the boot Toke had to be holding.

Something seemed to flash, and suddenly, Harry felt the most horrifying sensation as he was plunged into a whirlpool of color and wind and rush of space. They were spinning madly, tossed to all sides, hurled as if they were in the midst of some thundering maelstrom, and Harry felt utter panic.

They were spinning completely out of control and he could barely direct the Comet 180, with one hand gripping it tightly, with such effort that his knuckles were white and ached, and his other hand still grabbing the glowing blue boot that was the only thing he could clearly see in front of him, as the world seemed to violently swirl all around him.

'Traveling by portkey can be a jumpy ride', was what Tilly Toke had said when he had briefly explained his intention of doing it whilst in mid air, 'particularly while on a broom'. But this was nothing like just a 'jumpy ride'. It was a hundred times worse than the Floo-travel they had experienced before. It was complete madness.

Tom's arm around his waist was gripping him so hard that Harry could barely breathe, and he didn't know if it was a punishing grip, purposely painful in revenge, or if his brother was truly afraid. And he could feel Ulysses' small but yet sharp claws digging into his chest, the little creature trembling under Harry's jersey, spitting out a series of faint, plaintive meows along with terrified hisses.

"Steady the broom!" snarled Tom's voice by his ear, and it sounded both enraged and also laced with a smidgen of frantic fear.

"I'm trying!" roared Harry over the noise thundering all around him. He didn't think he had ever had to make such an insurmountable effort, keeping a hand on boot, another on a wildly spinning broom, with his joints and muscles aching and throbbing, with a dull pounding in his forehead as his brother's anger rose and flared, while the strap of his satchel seemed to be embedding itself in his flesh, as the bag was tossed to all sides, though thankfully remaining closed.

And it seemed to him as if the whirlwind went on forever. The longer the distance to be travelled, the longer the 'shift in space' lasted, according to what Tilly Toke had once said in Charms class when promising he would teach them the charm to make portkeys in seventh year.

But now, Harry didn't think he would ever consider touching a portkey again, and he could only desperately wish it would just end. The strain was unbearable.

And suddenly, with a last violent jolt, everything seemed to halt, and there was peace. The boot was no longer glowing in blue light, and it instantly flew upwards, wrenching away from their fingers.

Harry knew what that meant –Tilly Toke had taken it and they were meant to follow- so he merely glanced around for a brief moment to see that they were some distance away from the outskirts of a town, noises and voices coming from afar, from below and to the right.

Certainly, the reason why Toke had wanted them to use the portkey whilst in midair was to make them appear in midair above Vinje as well. Yet, the experience had been too horrible and he would never want to repeat it again. Surely there could have been some other way.

Nevertheless, not wanting any muggles to spot them hanging there in the dark blue sky already dotted with stars, he instantly yanked open his satchel and took the Invisibility Cloak and hastily handed it to his brother, as he said urgently, "Cover us!", while he made the Comet 180 surge upwards in a burst of speed.

" 'Superb' flyer, are you!" spat Tom's voice by his ear, sounding so furious that Harry's forehead suddenly felt as if it was cracking and breaking open.

The pain was such that he could only moan and do his best to concentrate on steering the broom upwards and upwards, as the Invisibility Cloak flapped over them, gripped and secured by the hand Tom wasn't using to clutch him.

He didn't bother to point out to Tom that if he had been the one maneuvering the broom, they would have plummeted to their deaths, no doubt about that.

"That half-witted imbecile!" Tom's voice continued railing, now in a series of low, incensed, irate hissed out words, "That utter fool! Making us use a portkey while on a broom – sheer lunacy!"

Harry didn't mind that his brother was venting his spleen, since for once, in this matter, he utterly agreed with him, yet-

"Calm down!" he roared with a loud groan. "You're splitting my head apart, Tom!"

His brother seemed to clamp his mouth shut, probably doing his best to rein in his raging temper. And the pain did abate a mite, though obviously Tom wasn't one who could hold in, for too long, his urge to criticize him.

"You and that stupid scar of yours!" snarled Tom, sounding vastly irked, teeming with dark annoyance.

Harry bit out irritably, "It's not my fault that it seems to somehow channel your foul moods!"

"So you say," said Tom crisply.

Harry snapped his head around so fast and violently in his anger that it almost gave a crack.

"What – you think I've been making it up?" he spat hotly, seeing red, utterly incensed and furious, as he glowered at his brother murderously. "That I've been suffering your temper tantrums all these years, like daggers stabbing into my forehead every time you get your nasty mood swings, because what – I just like feeling the pain, I've just been fooling myself, making myself believe it? That I've been imagining it all these years! That's it's something psychological!"

His voice had risen to such a high-pitch of sheer fury that he heard little Ulysses give a complaintive meow from under his jersey. Feeling guilty, knowing how keen the Scorcrup's senses were, Harry apologetically patted him through the material of the jersey, though he kept glaring at his brother from over his shoulder.

He had thought that Tom had come to believe him by now. Certainly, at first his brother had not.

Harry didn't even remember how old they had been – five, six?- when he had finally realized that the pains in his scar always coincided with the times when Tom was angry. And Tom had been quite an angry little boy, practically at all times, when they'd been younger. Back then, Tom had scoffed snidely -he did remember that- saying that Harry was imagining things, that his scar was just a scar and couldn't 'feel' anything.

But after so many years since then, the fact that Tom still seemed to cling to the notion that his scar was normal seemed incredible to him. Especially since it was ages ago when they had discovered the only thing that could soothe it.

Tom was scowling back at him, but it seemed that his brother was thinking along the same lines, because he brought up a hand and touched Harry's scar in a slow, gentle motion.

Harry didn't fool himself though, even when he felt that familiar tingling sensation of peace and warmth that snuggly wrapped around his head like an assuaging mantle, dispelling the piercing pain and the pounding headache instantly.

His brother's 'caress' was no apology, it was filled with purposeful intent. Indeed, he wasn't even surprised by the words that sprung from his brother's lips in the next second.

"Better?" said Tom tartly, his dark blue eyes narrowing with vexation. "Can you now focus back on flying properly? You've been making us go around in circles like disoriented, headless chickens for the past couple of minutes."

Harry shot him a venomous look before he jerked his head away from his brother's touch and spun it forward again.

Hutchins, he remembered again with anxiousness spearing through his chest. And Toke. Where the hell was Tilly Toke?

They had flown so high up into the sky that he could barely see anything below, just a small smattering of lights – electric, no doubt.

The night was dark but also filled with stars, with a large, glowing full moon that proved to be quite useful since it infused everything in a soft, silvery light that allowed him to see quite well. Yet they were too far up and he began to make a slow descent, glancing this way and that, searching for any sign of the Charms professor.

He felt Tom tugging the Invisibility Cloak tighter around them, and thought it was for the best. Surely it would have been easier to yank it off so that Tilly Toke could see them. Yet they couldn't risk being seen by some muggle. And it was clear that Toke was also keeping up his Disillusionment Charm because he didn't catch sight of him.

It was soon that they were floating above Vinje, Harry feeling hopeful that Toke would look for them there and that the wizard had thought of a way of finding them.

Glancing down, he saw that Vinje wasn't so much as a town but a village, with thatched cottages here and there, most made of wood and just some few of stone, with a colorful church at one side, all located in a valley, surrounded by mountains that weren't too tall, though they had snow on their peaks.

The village itself was surrounded by vibrant green grass. Indeed, the night wasn't even that chilly. In these parts, the south of Norway, it was clear that spring had already arrived.

However, even though it must have looked charming and quaint in any other circumstances, at present the village seemed to be teeming with frenzied activity. There had to be about three hundred people below, all running around, many in uniforms – that of the Norwegian Muggle Army, evidently- armed with weapons but there were also many villagers helping along.

They seemed to be preparing themselves for an attack, wheeling around machine guns and artillery, carting sacks of food and crates of provisions, buttressing their houses, lining stones and sacks of earth or sand or who knew what, like defensive walls of a fortress, and carrying around all sorts of other equipment and armament.

Indeed, Harry knew, from the map Ignatius Prewett had given him, that Vinje was one of the last few remaining resistance pockets. Oslo was already occupied by the muggle Germans, as much of the rest of the country.

However, here in this small village, they were frantically readying themselves for one desperate, valiant, last stand.

Harry was suddenly gripped by the fierce desire to fly down and brandish his wand and help the muggles that still held some sort of frenzied, frail hope even though they had to know that the rest of the country was already lost, and that in their isolation they would soon fall too.

It was nothing more than a futile daydream, of course. Harry knew he could do nothing, but a blaze of admiration still flared in him as he watched them. There was some heroism in war after all, and here was the example.

"Look up!"

Harry snapped his head up at his brother's command, and stared as he saw a ball of faint light that was floating about several feet above them, moving around in slow circles.

With a feeling of deep relief and exhilaration, Harry instantly made the Comet 180 swoop upwards in a flash of speed, soon seeing that the ball of light was accompanied by a wand floating in midair and a boot with shoelaces knotted, making it look as if it was hanging from an invisible perch – Tilly Toke's neck, of course.

"Professor!" breathed out Harry, as soon as he reached the bouncing items. "We're here, under the Cloak!"

"Thank Merlin! I thought I had lost you. What happened?" cried out Tilly Toke's disembodied voice, sounding shaken.

Harry felt Tom stiffen and go rigid behind his back, surely out of sheer fury and wanting nothing more than to hiss out a virulent flow of vitriol against the teacher.

Indeed, his scar began to throb again, and he snapped angrily and in warning, "Tom!"

It hadn't been Tilly Toke's fault, after all, that Harry hadn't been able to follow the boot as soon as they had appeared in Vijen. It was Tom's fury and the pain it had caused in his head that had made Harry lose focus, and sidetracked him.

"Never mind, never mind, boys," said the Charms professor's voice, now sounding both cheerful and pressing. "Follow my light, quick, it's getting late!"

"We'll be right behind you, sir," retorted Harry hastily, as he swerved the broom in place, before he asked over his shoulder, "Tom, what distance do I have to keep so that our Traces don't detect if he does magic?"

"Fifteen feet, minimum," replied Tom caustically.

Harry nodded, just as Tilly Toke's ball of light shot ahead, and he instantly zoomed after it, careful of maintaining the required span of space between them.

It was quite suddenly, when they were about to leave the area, that something making a shrill, wheezing noise sounded as if it was coming from just below them.

Out of sheer instincts and having recognized the sound from when he had heard it when Leisure Alley had been bombed, Harry made a violent hurtle to a side, plunging into a dive to save their lives.

Indeed, the projectile shot pass a bare inch away from them, rising into the sky, before its trajectory curved and it began to descend and plummet down.

Tom's arm was crushing his ribs again, and Ulysses had once more sunk his claws in his chest, just as a great explosion boomed, lightening everything in a flash of bright yellow light before clouds of smoke and dust billowed into the sky.

Harry began hacking and coughing, dashing forth as fast as he could so that they could get out of there as fast as possible.

"Mortars," he then croaked out in realization, as soon as the air was clear again. "The soldiers in Vinje must be using their mortars to destroy the roads that lead to the village."

And they would destroy bridges and farmland and anything else they could, to leave nothing behind for the Germans. It was always the measure of last resort, as Old John Bryce had told them, the tactic also widely used during the Great War.

The understanding sunk in, grim, harsh, and bleak.

Neither of them spoke after that, as Harry kept expertly steering the Comet 180, following Toke's ball of light, as they saw a large cluster of tiny lights in the east –Oslo– which they soon left behind.

Both he and Tom were feeling tense, alert, and wary. They saw signs of battle in the distance, like lightning striking and flashing in the night sky and thunder cracking and roaring, the sound of explosions and air raids and bombings on the few towns and cities left that offered some resistance.

There were long stretches of time during which there were no sounds at all, and then something struck and boomed, and everything went silent again, only to unexpectedly resume once more.

It frazzled and frayed the nerves, and made Harry grit his teeth as he made their broom soar forward. He wished he could go faster. The Comet 180 could easily outstrip Toke's Cleansweep, but it was the professor who had to lead the way because he was the only one who could do magic.

They had heard the wizard's voice casting a Point Me charm, then clearly stating 'Namsos', and under the flashes of light of distant explosions and bombings, they caught glimpses of the wizard's wand spinning like the needle of a compass.

They could only follow, the silence between Harry and Tom grave and stretched thin. Three hours, Toke had said, but it felt like an eternity, as they left grasslands behind and began seeing frost covering grounds, then frozen lakes here or there, followed by patches of ice and snow, as the air turned more chilly and cold as they kept flying north.

Their teeth were clattering, Harry's fingers around the broom handle seemed to be stuck there, turning blue, as icicles formed, no matter how many times he swerved around to dodge large clouds that would certainly freeze them to the bones if they speared through them.

"Lower!" Harry shouted once, when he couldn't bare the dampness and coldness anymore. "Professor, we need to fly lower!"

Tilly Toke seemed to understand their predicament, because the ball of light plunged down several feet and Harry gratefully followed. He was past caring if muggles saw the light or not, let them think it was a shooting star or something of the sort. He really couldn't care less. He just wanted to clamber off the broom as soon as possible.

They were dressed in their warmest muggle clothes, but without the aid of Warming Charms, it felt as if they were streaking through winterland utterly naked.

Their clothes were wet, frozen against their skin in places, their shoes and socks soggy, their scarves petrified, like slabs of thin ice, and poor Ulysses had curled himself up in a small ball underneath Harry's jersey and he felt the little Scorcrup shivering from time to time.

He murmured soothing words to his familiar, promising food and warmth soon, and would have liked to pet him, but his fingers were glued to the broom, so he could only keep a running flow of soft-spoken reassurances.

The cold was blistering, especially at such flying speeds, and his facial muscles seemed to have turned to stone. At least the glasses he no longer needed offered protection for his eyes, and his own body partially sheltered Tom from the full and worse brunt of the slapping, freezing winds.

At some point -Harry didn't know when since he had long lost any track of time- Tilly Toke's sphere of light began to descend, and he felt a profound sense of solace, as if he had been suddenly released from an eternal torment.

As they sped several feet above leafless treetops, he suddenly caught sight of something.

A large clump of dark green tents, large yet looking frayed, where bundled next to one another, like a knotted small village, with people rushing about, some trucks stationed nearby, crates being loaded into them and –he realized with a start when he saw two white tents bearing large red crosses- there were not only soldiers running around, but also nurses and doctors in white coats stained with the dark scarlet of blood, barking orders, getting injured people transported in stretchers into the back of the trucks as well.

"It's the British!" breathed out Harry, his green eyes wide. "They're preparing to leave, just like Ignatius Prewett said." He shot a glance backwards at his brother, fervent hope and joy swelling in him. "It's them – the British Muggle Army – Hutchins' army! We've found them!"

"So?" bit out Tom mordantly. "It's highly unlikely that Hutchins is there-"

"But maybe they found him already!" interjected Harry swiftly, happiness encompassing him. "We must at least check!"

And without waiting for his brother's indubitably caustic retort, he plunged the Comet 180 forward, dashing as fast as a speeding bullet, as Tom clutched him tightly again.

He reached the ball of light in no time, and he called out in a bright, merry tone of voice, "Professor! They are there – the English muggles." Then he barked at Tom, "Let him see my face. Pull down the Invisibility Cloak!"

"What for?" demanded Tom sharply.

"Just do it for a moment, will you?" snapped Harry with exasperation.

Clearly not at all pleased, Tom barely lifted the Cloak some scarce inches from Harry's face. But it was enough.

Harry jerked his chin in the direction of the tents they had left behind, since his frozen fingers still felt glued to the wood of the broom's handle, and he reiterated vehemently, "There, there, professor, look, there!" as he jerked his chin again and again towards the tents, feeling as though he was a mule with a head twitch spasm, but there was little else he could use to indicate the site.

"The British Muggle Army, you say?" intoned Tilly Toke's incorporeal voice, sounding musing.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Harry adamantly. "It's them! Is there any way to check if Robert Hutchins is there with them? Maybe we should land and-"

"That's not necessary," interjected the Charms professor, his tone gentle. "I can use here the spell I intended to use in Namsos. You know what to do, Harry."

Harry nodded, though Tilly Toke didn't see it because Tom had briskly covered him with the Cloak once more. Nevertheless, he was quick to turn the Comet 180 around and zoom well away from Tilly Toke and whatever magic he was about to use.

With his heart stuck in his throat with breathless anticipation, he saw how his toy motorcar appeared as if out of thin air – Tilly Toke having taken it out of his disillusioned pocket. The wizard's wand swirled in the air before the tip touched the toy, the man's voice enchanting something in a whisper.

Abruptly, it seemed as if purple sparks were shooting from the toy, but they suddenly sputtered, dwindled, and then vanished.

"Your muggle friend is not anywhere nearby," said Tilly Toke's voice softly. "He's not with the army, Harry."

"Oh," muttered Harry somberly, his shoulders slumping with dejection. He perked up in the next instant. "Alright, let's get to Namsos as planned then, and try there."

They were swiftly flying again through the cold night sky the moment the teacher cast the Point Me charm again, but soon, much earlier than Harry had expected, Tilly Toke's sphere of light began to descend once more.

Indeed, they were reaching a large mass of things, which Harry soon realized had to be what was left of Namsos.

It had barely taken them fifteen minutes, by broom, of course. By any muggle means of transportation the tents of the British Army had to be quite far away from the derelict ruins of Namsos. Because that was what they saw: shambles, debris, crumbled houses and roofs and whatnot. A whole large town destroyed.

It bore all the evidence of having been raided from the air with bombs, of having suffered attack from artillery and machine guns, of having been the site of a brutal direct confrontation of soldiers against opposing soldiers. There was nothing but wreckage and desolation.

Harry landed swiftly before he could keep glancing around, shuddering, both from the freezing, howling wind that swept by, as well as from the feeling he got from the ruined Namsos. Their surroundings were as deathly silent and still as a tomb, the sensation spine-chilling and ominous.

His skin prickled with goosebumps, just as he felt Tom stiffly and with very jerky motions climbing off the broom behind him. It was a good thing to stretch their legs a bit, to help their blood pump through their aching, stiffened muscles, to attempt to exercise some modicum of warmth into their chilled flesh and bones.

Harry couldn't do so immediately though. He had vigorously shaken his arms, but his petrified hands were still clenched and stuck to the Comet 180's handle. He attempted to jerk up a fingertip, but he couldn't even feel it.

Indeed, his hands were of a very sickly hue of blue, quite an ill portent, and he groaned. The movement caused in his facial muscles even hurting.

Thinking of nothing better he could do, he brought the handle close to his face and took a deep breath, to then blow the warm air coming from his lungs unto his hands, to see if it would thaw the frost and ice. He blew and blew again, his cheeks white from the cold turning bright red with the effort. But it seemed he would have to spend a year puffing and huffing like a blowfish before it yielded any results.

Tom tsked with annoyance, glaring at him, before he commanded sharply, "Come here, you twit."

Harry shot him a suspicious look, and then glanced around, finding Tilly Toke several feet away, already having dispelled his Disillusionment Charm from himself and his Cleansweep. The teacher was observing them with an amused expression on his face, which irritated Harry a mite, but he knew that Tilly Toke couldn't help him. Not with magic anyway, so he was stuck with Tom.

Sighing, Harry stomped through the snow, bringing his hands –with broom handle along- up towards Tom. "Well?"

Without another word Tom began to rub Harry's hands with his own. His brother had been wearing thick mittens during the whole journey, unlike Harry who had stuck his inside his coat's pocket since he couldn't properly steer the broom's handle with mittens getting in the way. So his brother's hands felt warm, and apparently his rubbing motions were careful and gentle by the looks of it, but it felt to Harry as if his hands were being harshly scrubbed and grated with stones.

He hissed under his breath in discomfort, as the pain increased as Tom kept rubbing, making him feel as if a thousand tiny needles where stabbing and piercing through the flesh of his hands.

But his fingers began to lose their bluish hue, blood seemingly rushing back to them, to such point that his hands were pink the moment they suddenly became unglued and finally freed from the broom's handle.

Tom snatched the Comet 180 before it could fall from Harry's hands, while Harry wasted no time in vigorously flexing his fingers time and again, fisting and unclenching his hands repeatedly, the sense of touch rushing back to him.

Harry shot his brother a bemused look, as he muttered, "Thanks."

Tom waved it off with a regal, dismissive gesture of his hand.

Just as Harry hopefully dug through his coat's pocket to fish out his mittens, only to discover that they were as soaked as the rest of his clothes, he saw a flash of purple from the corner of his eyes and instantly snapped his head up.

Away from them, Tilly Toke was casting again the spell on the toy motorcar. But this time, however, the sparks didn't die off. Instead, they blossomed and shot forth, like an arrow that disappeared into the distance.

"He's here?" breathed out Harry, his eyes as wide as platters, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Yes," said the Charms professor, though he wasn't flashing a pearly-white smile at him, "but whether he's still alive is impossible to know. The spell doesn't detect such, just the location of the body, whether breathing or not. The general location of it, that is. Come and you'll see."

Harry didn't waste a single second in rushing forth and trail after the wizard's heels. They climbed through the shambles and ruins, seeing only some parts of walls of buildings left here and there, everything covered in patches of melting snow, ice, or frost. But nothing stirred, it was completely deserted, except, as they soon saw, for the bodies strewn over the place.

Though it was clear that some army had gone picking through the rubble, because there were mounds of dug tombs at one side of the outskirts of the town, and because the bodies that had been left were completely unrecognizable. Too mangled and burned, both faces or clothes, to tell if they had been civilians or soldiers, German, Norwegian, French or British. There were just some few with recognizable uniforms, apparently having been left behind because whichever side had run out of time to go searching for more comrades.

Nevertheless, it was a sight more horrible than the one he had experienced when Leisure Alley had been destroyed. There were no moans and muffled, terrified screams pleading for help coming from people still buried alive under rubble, but the scene was much larger. A whole town, not just a street. And the significance of the lost battle was much more dreadful and dismal.

Seeing the bodies, Harry would have liked to pause and halt here and there to check for a pulse, but he was aware that Hutchins was his main priority, so even though he stared at the devastation evidencing a massacre, he hurried along, with heart lodged in throat.

Tom, meanwhile, with Comet 180 in hand – Harry had no problem in letting him carry it, though his brother's obvious intentions were to be the one at front next time they had to fly, yet Harry would he swift to snatch back the broom when the time came- was glancing around dispassionately, as if it was an everyday occurrence to be strolling about a battlefield laden with corpses.

As Harry followed their Charms professor, he began rubbing his familiar through the wool of his jersey. Ulysses had climbed up under his clothes to be able to poke his head out from Harry's collar, but the little Scorcrup was still shivering, and Harry attempted to give him some warmth just as Tom had done with him.

Ulysses purred with contentment at that, and licked Harry's chin in appreciation. Though Harry didn't think he could be helping much, since he was shivering and chilled to the bones himself due to his wet clothes and the wind that blew and made it all the worse.

Suddenly, Tilly Toke halted, and Harry saw something that looked like a small purple star twinkling in mid air, and he blinked, glancing around.

"This is the area, then?" he asked. "Hutchins is somewhere around here?"

Toke nodded, and Harry glanced down at his Scorcrup, scratching him in between the small black ears, as he whispered urgently, "This is your part, Ulysses. Find him."

With a bob of his head, Ulysses sprung out from Harry's clothes and neatly landed on the ground. In a flash, the little creature had tiny nose pressed on the earth, sniffing madly like a Niffler.

In the next bat of an eyelash, the Scorcrup was dashing forth, with Harry running behind him.

It seemed to stretch for unbearable minutes as Ulysses kept leaping forward, turning this side and that around a ruin, taking a corner, twisting between debris, before he skidded to a halt in front of a building.

It was a church, part of its roof collapsed, its west side blown to smithereens, whether from explosives or a bomb it was hard to tell, and with its wooden double doors completely destroyed by what had clearly been a incessant volley of machine gun bullets. It seemed as if some townsfolk and soldiers had barricaded themselves inside, before the Germans had managed to blast open a path.

Indeed, the floor inside was covered in bloodstains and bits and pieces of flesh and other things Harry didn't want to think about, and there were some completely blackened and scorched corpses sticking from under some rubble.

But Ulysses seemed to hesitate, as if he had lost track of the scent. Harry watched, his heart beating hard, as the Scorcrup retraced his steps, turned around, and began sniffing again.

Suddenly, Ulysses peered up at him with sparkling eyes as green as Harry's, and he let out a loud purr of satisfaction, as he swayed his fluffy black tail back and forth in excitement. After declaring his triumph in such manner, he streaked into a side room, Harry hot on his heels.

Harry choked as soon as he came pelting in. The stench was unbearable, so fetid that he had to bring a hand up to cover his nose. Ulysses was sneezing hard and jerkily shaking his head to all sides, as if attempting to get rid of the odor suffusing the room, but still resumed his sniffing with evident considerable effort and determination.

It was when Ulysses meowed loudly, sticking up a paw to indicate something, that Harry finally realized what kind of room it was. A lavatory, or better said, a chamber filled with quite rustic loos. Spanning all along one wall, there was a large, rectangular cistern made of wood, with a series of holes as large as heads on the top lid.

It was some sort of communal toilet, to sit down on top of one of the holes and do one's business. And there was evidently no chain to yank to flush things away through indoor plumbing. Moreover, a swarm of flies were buzzing around, forming what looked like a dense black cloud, feasting and having made it their home.

Harry glanced down at the Scorcrup again. Ulysses was once more thrusting a paw towards the loo, insistently.

"No," Harry croaked in disbelief, realizing what his familiar was trying to make him understand.

Having lost all color from his face, he nevertheless stepped ahead, his hands shaking so badly that he didn't succeed the first time he attempted to lift the lid.

He heard Tilly Toke and Tom entering the lavatory just as he managed to yank the top open.

Harry gagged, his stomach rolled, and he swayed at the horrific sight.


	43. Part I: Chapter 42

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots and characters are mine.

AN:

Nothing to say or clarify this time ^.^

So on we go with the boys' adventure! Or sort of adventure, anyway.

Hope you enjoy and review!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 42**

* * *

The long, wooden cistern was filled, almost to the brim, with yellow liquids and brown things floating, meshing together to form a dense, thick mass. The stench and miasma wafting off the accumulation of urine and excrement was unbearable, the swarm of flies frenziedly flying above it, hungrily. It didn't look as if the cistern had been emptied in ages.

And there was a cadaveric body submerged inside, the face upturned, surrounded by the mass of urine and excrement up to the chin. The sight was both revolting and horrific.

Harry, white faced and feeling faint, was staring, for a second that felt like an excruciating eternity, at the face of a barely recognizable Robert Hutchins.

The man's face was gaunt, the skin greyish, his cheeks sunken, his jawline and cheek bones sticking out, the eyes closed, and the lips smudged with brown things.

He heard Tom making a disgusted sound from the back of his throat, and it jolted Harry out of his horror.

He was crouching on his knees in front of the cistern in the next second, plunging both arms, without another thought, into the brown thick mass.

"What are you doing?" he heard Tom demand in both abhorrence and disbelief.

Harry paid him no mind, as flies buzzed all around him, as his nose instinctively scrunched to bear the awful stench, as his eyes began to water and burn with tears, while he dug his arms around, searchingly, until he felt it.

He wrapped his arms around the frail, thin body, and began to pull with every bit of frantic strength he could muster.

Tilly Toke approached him, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, as he said quietly, "Let me-"

"Geroff!" snarled Harry like a wild beast, shooting him a ferocious, furious glare as he clutched Hutchins closer to himself over the cistern.

"Let me use magic to help you," insisted the Charms professor, his tone now soft and gentle. "I can levitate him out, and clean him. Then you can get back to him…" He hesitated, before adding, "To check."

Harry glanced at him at that, before he nodded jerkily. Carefully, he placed Hutchins back into the cistern, propping him against a side, before he jumped to his feet, grabbed hold of Tom's wrist, and then pulled them the necessary fifteen feet away from Tilly Toke.

The wizard hadn't sounded as if he believed there was much to verify. Indeed, the man was probably thinking it was a lost cause already. But nevertheless, Harry saw Tilly Toke casting several spells.

The moment Robert Hutchins was lying on the grimy and soiled floor, his uniform and body looking thoroughly clean from urine, excrement, and any other thing, Harry rushed ahead and crouched beside the man.

Tom was staring at Hutchin's body with a thoroughly cool expression on his face, there wasn't any inkling of emotion there, no sadness, sorrow or anything else, except irritation as he shot Harry a glance, and said sharply, "We came here for nothing. We wasted our time. I told you he would be already dead."

Harry turned a deaf ear to his brother's recriminations, not caring about what Tom and Toke were thinking, his gaze pinned on Hutchins as he desperately began to check for a pulse. His fingers roamed over the man's neck, until he found the spot, some inches below where jawbone ended, that was the easiest place in which to detect a still pumping heart, he knew.

With his own heart thudding frenetically, Harry pressed down two fingertips, not too hard, and concentrated in the feeling of detecting anything underneath. He seemed to be suspended in a stillness of his own frenzied worry and single-minded focus, and then, there, suddenly, very faintly, he felt a feeble flutter under the tips of his fingers.

"He's alive," he breathed out, his green eyes growing wide with blazing joy and hope and stunned relief. He glanced at them over his shoulder, and repeated in a croak, "He's alive. Barely, I think, but still alive."

"What?" said Tom, frowning.

Tilly Toke's handsome face split in a smile. "He's quite a survivor, then."

Yes, he was, and Harry had an inkling of exactly how Robert Hutchins had managed to keep himself alive.

The man must have dragged himself into the cistern, to use it as a hiding place, surely, when the battle was lost, so that the Germans that went looking for prisoners to take or survivors to kill wouldn't find him, but also to have a place in which to feed himself. Even if he had had the strength for it, Hutchins wouldn't have been able to go looking for food with the enemy being out and about.

Harry's face paled, but he knew about the desperate measures soldiers took in order to keep themselves alive. Old John Bryce had told them about how he and his comrades, when they had been in the frontline during the Great War, had to resort to drinking their own urine during the days when they had ran out of water in the trenches.

It seemed Hutchins had resorted to the same, yet not drinking from his own urine but of the accumulation of the urine of others inside the cistern, and feeding from the excrements too.

Harry's stomach churned and he was filled with apprehension, as he began to take off Hutchins' clothes. He could just imagine what illnesses Hutchins must already be ridden with, due to that.

It was imperative that he at least healed him of any wounds he might have, but the task of getting the man's uniform off was progressing too slowly.

Harry snapped his gaze up at Tilly Toke. "Can you remove his clothes?"

"You want him naked?" hissed out Tom, his eyes narrowed to slits. "What for? Let's just-"

"Can you?" persisted Harry, ignoring whatever his brother wanted to say, his gaze pinning the Charms professor.

"Certainly," said Tilly Toke, gesturing for Harry to move away the required distance so that their Traces wouldn't be activated.

And Harry did so, shoving Tom along.

The second Robert Hutchins was bared naked before them, Harry rushed back to him again, his gaze and fingers urgently trailing up and down the man's cadaveric body. He could feel his brother's annoyance like prickles in his scar, but it didn't derail him from his task.

The first thing Harry noticed was the protuberance of what felt like two broken ribs, but they were crushed outwards, so he hoped it meant that they hadn't pierced a lung or any other organs. Hutchins' left side of his torso was also very badly burned, but what worried him the most was a wound in his leg.

It was a bullet wound, the hole small but deep, surrounded by ravaged flaps of skin, but worse of all, the flesh around the wound was of a sickly hue of dark green and blue, the veins underneath visible, looking black, a stench of rot coming from it.

"Gangrene," muttered Harry tensely, though he shouldn't have been that surprised. With a bullet wound untreated for over a week, compounded to the fact of what Hutchins had been immersed in, the infection was bound to be very grave, and Harry had no doubt that a muggle doctor would be chopping the leg off post haste.

Harry shot Tilly Toke a hopeful look. "I don't suppose-"

"No," said the wizard, letting out a deep sigh. "I never studied much about Healing. I know just a few basic spells." He gestured at Hutchins' body, his expression turning somber. "Nothing that could help him."

At that, without saying a word, Harry, still undaunted, was quick to open his satchel. He took out flask after flask and laid them neatly on the dirty floor. He then frowned, pensively, as he stared at the leg wound, everything he had ever read about Healing during that school year, but most importantly, everything Old John had ever said about war wounds, jumping to the forefront of his mind.

"Right. First, bullet out," he said as he stood up, glancing around.

In the next second, he had shut the wooden lid of the loos' cistern, brought up a foot, and smashed it hard against the corners. He kept kicking until the wood chipped off and splinters fell to the floor. He eyed them until he found one that would serve, with the sharpest point, and big enough on the other end so that he could hold it.

Harry went back to crouch besides Hutchins' leg, with little Ulysses now by his side, letting out soft purrs of encouragement.

Biting down on his lower lip, Harry took a deep breath and then carefully sunk the sharp end of the splinter into the wound.

Hutchins' body jolted and jerked, and a small, very feeble moan sounded.

Harry snapped his head up, his eyes wide when he saw that Robert Hutchins was staring down at him, with glassy eyes barely open, the eyelids trembling with effort.

"What?" the man croaked in a very faint, barely audible, raspy voice. "Where… Harry?"

Harry was instantly by his side, gently grabbing the man's face so that Hutchins couldn't look around. It was then when he unsurprisingly felt that the man's face was burning, with fever and who knew what else.

"Harry?" repeated Hutchins, sounding thoroughly confused and incredulous, staring up at him with unfocused, half-lidded eyes.

"I'm an army doctor, soldier," said Harry in the deepest voice he could manage given his young voice. "You're in good hands now. We are going to give you medicine and take a bullet out. You understand?"

"But…" Robert Hutchins' fevered eyes roamed over his face, his voice painfully hoarse as he said, "You look like-"

"Someone you know, I bet," interrupted Harry in a low voice, forcing out a chuckle. "Yes, I'm sure. You have a fever, soldier, it will make you see things. Now close your eyes."

Hutchins still stared, evidently going to considerable efforts to keep his eyes open, but Harry gently smoothed a hand over the man's eyes, as he repeated, "Close your eyes, and rest, while we patch you up."

Robert Hutchins trembled and then let out a frail breath as he went limp and still.

Harry was quick to grab several potion vials, as he said, "Drink this, its medicine."

Hutchins obeyed, still with eyes closed with weakness and exhaustion, as Harry dipped some Healing potions into the man's mouth. First, the Restorative Draft, which would help with the man's starvation and dehydration, then the Blood-replenishing Potion and Pepperup, which caused the greyish tint to fade from Hutchins' face.

Finally, he made Hutchins drink the Pain Dimming Solution, after which Harry took off his Slytherin scarf and twisted it hard until it was like a thick cord.

"Bite down on this, soldier," he said, as he brought it to Hutchins' mouth.

Robert obeyed, sinking his teeth, his jaw clenching down shakily, and Harry wasted no time in going back to the leg wound.

With a deep inhalation of breath, Harry sunk in the sharp point of the splinter, and carefully and slowly began to dig around. Hutchins' weak screams of pain were thankfully muffled by the scarf, and Harry kept at it, his own face pale yet determined. After several unsuccessful attempts, he finally managed to slowly dig up the bullet.

He had made the wound worse, and copious, ill-looking dark blood was now leaking from it, but at least the bullet was out.

Harry threw it far away, and then glanced, first at Tom, whom he discarded immediately, and then at Tilly Toke.

"Could you help me, sir?" he said, as he pointedly brought up his hands, which, like his arms, were still filthy from when he had plunged them in the cistern when attempting to pull out Hutchins. "I can't touch his wound like this, but it needs to be cleaned and healed as much as possible."

Tilly Toke instantly agreed, and was very effective as Harry told him what to do. The wizard gently applied the Wound-cleaning Potion around and on the leg wound first, and then the Murtlap Unction.

The unction served to close wounds and prevent and heal infections, though Harry didn't know if it could battle gangrene.

He intently watched as the hole in Hutchins' leg knitted itself back, leaving a bumpy scar behind. The pungent smell of rot vanished, most of the dark greenish and black color of the flesh around the scar faded, but there were still some veins visible under the skin that were darker than normal.

Harry sighed. It was the best that could be done.

He then instructed Tilly Toke to smear the the Burn-healing Paste on the scorched flesh of Hutchins' torso, and finally, he came up to Hutchins' head once more.

"You're doing very well," he said in his deepest voice as Robert weakly peered up at him, looking as if he would be fainting in any second. "There's just one more thing left. It will hurt."

He made Hutchins drink what was left of the Blood-replenishing and Pain Dimming Potions, before he dipped Skele-Mend down the man's throat.

Robert's scream of agony was instantaneous, and Harry was quick to thrust his Slytherin scarf back into the man's mouth, as he urged, "Bite down!"

The man did so, and Harry observed with morbid fascination how Hutchins' two broken ribs seemed to shift, rearrange, and snap into place under the bruised skin.

Harry beamed an encouraging smile at Hutchins, and realized that the man had lost his last thread of consciousness. Well, it was for the best.

He packed the flasks that still had some potions in them and threw the empty ones down one of the holes of the loos.

Thoroughly satisfied, he flung his satchel's strap back across his chest and picked up Ulysses who was now purring loudly and licking him in congratulation.

"Right," said Harry, for a moment musing matters over as he gazed at the unconscious Hutchins. Then he glanced at Tilly Toke and Tom. "We have to take him to the British Army."

"What?" bit out Tom, taking a very threatening step towards him, his face livid. "We are not-"

"We cannot take him back with the portkey!" snapped Harry impatiently, shaking his head in refusal as he remembered how they had been brutally tossed to all sides during the portkey-journey. "He's still weak. It could kill him. And he needs to be healed further. There's nothing more I can do, but the army doctors can surely do much to help him."

Not to mention that if they went back to Hogsmeade with Hutchins, Harry didn't know what they would do with the man then. Obviously, Tom hadn't even thought about that, clearly believing the whole rescue mission would be pointless and that either they wouldn't find Hutchins or find him dead. Now, Harry thought his brother probably wanted to leave Hutchins there to fend for himself, feeling that having healed him was more than enough.

Before Tom could open his mouth again, Harry hastily turned to Tilly Toke, his tone entreating, "The camp was only fifteen minutes away by broom. And you could carry him with magic." He gestured frantically with his hands, as he rushed out, "Conjure some sort of stretcher and put him there and levitate it and make it follow your broom or something. Right?"

Tilly Toke stared at him, before he flashed him with a pearly-white, proud smile. "Indeed. It would be easily done. Good thinking, Harry."

Tom shot them both a look of deepest irritation, as he hissed out snidely, "And how are we supposed to leave him there without the muggles noticing-"

"I have a plan," interjected Harry instantly, to then shrug his shoulders. "It's simple, really."

In the end, it was done swiftly. Tilly Toke brandished his wand as Tom and Harry waited further away, and Hutchins was back in his clothes and on a stretcher.

Tom seethed and fumed as he stalked along by Harry's side, as they both trailed some distance behind Tilly Toke and a suspended Hutchins in midair stretcher, making their way out of the church.

In a few seconds they were flying on their brooms, Tilly Toke and the stretcher that followed him under Disillusionment Charms, Harry and Tom under the Invisibility Cloak.

They landed some distance away from the camp of the British Army, and Harry saw that now they were almost done with their evacuation. Many tents had been brought down, the few left were being dismantled right then, and the trucks had their motors already ignited, making loud noise as the last crates of provisions were being loaded.

The moment Tilly Toke dispelled the Disillusionment Charms and floated Hutchins and stretcher on the ground, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak from he and Tom, and said urgently, "Shoot sparks into the air, please, sir. They must be red ones!"

Toke gave him a bemused look before he complied.

The moment the sky was briefly lit with the sparks, Harry cupped his mouth with his hands to lent his voice more potency, and bellowed, "Over here! Over he-"

"What are you doing?" snarled Tom, yanking one of Harry's hands.

Harry jerked his hand away from his brother's clutch, and brought it back up to his mouth, as he continued hollering, "OVER HERE! I found one alive – HE NEEDS HELP!"

There was a rush of feet and Harry instantly threw the Cloak over he and Tom. He saw Tilly Toke disillusioning himself and his broom in the bat of an eyelash too.

"Who shot the flare? Who spoke?"

Two British soldiers had appeared, squinting into the darkness, just as a doctor and two nurses appeared behind them. Those instantly caught sight of the unconscious Robert Hutchins, one of the nurses letting out a cry of surprise, as the doctor began to bark orders at the two women and they quickly took him away in the stretcher.

"Who's there?" yelled the same soldier, with rifle aimed in all directions. "Show yourself!"

Harry pulled Tom backwards as the soldier advanced forward.

The other one, though, looked frantic, as he yanked on the sleeve of his comrade. "Let's go, we ain't got time left, John!"

"You heard too," said John angrily. "It was a mate who yelled. An Englishman. He's got to be here – whoever brought–"

"Who cares!" shouted the other soldier, shooting his surroundings a frown, yet going back to look frenzied the next second. "If they ran away and don't wanna come it's their business. Let's go!"

Looking irritated but resigned, John followed his comrade as they rushed back to the camp.

The moment they were alone, Tilly Toke reappeared in sight and Harry yanked off the Invisibility Cloak, exchanging a grin with his teacher.

"Well done," said the Charms professor, beaming a charming smile at him. "Your friend will be safe and well now."

Tom, for his part, was looking nothing but thoroughly fed up, as he bit out sharply, "Let's take the portkey once and for all."

Tilly Toke began to raise a hand towards the boot dangling from his neck, before he hesitated and looked pensive.

Harry understood, because he was certain the same thoughts were swirling in Toke's mind as in his own.

He took a step towards the wizard, as he said tentatively and cajolingly, "There were other bodies left behind in Namsos."

Tilly Toke began to smile. "There were."

"And we should probably check them too," continued Harry, smiling himself.

"We should," said Tilly Toke, his smile now large.

Harry beamed at him. "If we take one more hour to see if there's anyone else we can help, it would be worth it. One hour more, one hour less, in going back to Hogwarts, wouldn't be that much of a difference."

"Quite right," said the Charms professor, his handsome face glowing with pleasure and excitement.

Tom's gaze was snapping from one to the other, his eyes becoming slits of sheer fury, as he hissed out enraged, "Absolutely not! We're not going back to Nam-"

"But, brother," said Harry, shooting him an aghast look. "It's our duty as wizards to help muggles that need our aid."

Tom gritted his teeth, casting Tilly Toke a quick glance, to then covertly glower at Harry murderously.

And Harry gave him a very toothy, smug grin, because he knew that Tom wouldn't dare say anything about what he really thought of saving more muggles. Not in front of a Hogwarts professor he wouldn't.

Tom had taken painstaking efforts to portray himself in a certain way before the adults of Hogwarts. All the teachers thought that Tom was a poor little orphan boy, brilliant and a prodigy, yes, but also so very humble, noble, polite, well-mannered, kind, and compassionate.

"Glad we're all in agreement," said Tilly Toke cheerfully, flashing a beaming, gorgeous smile at them. "On our brooms, boys!"

* * *

"I'll make you pay for this," Tom had spat at him once, when they had been well out of Tilly Toke's hearing range, as they went looking for any other survivors through the ruins of Namsos.

Unperturbed, Harry had merely rolled his eyes at his brother. Tom hadn't appreciated that either.

But now, the hour they had allotted for themselves was about to run out, and they still hadn't found anyone with a pulse.

"Oh!" cried out Tilly Toke, which instantly made them look up at him. The Head of Hufflepuff House widely smiled at them from across the distance. "I remembered just the spell we could use!"

Harry stared and blinked, when the wizard flourished his wand and muttered something under his breath, a small figure made of green light then suddenly appearing in the man's outstretched palm.

It was some sort of frog made of magic, which flung out a very long tongue, as if catching a fly, and then rolled it back into its mouth.

It croaked loudly before it suddenly leaped into the air. And it kept soaring for much longer than a normal frog, looking as if it flew, before it landed on the ground, hopped, and made another huge leap.

"It found someone!" yelled Tilly Toke excitedly over his shoulder as he ran after the frog. "Someone alive!"

They had been searching through the outskirts of the ruined town by then, and Harry had to quicken his steps and then break into a full sprint as Tilly Toke followed the frog into the woods surrounding the town.

"Wait!" Harry shouted after him, as he skidded through a patch of ice that nearly made him fall.

He heard Tom coming behind him, hissing under his breath something about 'imbeciles' and 'fools' and 'Hufflepuffs'.

"Wait, sir!" yelled Harry again as their professor vanished into the darkness of the forest.

"Be quick, boys!" called back Tilly Toke's voice, close by in the lead. "Hurry up-"

Suddenly, everything went white, blinding white, with a deafening boom, and Harry heard no more as he was flung through the air.

He landed on his back, some snow having cushioned his fall, with little Ulysses poking his head out of Harry's collar, looking disheveled and rattled. His satchel was still strung across his chest, but the Comet 180 wasn't in his hand anymore.

Harry didn't see it. He didn't see anything in fact. Something was wrong with his sight. He felt thoroughly disoriented, dizzy, and confused. Even as he touched his face, and found that his eyeglasses must have dropped somewhere. But that wasn't the problem.

He was seeing in flashes, like a still, slow motion picture, light and dark intermittently blinking in and out, letting him see for one second, and then encompassing him in blackness in the other.

His heart was thundering in his chest and there was something unbearable stabbing through his skull. A high-pitch noise seemed to be drilling his head, constantly, unmercifully, agonizingly. So much so that he wanted to stab something into his throbbing ears to get rid of the acute, piercing noise that felt maddening.

Harry grasped at his ears, his vision tunneling in and out of focus, and felt something wet.

Blinking, still so dazed that he couldn't even think properly, he stared when he brought his hands up to his face. In a second of clarity of vision, he saw that his fingertips were drenched in blood.

He went paper white, and jerkily staggered to his feet, squinting and glancing around, his surroundings appearing and disappearing in flashes.

"Tom? Professor? TOM?" he called out hoarsely and frantically, or tried to, because he wasn't sure, because when he had shouted he hadn't heard his own voice.

He had heard nothing but the drilling, high-pitched noise skewering both sides of his head, which suddenly vanished the next second with one last flare of pain.

And Harry heard no more. There was nothing but absolute silence.


	44. Part I: Chapter 43

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots and characters are mine.

AN:

This is a short chapter, but the other one will come soon.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 43**

* * *

Tom staggered up to his feet, his ears were ringing, his jaw ached, and there was an unbearable throbbing pain lashing through his left arm, which he then saw was twisted in an unnatural angle, dangling uselessly at his side. He clutched his shoulder with a hand, hissing under his breath, his face paling with the agony that was coursing through the arm that was certainly broken in several places.

For a moment, he could only feel utterly disorientation and confusion and shock and befuddlement. The pain barely allowed him to think straight, he had never felt something like it before, so consuming and devouring that it seemed to threaten his own mind to become obscure and faint, as if it wanted to flee away and shut itself down.

With insurmountable effort, he gritted his teeth and lurched and shoved forward, and forced his mind and thoughts to some semblance of order and clarity. He used every bit of Occlumency that he had been studying with Harry in the Room of Requirements to try to tuck the agonizing pain away to some corner of his mind.

He didn't fully succeed, but his mind had always been such a sharp tool of sheer acuity and precision that it seemed to straighten itself up when the full moon broke from under a cloud, bathing his surroundings in a dim silvery light, feeding his sight and senses with perceptions that his mind began to automatically sort out.

And then, he was flooded by jumbled recollections that suddenly rushed into his head.

He had been running after Harry, with Tilly Toke, the Hufflepuff idiot, dashing ahead of them, chasing after the frog of magic that had apparently detected some filthy muggle who was still alive.

And then, an explosion, and Tom had been hurled into the air and had apparently struck ground so hard that his arm had been broken and he had lost consciousness for a while.

Abruptly, the realization struck him, when his gaze flickered around and he caught sight of a crater some distance away from him: a wide hole on the ground, covered by blackened, melted snow and pools of blood, bits and pieces of flesh, clumps of scorched golden hair, lumps of entrails and brain matter.

Tom instantly understood his current situation, and he was gripped by such all-consuming fear and panic that he went rigid, his breathing became quiet, and all color drained from his face. Because he knew he was standing in the midst of a forest filled with landmines, and that Tilly Toke was no more.

If he took a wrong step, he would cease to exist too. He was surrounded by certain Death, and he felt nothing but abject terror.

It was a series of sudden screams that jolted him out of his mind-numbing state. A very familiar voice was shouting his name, and Tilly Toke's, with desperation and fear. Yet the voice sounded strange, thick and garbled.

Tom snapped his head around and saw Harry several feet away from him. Something was wrong with the boy, though, because he was clambering around, and behaving even more weirdly by squinting and then widening his eyes and then squinting again, as if he had trouble seeing properly.

The boy didn't have his eyeglasses, but that wouldn't explain his bizarre behavior. Harry's eyesight had been corrected by the potion Tom had brewed and the horrid eyeglasses the boy kept using for pathetic, soft-hearted sentimental reasons had been rid of their augmentation by Dorea Black.

And the halfwit didn't seem to realize what had happened, because he was staggering where he stood.

At the sight, Tom was gripped by even more fear and panic than ever before, because Harry could be one step away from blowing himself up in any second. The realization gripped him like unmerciful claws squeezing his chest so hard that for a moment he couldn't breathe.

The next second, Tom was yelling furiously at the idiot, because he despised feeling fear, because he was the great Salazar Slytherin's true and only heir, and Slytherin's Heir should never fear anything. But Tom sometimes did, and he hated it, the feeling of being afraid, the sense of weakness and impotence and vulnerability that came along with it, and when he feared, he hated and despised what caused it, and he was filled with rage.

"DON'T MOVE, YOU IMBECILE!" he roared and snarled. "THERE ARE LANDMINES!"

But Harry merely groaned in pain and clutched his forehead, and kept staggering, wildly glancing around, squinting hard in all directions, as if he hadn't heard him, as if he was only feeling Tom's fury through his scar, and it let him know that Tom had to be close by and he was desperately attempting to hone in on him.

Tom realized the reason when he caught sight of thin trails of blood leaking from the boy's ears, and he went white.

Harry had been closer to Tilly Toke than he had been. The explosion, the blacklash, it must have ruptured Harry's eardrums. The boy was deaf.

Suddenly, Tom heard noises, the sound of rushing feet, of boots crunching snow, of voices excited and laced with bloodlust, in a language he had studied and understood and recognized, as he caught sight of a light – a gas lamp, he realized- appearing through the trees, bobbing up and down, in the distance, coming closer.

Soldiers. Germans. Who had heard the explosion and Harry's and Tom's shouts, who had certainly been the ones to set the landmines in the forest, as a trap for any lingering enemies or scouts. And they would be upon them in a manner of minutes.

Frantically, Tom glanced around. He saw the Comet 180 that Harry had been carrying and that had evidently flown from the boy's hands due to the blacklash of the explosion that had killed Tilly Toke.

And he knew the decision he had to make. There wasn't any time to do both things: he either went for the broom and immediately flew away and saved his own skin, or he went for Harry.

Tom furiously hissed under his breath, because he had made a choice when he had been seven years old. He had chosen to keep Harry as his, when discovering they weren't brothers. He had known, back then, that it would be an annoying, heavy burden, though the rewards plentiful in time.

Indeed, his hesitation was one of a split-second, and his gaze snapped back to Harry. Yes, his choice was made, but he was no half-brained Gryffindor to recklessly and mindlessly rush to the rescue, across snow littered with deathtraps.

Because Tom refused to die, not for anyone and not for any reason, even less in such ignominious circumstances as being killed by muggle contraptions. A long time ago, he had vouched to himself that he would never die. Never, not like his weak-willed, contemptible, pathetic mother, nor like anyone else. Because Tom was like none other.

Thus, his dark blue eyes instantly zeroed in on the little pest that was hanging from Harry's chest with sinking claws. At least, it seemed that the Scorcrup was partly aware of their dire situation, because the little beast was hissing frantically at Harry, apparently trying to make the stupid boy understand, his ridiculous soft fur standing on end, his stupid puffed tail flying from side to side anxiously, his ears flickering towards the noise made by the approaching German soldiers.

Tom had always despised the little beast, because Harry adored him, because it had been Alphard Black's gift to the boy and Black had no business giving Harry things, things that Harry apparently loved and valued more than all the things Tom had given him throughout their lives – like life-lessons, and harsh reprimands meant to improve Harry, and dedication to shape him up, and even attention, and Tom didn't freely give his time and attention to others.

But now was not the time for feeling bitterness and spite and anger due to Harry's persistent ungratefulness.

"Come here, Ulysses," Tom snapped commandingly.

The stupid creature stared at him, and Tom impatiently skewered him with narrowed eyes, as he hissed out, "If you want me to save your imbecile of an owner, you'll come to me, and you'll show me a clear path." He pointed a finger towards the bits left of Tilly Toke. "Surely you understand what's under the snow. Sniff them out, the explosives, and safely lead me to Harry."

And Tom waited, with steel and ice in his veins, forcing himself to remain calm and cool as he saw from the corner of his eyes that the Germans were about to enter the clearing in the woods in which Harry and Tom stood in, their voices now clear.

The Scorcrup at least had the decency to not bob his head up and down, like he usually did to Harry to express his understanding, and didn't let out any ridiculous purrs that so many students considered so adorable.

The little beast merely stared at him for a brief second and then landed on the snow.

Several feet separated Tom from Harry, and Tom couldn't be certain that the pest had fully understood him or that he would be able to smell the landmines, or that his weight, though very slight given the creature's size, wouldn't activate one. But that would serve too, because if the stupid critter got himself blown up into smithereens, he would have triggered one landmine that Tom wouldn't have to concern himself about.

It seemed, though, that books were right, and that Scorcrups did have some smidgen of intelligence due to their Kneazle side. Not that Tom would ever admit that to Harry for as long as they lived.

But Ulysses had sniffed his way through the snow and was now before Tom, and Tom followed him, with heart frozen and lodged in his throat, as the little beast backtracked and began to sniff again at a furious pace, turning around one patch of snow, then another, and finally they were in front of Harry, who was still squinting and groaning and behaving like an idiot, injuries not an excuse in Tom's opinion.

And it had been just in the nick of time, because the moment Tom yanked open Harry's satchel, fished out the Invisibility Cloak, grabbed his 'brother' around the waist and made them fall to the ground on which Harry had been standing –and thus proven to be safe from landmines- and just as the Scorcrup seemed to realize that Tom would expend no efforts in caring about what happened to him, since the little beast frantically jumped and attached himself to Harry's jersey with his claws, Tom swiftly covered them with the Invisibility Cloak, as seven Nazi soldiers appeared in the clearing.

The fall to the ground had jolted his broken arm, and the whiplash of pain was immense and unbearable, so much that it dimmed his vision for a moment, like a narrowing tunnel, but Tom forced himself to remain conscious, biting down on his own tongue so hard to endure the pain that he felt blood filling his mouth. But he couldn't faint, not when Harry couldn't hear the soldiers and was still apparently having trouble seeing right, because the boy tried to flail his arms, clearly out of incomprehension.

Yet Tom clamped his uninjured arm even more tightly around the boy's waist, hard enough to make Harry lose all his breath, and was then quick to slightly raise his hand under the Invisibility Cloak, pointing at the scant, gory remains of Tilly Toke.

He had Harry's back pressed against his chest, the boy's head below his, and Tom stared down at him, and finally saw realization dawning. Harry's green eyes went wide, as he fixedly stared at the crater and blood and bits and pieces of the once Head of Hufflepuff House and Charms professor.

Under his arm, Tom felt Harry's heart give a hard lurch and thud, and then the boy went limp in his hold. He had not lost consciousness, but seemed to be in a state of utter shock.

Harry suddenly jerked slightly, and Tom realized the boy had finally caught sight of the German soldiers.

They were aiming their rifles in all directions, carefully stepping through the snow. They had indeed been the ones to set the landmines.

Tom went as still as a statue, not even making sound with his breathing, and was glad to see that Harry had the fortitude of mind and sheer instincts of automatically doing the same, though he could feel the boy's heart thundering wildly in his chest.

Tom had feared for a moment that the sight of Tilly Toke's remains would have swamped Harry with horror, and despair, and wrenching guilt –because his 'brother' always seemed very fond of feeling guilt and martyrdom for every little thing, and it was a grave, contemptible weakness that always made Harry act very foolishly, more than was due for being an innate halfwit.

If the boy had cried out in anguish or sorrow, Tom had no doubt that, invisible or not, bullets would have found them at the mere sound. He had been prepared to slap a hand on the boy's mouth. Thankfully, it wasn't required.

Tom went back to observe the soldiers, his dark blue eyes intent and narrowed to slits. Yes, they had to be the ones to have set the landmines, yet it wasn't conceivable that they could remember exactly where the explosives were embedded, not under snow that looked all the same. There had to be something-

Oh yes, Tom saw them, then. A twig there, a peeble over there, an old, shriveled leaf on another patch of snow, a small piece of wood some other distance away…

"Markers," he heard Harry breathe out haggardly in a barely audible whisper.

And Tom glanced down at him. His 'brother' was fixedly staring at the searching German soldiers too, and seemed to have realized the same as Tom had. Well, Harry did -very occasionally- demonstrate that he had a smidgen of a brain somewhere in his skull.

They both seemed to be suspended in their own tension and stillness and fear, as they watched the Nazis carefully roam their surroundings.

The soldiers had discovered what was left of Tilly Toke, poked at the wizard's bloody remains with the butt of their rifles or tips of their boots, and then blabbered in an angered and dissatisfied German between themselves, as they scowled and frowned.

They had to have heard Tom's and Harry's initial shouts, and they were evidently looking for the people who had produced them.

At one point, one of the soldiers came dangerously close to where Harry and Tom were huddled together beneath the Invisibility Cloak, but suddenly, another soldier called out, sounding both excited and puzzled.

Tom knew it would happen eventually. He knew what the consequence would be when he had chosen Harry over broom.

Harry evidently only realized it then, since Tom felt the boy stiffen in his hold, the green eyes widening in absolute horror and desperation.

He didn't chance it this time. He quickly raised the hand of the arm he could move and pressed it tightly against Harry's mouth, the boy's breath silent yet panicked.

The soldiers had found the Comet 180 and were now surrounding it, looking thoroughly confused and gobsmacked. Indeed, the sight of a broom in the middle of a warzone couldn't be that common, especially since the Germans seemed to realize it was no common sweeping broom but a rather weird one.

The fact that there was a small plaque made of gold inscribed with the words 'Comet 180' on the broom handle was quickly detected, not to the mention the footholders peeking out from either side, made of pure gold as well.

The Germans stared and one even scratched the back of his head, but soon one other, with a look of gleeful and hopeful greed that cared not about strange things, lurched forwards and smashed the butt of his rifle into the broom.

The Comet 180 was soon broken to pieces by the pack of soldiers, the plaque of gold tested and bitten by one of them, before he excitedly chattered, evidently pronouncing that it was, indeed, real gold. The footholders suffered the same fate, vanishing into the satchels and bags of the Nazis.

They gave another cursory look around the forest, but apparently the unexpected finding of some bit of riches had satisfied them well enough and put them in a very good mood.

The soldiers jauntily trotted away, and Tom glanced down at Harry, who had slumped against him. The boy wore an expression of utter dismay, misery, and hopelessness, as he stared at the splinters of wood of what had once been the Comet 180.

Indeed, his 'brother' now knew what Tom had realized before it all came to an end.

They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, frozen to the bones, in damp clothes, with no food or water or any sorts of supplies, in a warzone, in a country unknown to them, where they didn't speak the tongue or understood it, brimming with Nazis, far away, with a whole sea in between, from Scotland, and with absolutely no means of returning home to Hogwarts.

It was then when he finally allowed himself to unleash his fury, to feel it vibrating and roaring and snarling inside him, at the utter fool that Tilly Toke had been for rushing into the forest, for the dire situation in which they found themselves stuck in, and at Harry, for having concocted his mad rescue plan, for ever believing that saving a lowly muggle like Hutchins was worth any of it.

And the tight ball of fear he had congealed inside him when observing the Nazis roaming about looking for them, thawed and uncoiled, as his rage soared, as the agonizing pain flashed with renewed force through his broken arm, as he hissed under his breath and everything started to dim.

At least, he had the vindictive pleasure of glimpsing Harry bend over, moaning as he clutched his scar, before everything went black.


	45. Part I: Chapter 44

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots and characters are mine.

AN:

Here's another quick update with the next part – and this time it's long! Though the most important action will begin next chapter ^-^

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! ;)

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**Part I: Chapter 44**

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Harry wasn't allowing himself to think about anything.

Not about Tilly Toke being dead, the one adult in Hogwarts he had truly admired and liked and trusted, who had taught him so many spells in private and helped him create The Three Musketeers' Maps, and encouraged him so much and praised his natural talents and intuitive grasp of Charms. Who had so bravely and selflessly agreed to come with him to Norway, and so gently helped him heal and rescue Robert Hutchins, and who had so nobly and honorably desired to aid any other survivors that could be left.

Not about the sight of blood staining the snow, the bits and pieces and clumps of flesh and organs and hair.

Not about the fact that they had no broom, no portkey, no nothing. Merely thinking about the Comet 180 made his chest ache.

Not about when he had realized what the absolute, spine-chilling, terrifying silence meant. That he was deaf, and had no means to heal himself, because he was fairly certain eardrums weren't made of bones, yet he wasn't sure if they were flesh or cartilage either and he wouldn't risk it. He didn't have Healing Potions for those kinds of things, anyway. And he didn't want to think what it could mean if his ears weren't healed before some time limit, if his deafness could be permanent and irreversible due to that.

He couldn't think about any of it, because if not he knew he would crumble, under the weight of fear, and sorrow, and wretchedness, and guilt, and panic, and tears. It would seize him and not let go, and he would be useless.

And Harry couldn't afford to be useless, because his brother had lost consciousness, slumping over Harry, making him fall flat on his face on the snow. It had been with some considerable effort that he had shoved his brother's weight off himself, as gently as he could.

It was only then when he understood what had happened, because he had seen that Tom's left arm was bent at a horrible angle, looking as if it was broken in at least two places. He hadn't known that his brother had been putting up with that sort of pain, hadn't known that he was also injured.

The only consolation he had was that his vision was no longer flashing in and out intermittently. It seemed it had only been a temporary repercussion of the blinding light and discharge caused by the detonation of the landmine that had killed Tilly Toke.

He found solace, too, in two other facts.

That he still had some potions left. Not many, he had used most with Hutchins, but there were some drops and dregs left in two flasks, and half a phial of Skele-Mend. And that was sheer luck, because it was the only thing that could help Tom.

And foremost, that he had Ulysses with him. It was with his Scorcrup's help and keen sense of smell that Harry managed to get out of the forest filled with landmines, hefting, with much pants of effort, Tom's dead weight on his back, as he dragged him, slowly, back to the ruins of Namsos.

He didn't dare remain in the forest, not when he knew that there were Germans somewhere in there. He didn't understand why, exactly, they seemed to be encamped near Namsos, that was nothing but rubble and desolation.

Nevertheless, he wouldn't heal Tom in the forest. He had to find refuge, and the only place he could think of was the half-destroyed church in which they had found Hutchins. It would shield them from the chilling wind, and there was no one in Namsos, no landmines either.

It took him nearly half an hour to drag Tom, both under the Invisibility Cloak, with Ulysses sniffing the way ahead, in the lead. The Scorcrup was small, and Harry didn't think he would be seen. And even if he was, muggle soldiers would think he was nothing but some stray kitten scavenging for food in the ruins of Namsos and its surroundings.

The moment they were back inside the main chamber of the church, Harry carefully laid Tom at one corner, the one with walls still standing and half a roof offering protection.

The full moon had already disappeared, the sky beginning to lit with the first rays of dawn. They had spent the whole night in Norway. Three hours of flight between Vinje and Namsos, then the time they spent finding Hutchins and taking him to the camp of the British Army, another hour going through the ruins of the town to find more muggle survivors, and then whatever time had passed by when they had been in the forest.

Harry was ravenous. He couldn't hear his stomach complaining but it was twisting and certainly grumbling. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to drop dead asleep.

He had been parched with thirst too, but that had been easily solved. He had grabbed handfuls of snow and stuck them inside his mouth. He hadn't even cared that the snow had been stained with someone's drops of blood. He had been too weary and tired to look around for pristine one.

The matter of their damp clothes and how they were stiff with frost, their scarves, shoes, mittens, and socks soggy and chilly, didn't have any easy solution because he couldn't use any magic due to their Traces.

It had gone beyond getting expelled from Hogwarts if the Ministry of Magic was notified by their Traces that they were in Norway instead of being safely ensconced in school. Or that they used magic in a country that was a warzone, filled with muggle soldiers that could see it. Beyond doing any improper use of magic or breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

Harry feared that all those things alone could get them cast out from the Wizarding World with their wands snapped, but there would be even more reason for such punishment because a wizard had lost his life, a professor of Hogwarts. And one who was so famed, since Tilly Toke had been an awardee of an Order of Merlin First Class for having saved muggles from a rogue dragon, and had been further well-known and popular from all the pictures of him splattered in The Witch Weekly, as they named him the Most Charming Smile and Gallant Figure and such nonsense.

Harry hated that he had to think in such cold-blooded, harsh, and practical terms, but he knew that they could allow nothing to link them as being in Norway during that night. Tilly Toke had bought the portkey to Vinje in the Ministry of Magic, and there would be records of it. And when Tilly Toke didn't come back to Hogwarts, the Ministry would look for him and they would see that the wizard had bought a portkey to Norway.

They couldn't afford for their Traces to notify that they had been in Norway too. Too much of a coincidence, someone could piece it together.

No, what had happened to Tilly Toke had to remain a secret that they would have to take to their graves. No one could know that the wizard had come there because he had been aiding Harry, taking risks and acting out of selflessness to rescue muggles at Harry's instance.

It was devastatingly unfair that Tilly Toke's last heroic acts would go without being praised and commended and known. But the wizard was dead. What use did a dead man have for those sorts of things?

Harry clenched his teeth under the mantle of guilt that unmercifully weighted down on him like a ton of stones, but he then ruthlessly brushed it to a side.

It was his fault, his burden to carry, and he would, in silence. Speaking the truth would not bring back Tilly Toke, but it would get him and Tom expelled from Hogwarts at the very least.

And Harry knew well that Hogwarts was everything to Tom, because of Slytherin House that his brother wanted to rule over, his ambitions, his hunger for more magical knowledge, and that mysterious multi-staged plan that Tom had put in motion since first year.

He didn't think Tom could bear losing Hogwarts or having nothing left but the Muggle World. It would change him, it would fill him with fury and bitterness and rage and who knew what else.

Furthermore, Harry didn't want to lose Hogwarts either, which despite the troubles had become a home to him as well. It would be unbearable to never see his friends again, Alphard Black and the Prewett twins, and even Dorea Black and Charlus Potter and all the others he could get to know. Or to not fulfill all his tasks, as helping the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, and figuring out what other things Santi wanted him to know about, or finding the Chamber of Secrets that was so important for Tom, and becoming Animagi with Alphard and keep learning about magic and all the wonderful things that could be done with it.

So it was decided, and Harry single-mindedly focused on what they would need to survive their current situation, because he had gotten Tom in this fix and he would get him out of it too.

Thus, first, his brother.

With teeth clattering due to the cold, Harry opened his satchel and brought out the half-full phial of Skele-Mend. Hutchins had been in agony when drinking the Skele-Mend even when he had taken the Pain Dimming Potion first. But of that potion there was nothing left. So it was certainly going to be tough on Tom.

Harry opened the mouth of his unconscious brother and dipped everything that was left of the Skele-Mend.

Tom's eyes flew open, and Harry instantly slapped a hand on his brother's mouth, because even if he was deaf, he was certain that Tom must have been screaming, and they couldn't afford for the Germans lingering out there to hear them.

At least, he didn't have to hear the bones of his brother's arm rearranging, cracking, and snapping. Though he realized he should have used his Slytherin scarf, as stiff as it was, to silence Tom's screams of agony, because in the next second he felt his brother's teeth sinking into the flesh of his palm.

Harry winced, and then gritted his teeth, keeping his hand there, tightly wrapped around his brother's mouth, but it felt as if Tom was biting down so harshly as to cut deeply to the bones.

Indeed, Harry saw that Tom's dark blue eyes were wide with pain but also flashing with vicious and malevolent vindictiveness. Tom was doling out his punishment and revenge, and the teeth dug in deeper.

Harry gritted his teeth again, so hard that he was certain they were going to crack soon, but suddenly, Tom's jaw slackened.

He took a quick glance at his brother's arm, which seemed to be fully healed, since it was no longer bent unnaturally, and then slowly removed his hand away from Tom's mouth.

Harry flinched and whimpered. The pain in his hand was scorching, and the wound made by Tom's teeth deep, bleeding copiously.

"Bastard," he spat at his brother angrily, as he cradled his hand against his chest, not hearing if he had said the word correctly but hoping that his sentiments were at least understood.

He didn't like speaking much now, because it gave him the impression that his tongue was just uselessly flapping and rolling around in his mouth and his lips moving senselessly, as if neither could really be forming any comprehensible words but just gibberish. It was a very unsettling feeling, trying to speak when not being able to hear one's own voice.

Clearly utterly unrepentant, Tom shot him a very nasty smirk, as he checked and slowly moved his arm around, though he was still pale-faced from pain and discomfort.

Meanwhile, Harry was quick to use the few drops left of the Murtlap Unction. The wound of his hand slowly knitted shut, but it worried him that now they had nothing left but a flask with a bit of Blood-Replenishing Potion.

He didn't drink it, preferring to save it, though it wouldn't be of much use since it didn't heal. It was a shame too that they had no Pepper-Up or Restorative Draft. Those would have been right useful.

Testing his hand, and feeling it much better, Harry then glanced around.

Making a decision, he gently grabbed little Ulysses from the floor and then set him beside Tom. Staring into his Scorcrup's eyes that were as green as his, he pointed a finger from Ulysses to his brother and back.

Apparently, his familiar understood the message, but didn't look too happy about it. Nevertheless, little Ulysses stood guard by Tom's side, as Harry took hold of the Invisibility Cloak.

Before he could make a move to rise to his feet, Tom grabbed him by a sleeve, frowning at him.

"Going to look for supplies," Harry hoped he said clearly. "Stay here. I'll be back."

He rushed out of the church under the Invisibility Cloak before his brother could stop him.

Harry went around the ruins of Namsos, listing in his mind all the things they needed, all the things Old John Bryce had ever mentioned. First, they would need clothes that weren't wet as theirs, and above all, gloves and as many socks as possible.

'Keep your twenty toes warm and you will come to no harm,' Old John often said, when he told the boys of the orphanage about his experiences in the Great War.

Harry knew that the cause of death among soldiers had primarily been due to illnesses, dehydration, starvation, from the ill-conditions in trenches filled with rats, lice, and roaches, and also –more important given the situation at hand- hypothermia.

Old John had said that blood circulation was first lost in hands and feet, and that many soldiers had lost limbs due to that, or even died from untreated pneumonia and such.

It wasn't a pleasant experience, going around ransacking the corpses littering the ruins of Namsos, stuffing what he found in his satchel, but he did it all the same.

When he already had a bunch of useful stuff, Harry turned around to make his way back to the church. Though he paused for a moment when he glimpsed something in the distance.

Namsos had a coast at the south of the town, a fjord with a narrow beach with sand and pebbles and a small port that had been partly destroyed.

Harry knew that it was the Norwegian Sea that he was looking at, which connected with the North Sea of Britain. The water was dark blue, with some chunks of slowly melting ice floating about, along with debris that must have been washed out from the port. But what had captured his attention was a small, black shape he saw in the distance. There were two others in the sky as well, above the one in the sea, it seemed.

He didn't like it, it could be Germans. He hastily returned to the church and dropped everything before Tom.

There was a cigarette lighter that still had some petrol in it, useful for when they would have to make fires to keep warm. All the socks and gloves he had extracted from corpses, though with holes or burns in them. Two pairs of shoes, too large for them, but _that_ would be easily solved since they had to wear as many socks as possible to keep their feet warm. Also the only two thick woolen jerseys that he had been able to find, stained with blood and a bit torn, but which would go along nicely with the two Norwegian Army uniform jackets he had stolen from two dead soldiers – the coats were grimy but also long and thick, which was more important.

Tom was staring at the little pile of treasures with a look of distaste on his face, but then Harry proudly showed him his most important finding.

Tom sneered and said something, and then seemed to remember that Harry couldn't understand him and clamped his mouth shut and merely scowled darkly, looking very ill-tempered.

Harry sighed, but then insistently showed him again the Army-issue gun he had found.

He didn't have any intentions of using it, but having a weapon could prove useful if they were found by some muggle soldiers. At least they would see that Tom and Harry weren't defenseless boys, and a gun could be used to threaten. And well, it was for 'just in case', and his brother needed to know about it.

"Look," Harry said, or hoped he was saying, as he pointed at the hammer of the gun. "You have to pull this down first, then press the trigger, if you want to shoot." He then pointed at the sight at the end of the barrel. "This is to help you take aim. And this-" he pressed the release and the gun's cylinder snapped open to one side, showing four bullets inside "- is for when you have to reload it with more bullets. I'll go see if I can find some more ammunition and clothes, and food too."

Tom seized his arm and shot him a frown. It looked inquisitive, so Harry merely said "Old John" as a mode of explanation, which instantly made Tom scowl and look even more annoyed.

Harry ignored it, left the gun in Tom's lap, and trotted out of the church again, under the Invisibility Cloak.

Tom had always despised Old John Bryce and never paid any attention to the old muggle's stories about the Great War, because he said that Old John was an ignorant oaf who knew nothing about the politics involved in the Great War.

But all of Tom's lofty knowledge about 'politics' and such rubbish wouldn't help them now, would it? It was the tricks for survival that soldiers employed which mattered, and Harry knew them all, thanks to Old John.

Though, Harry's knowledge of guns wasn't that extensive.

During their summer visits to Old John, the man had showed the boys of the orphanage his collection of rifles and guns - his trophies from the Great War, like the spiked helmet of some German soldier of the Kaiser's Army of those times. The old man even had two guns that he had stolen from other German soldiers he had killed. With pride, the muggle had displayed the guns to the fascinated and marveled eyes of the boys, mentioning their parts and how to clean them and such.

Harry remembered that in those occasions Tom had been in another room of Old John's house, arguing with Robert Hutchins about Communism or some such thing, as always, not in the least bit interested in lowly, common, and plebeian things as weapons used by low-ranked soldiers that were nothing more than cannon-fodder and had no say in how countries were governed or wars planned and plotted.

Meanwhile, Harry and Eric Whalley had been breathless with awe and excitement, as they usually were when Old John showed them anything pertaining to the Great War or told them stories. They had even convinced the old man to show them how to shoot.

Regretfully, Alice had gotten wind of it, and had put her foot down and shrieked at Old John about how he wouldn't be teaching little boys how to kill!

Nevertheless, the gun he had found looked very similar to the ones Old John had showed him, so he hoped it wouldn't be that difficult to handle.

Harry halted, just as he was sticking inside his satchel a can he had found incrusted in a patch of snow. The label was in Norwegian but it showed a picture of something that looked like a bowl of soup, so he hoped it was. It was the only thing remotely looking like food that he had found so far.

But now he was seeing that the shape in the distance was much bigger. Indeed, he could clearly discern that it was a ship, a large one. And the two things in the sky above were, distinctly, airplanes. All had to be moving at full speed, and it looked like they were coming straight towards Namsos.

Feeling very apprehensive, filled with forebodings, Harry quickly scampered through the ruins of the town.

He was in the far side of it, far away from the church, so he ran as fast as possible as he kept the Invisibility Cloak tightly wrapped around himself.

When he finally reached the church, he glanced backwards. The ship –warship, he saw now- and the two airplanes were even closer than before. They would reach Namsos in minutes!

Harry rushed into the church, reaching the corner in which his brother was siting, with a pensive, plotting, and brooding expression on his face. He hoped Tom was trying to figure out how to get back to Hogwarts, because he had no ideas except to gather as many supplies as possible.

He hastily took out the two pullovers he had snatched in his second round of corpse-ransacking, which were in tolerable conditions so he added them to the pile of other things, before he glanced at Tom and attempted to speak clearly and urgently, "We have to change!"

They _had _to get dressed in all the clothes he had found as quickly as possible, and then he would have to stuff all the other things in his satchel.

"And then get out of here!" continued Harry, as he gestured wildly at the pile of clothes. "Something's coming, I saw-"

Tom suddenly clutched him by the arm in a tight grip, his head snapping around, a look of intense alertness on his face.

"What-"

But Harry couldn't get another word out, because Tom was abruptly pulling him along in a sprint, looking both puzzled and troubled.

"Ulysses!" urged Harry, casting a glance over his shoulder, and opening his arms just in time for his Scorcrup to reach him and jump into them.

His familiar settled himself on Harry's shoulder just as Tom yanked the Invisibility Cloak from Harry's hand and pulled it over them.

Harry realized what Tom must have heard the moment they came out of the church and stood rooted in place.

There were trucks rushing, coming from the road that led to Namsos, and Harry recognized them immediately because it was those he had seen in the camp of the British Army. Robert Hutchins had to be in one of them!

And suddenly, feeling as if a lightning bolt of clarity had struck him, he understood, just as everything around them seemed to burst into pandemonium and chaos.

He understood the reason for the landmines in the surroundings of Namsos, and why Germans had been in the forest, hiding, because one of the trucks suddenly exploded, clearly its wheels having rolled over a landmine dug in the road, as the other trucks swerved to a side but didn't stop and continued moving at full speed, now entering Namsos, smashing through the shambles, while Germans –not just the seven who had looked for him and Tom, but ton others– suddenly appeared flowing out of the forest, in all directions, running, chasing, and shooting at the trucks.

It became a savage battlefield, as Tom pulled him to the ground, as bullets flew everywhere and the trucks halted some distance away from the coast, British soldiers jumping out of them, answering back the German gunfire.

And the warship Harry had seen was suddenly there, reaching the narrow beach at one side of the destroyed port, and it was a strange one, because in the next moment, the thing it had in the front proved to be some sort of wide metal plank that slammed on the beach, opening the ship, and soldiers came pouring out if it.

They were rushing towards the trucks, where now the army doctors and nurses were carrying out the stretchers with the wounded, and the soldiers from the ship began to help them, or running along offering cover and protection whilst firing their guns and rifles at the Germans that were pushing in at all sides, surrounding them, trying to prevent them from reaching the ship.

The sky suddenly turned into a battlefield too, the two airplanes Harry had seen engaging in battle with four others that had appeared out of nowhere – a small detachment of the German Luftwaffe, they had to be. Because the warship had a British flag that Harry could now see clearly, and there were anti-aircraft guns at either side of the ship's vast deck, and they were being manned, firing up into the sky and at the enemy's airplanes, which appeared to be throwing bombs, because black blurs fell from the sky and struck the sea, trying to hit the ship and causing huge waves to rock and slam against it.

_This_ was the evacuation.

And the Germans had been waiting for it, to ambush. And of course that they had known about the British's plans, because Grindelwald and his Nazi puppets had to have spies everywhere. And Harry should have realized that of course that the evacuation would be by sea!

The neighboring country was Sweden and they were trying to keep themselves neutral in the war so it was obvious now that the British wouldn't go by land and cross borders into Sweden, which could very well deny them access.

Harry didn't know if he should be grateful or not that he was deaf. Because the gun firing, the bombings, and the explosions had to be thunderous and overwhelming, but on the other hand, hearing nothing but absolute silence made it all look all the more frightening, chaotic, and surreal.

They were crouching there on the ground, beneath the Invisibility Cloak, with Ulysses hanging on his shoulder, in the middle of a confrontation between Germans and English, with bullets flying everywhere, and Harry understood one thing.

He tapped Tom on the face so that his brother would look at him, and then pointed a finger at the ship in the shore a long distance away from them. "England."

Tom seemed to realize what he meant, because his expression became grave. But it was their only chance. They had to be on that ship. It clearly was of the British Royal Navy, and it was certainly going back to England. Once there, they would only have to figure out a way to go north to Scotland –easily done by train– and then Hogwarts.

Harry began to rise to his feet, but Tom violently pulled him down, scowling darkly and shaking his head.

Harry frowned, and then frantically gestured with his hands at the ship, insistently.

Tom glowered at him, before he angrily jabbed a finger in the direction of what was happening on land.

Harry swallowed thickly because his brother had a point. There was no way they could cross through the battle going on between Germans and English. They were fighting in a wide area in front of the beach where the ship was anchored, whilst more injured were being transported from the British Army trucks to the ship, in the midst of it.

The Invisibility Cloak would protect them from sight but not from gunfire. And as much as they ducked and dashed and darted between the soldiers in order to reach the ship, it was foolish to think they wouldn't get killed by some stray bullet.

Their only way to the ship was obstructed by the fight.

Harry blinked. That wasn't the only way.

He glanced at the sea, and then at his brother. "We swim to it."

For a moment Harry thought that perhaps his tongue had flapped in some wrong way and that he had only let out some sort of incomprehensible mumble jumble, because Tom merely stared at him.

But then his brother's expression darkened, and he mouthed one word that Harry understood, 'NO', and by the vicious look on Tom's face, he really meant it.

"We swim," Harry insisted, in what he hoped was a very curt and stern tone of voice. "Only way. Only chance."

Tom scowled fiercely, but Harry pointedly began to take off his coat, and his brother seemed to realize it was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

Once he had discarded his coat, Harry gestured pointedly and impatiently at Tom's.

Tom glowered, but apparently knew what it was all about –that for swimming it was best if they weren't encumbered by the weight of heavy clothes- and took it off, all the while looking very ill-humored.

Harry was quick to take Ulysses and wrap him with his Slytherin scarf, which he then tied around his neck, leaving the Scorcrup safely tucked, secured, and ensconced under his chin. Must be because he was part Kneazle and Scorpion, and certainly not the Crup side, that Ulysses had always abhorred water quite a lot. He always hissed like a kettle the times Harry attempted to bathe him. His Scorcrup would just have to put up with it, this time.

Once done, he hastily grabbed his brother's hand, covered them with the Invisibility Cloak, and began to run.

They came as close as they dared to the fighting going on, and then turned left, until they reached the seashore.

The ship was some distance away, but they could swim to it and then creep out of the water and unto the beach there, and cover themselves quickly with the Invisibility Cloak to then dash into the ship by taking the plank that served as floor and bridge between ship and beach. Or perhaps when they reached the ship they would see that it had one of those small ladders attached to its hull that some ships had – that would make matters easy.

Quickly, Harry toed off his shoes, seeing Tom following his lead, and then patted Ulysses comfortingly on the head because his familiar was giving him a very piteous look.

Nevertheless, when they were ready, he yanked off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it in his satchel, which was nearly empty -only with clip-on compass, flask of Blood-Replenishing Potion, map of Norway, and the can of food he had found, since all the rest had been left behind in the church- and then ran into the water and dived in before anyone could catch a glimpse of him.

It felt like a violent shock of pain, the water so freezing that it made his body ache and spasm. It was so overwhelming that it was nearly incapacitating. And his ears were instantly filled with water and it was then, just as something piercing and burning and horrible flared from the depths of his head, that he realized his mistake.

Harry had forgotten that there was a reason why he couldn't swim as anyone who fancied doing so could. Because he was deaf, he wasn't whole, his eardrums were shattered, offering no block, no protection, and water had rushed in, and he felt it, wrecking inside the inner channels of his ears, and it was unbearable and agonizing.

Yet he moved, he frantically flailed his arms and legs as he kicked to surge up to the surface of the sea, to take a deep intake of air, to feel Ulysses' claws gripping him and the weight of the Scorcrup pulling down on the drenched scarf, now harshly pressing around his neck, and he cried out as the insides of his ears flared.

But he kept jerkily and frenziedly moving his arms and legs too, even though it was painful to even lift a finger due to the freezing water, because he knew that if he didn't, his body would just seize up and he would plunge down into the depths like dead weight.

His teeth were clattering violently, the pain in his ears was killing him, as he gasped for air and tears of pain streamed down his wet face as he saw Tom's head bobbing in the water, the boy's face looking almost blue with cold.

His brother said something, was yelling something apparently, but Harry didn't understand and he didn't dare shake his head to express that because he feared that whatever he had left of the insides of his ears would be completely ruined.

And then Tom brought out a hand from under the water, that was shaking and trembling, and he pointed with an unsteady finger. Harry followed the direction and saw that the ship was moving. Its plank had been pulled back into place and it was moving away from the shore, from Namsos, from them.

Harry's eyes went wide with horror and desperation and he began to yell, to kick his legs in the water like a maniac, trying to swim as fast as possible, as he used an arm to wave it in the air like a madman, as he kept shouting who knew what, hoping the soldiers that he saw in the ship's deck would hear or see him.

Tom was doing the same, but they were too far away, and there were still Germans some distance away at the beach the ship had left, still firing at the English, and then something happened.

Harry saw an enormous wave rolling over towards them, and realized some other bomb must have been dropped trying to hit the ship and striking water instead, and the immense wave it caused first swallowed Tom and now it was coming towards him.

"Take a deep bre-!" he began to shout at Ulysses in warning, but was swamped over by the wave before he could, and he was plunged into the depths of the sea, feeling as if he was being pulled and tossed by a hurricane of tides, rolling head over feet several times and spinning, and water rushed and flooded into his ears once more and pain became excruciating and exploded.

* * *

Tom glanced down at his 'brother', and scowled darkly. He was furious, and worried, and fearful, and furious again because that was more important and an apt emotion to be feeling.

He had Harry's head on his lap and the boy didn't look good.

It was by sheer luck that Harry was alive.

After the wave had taken over Tom and he had managed to swim his way up to the surface of the water, he had waited to see if Harry appeared. But the boy had not, and gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the way his muscles and very skin ached due to the freezing waters that felt like piercing daggers, he dove into the depths in search of him.

Tom hadn't found him, not the four times he had plunged in and swam around and tried to see something in the darkness of the water and then gone back out to catch breath and plunge in again.

Just when he had begun to steel himself to the fact that the boy had certainly drowned, just as he started to go through considerable efforts to force himself to feel nothing about the loss and to not let it affect him, he had seen a small figure splumped on the beach, half immersed in water.

Frantically and violently moving his arms and legs, because there was no other way of swimming in such freezing waters without going mad, even as every little motion of his muscles fiercely ached and burned, Tom finally reached the shore, crawling out of the sea, and saw that it was Harry.

Incredible. It seemed that the tides and waves had just rolled him up to the beach, saving his life. Only Harry had such dumb luck.

Oh, the boy had been half unconscious and barely coherent, with closed eyes, whimpering, and blabbering to himself, something about 'ship' and 'hurts' and 'ears'.

Tom had stared, and then glared, because he hadn't thought about the boy's eardrums and he realized what the lack of them must have occasioned in the boy.

However, it was Harry who should have thought about it when proposing his mad plan of just swimming up to the ship. Of course it hadn't worked, the time had been too limited and the water had been too cold, to the point that Tom himself didn't know how he hadn't passed out and drowned.

But then, it had been the only chance of reaching the ship and he knew that Harry would have kept insisting on it, because trying was better than just standing there, watching a ship to England fade into the distance.

Well, it was a moot point now, because the English were gone, and so were the Germans the moment they had failed with their ambush, when the ship had left the shore and the last of the German airplanes in the sky had been gunned down.

Tom was fairly certain they had completely left the area of Namsos since he had heard the sounds of rumbling motors and rolling wheels – the Germans' own trucks which they must have had been hiding in the forest, he thought.

It was then when he dragged Harry to safety, with Scorcrup along, alas.

The little beast had survived too, seemingly entangled in Harry's drenched scarf. Pity that, though at least Tom had had the pleasure of utterly ignoring him when the stupid critter had meowed softly at him, clearly asking for Tom to free him out of the scarf. As if he would.

By the time he dropped Harry on the floor of the church, Tom didn't think he could have been any more exhausted or cold. But he had known the importance of changing into dry clothes, and thankfully, all of Harry's scavenging served for something.

First, of course, he had dressed himself, and then he had tended to Harry.

Only then had he disentangled the little pest from Harry's scarf. Not because he had to remove the little beast in order to change Harry's clothes, but because he had sent the stupid creature to do something for him.

Fifteen minutes later, the Scorcrup had returned with something unexpected.

And now Tom had Harry's head on his lap, and Harry was mumbling nonsense in his sleep, with a forehead drenched in sweat because the boy certainly had a fever, along with the ear infection he must be suffering.

Meanwhile, Tom was brooding, while he waited for Harry to recover somewhat so that they could discuss their options. And also so that he could furiously yell at him, not caring that the boy wouldn't hear or understand him, but just to release some stress and anger, and at least make Harry pay, by feeling his fury as pain in his scar.

Tom frowned at that, and glanced down again at Harry, bringing up a hand and carefully touching the boy's scar.

There it was, a pleasant, tingling warmth on his fingertips, what he always felt when touching it, though he had never confessed such to the boy.

He snatched his hand away and glowered at Harry's scar. It was so very odd and infuriating.

Despite his words to the contrary, he believed Harry about how the scar reacted to his moods. Tom had had ample evidence of it during their whole lives. And he had never forgotten how Dumbledore had reacted at the sight of Harry's scar, how the old coot had even attempted to touch it, and the expressions that had crossed the wizard's face – puzzlement, intrigue, but also concern and misgivings.

Thus, that day, the very day his superiority above all others had been confirmed when Dumbledore had told them they were wizards, Tom had also known that Harry's scar was magical in nature.

He had researched about the matter during his first year, and even now and then he kept going back to explore the topic. However, he had found nothing that could explain a scar like Harry's. Not even in books about powerful dark curses had he found a single one that could cause such a mysterious scar.

Furthermore, why would someone cast a strange curse on a baby, and a baby of unknown parentage at that? And why would the consequence be a magical scar with a link to Tom's moods? He, who had nothing to do with the boy's scar or even with the boy himself through blood.

Moreover, sometimes, he had even felt when he caressed it – but of course that it was a ridiculous notion – but he had thought he felt something under the scar, surging forth, struggling to reach him or to pull him in, wanting him.

He didn't like it one bit.

Nothing about Harry's scar made sense. And Tom despised things that escaped his comprehension.

To add insult to injury, feeling pain in the scar made Harry become short-tempered, snarky, and even uppity with him, and that was not something that Tom liked.

No, he much preferred when Harry was like that with other people. Indeed, even the boy's occasional bouts of cunningness were also a good trait, certainly, but not when it was used against him.

Tom much rather preferred when his 'brother' gazed at him with green eyes filled with breathless admiration, and unquestioning fierce loyalty, and even understanding and profound acceptance, as a brother of his should well do.

He was, after all, the great Salazar Slytherin's Heir, the very last of that most exalted, unique, and powerful bloodline. Thus, by birthright, anything he wanted or desired should be his.

And why not, when Harry had been given to him, through the despicable lies spouted by those half-brained, filthy muggle women, Alice Jones and Kathy Cole. It was them who had told them they were twins. Thus, it was them who had given Harry to him.

The fact was now irreversible and incontrovertible, because that night in the orphanage when he had overheard the two muggle women yapping and had then forced them to tell him the truth -he still remembered with relish how he had nearly suffocated Kathy Cole to death with his magic- he had made the decision to keep Harry.

The shock of the discovery had been great, and he had felt devastating disappointment as well as fury. Nevertheless, he hadn't been prepared to let go of Harry, of the boy's affection and love of him, the admiration, the attention, the 'friendship' of sorts, though the term made him sneer in disgust, but all the same, he hadn't been ready to lose all those things. And more importantly, Harry's steadfast loyalty towards him, to such point that the boy was able to accept him as he was, no matter the things he did that Harry considered so horrible – things the boy wouldn't forgive in anyone else, Tom knew.

Indeed, Harry was able to love and forgive him and stick by his side no matter what, and Tom had been well aware that it was because Harry thought they were brothers. The boy was just the type that was ridden with pitiful and ridiculous notions and emotions of that sort, who would trust, help, care about, and follow a brother to the ends of the world, and never abandon, no matter the reason.

Thus, ever since that night, Harry was his to keep, to teach, to mold, to perfect, and yes, even to protect, because the boy was an impulsive, pigheaded, and reckless idiot when he allowed himself to be swayed by pathetic sentimentalities – like worrying about Hutchins and so stupidly wanting to rescue the worthless muggle.

Well, the boy would outgrow that, Tom would make sure, because Harry, being his, shouldn't be caring about anything or anyone but him.

And his mind was rambling with inane thoughts, he realized. And his eyes were drooping again, his exhaustion creeping in once more.

Tom attempted to resist, because he wanted Harry to recover so that they could do something to get back to Scotland. He also wanted to remain awake so that he could have more time to think about possible ways of accomplishing it. But he failed. They had been without sleep for more than twenty-four hours and too much had happened.

He decided he should rest, it was the smart thing to do. But he was still cold, despite the dry clothes he was now wearing.

Shivering, Tom musingly glanced at Harry and then carefully placed the boy's head on the floor and rolled him to one side. In the next moment, Tom laid himself behind the boy, wrapped an arm around him, and pressed close together.

It was to keep warm, and if Harry woke before him and dared to ever say a word about 'cuddling', Tom would make him feel worlds of pain under his wand when they were back in Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry shifted, and groaned, and whimpered, because the pain inside his head was unbearable.

Slowly, he awoke, feeling his forehead drenched with sweat, hot and burning, his mind groggy and hazy, and his half-lidded eyes offering him a sight that swam with fever and incomprehension for a moment, before he realized where he was.

There was an arm over his waist and he felt a body behind his, a slow, constant pattern of inhalations and exhalations of breaths fluttering the small hairs on the back of his neck, and he realized that it had to be Tom. Harry then saw that little Ulysses was curled against his chest, fast asleep, as well.

He realized, too, that he felt dry and warm, and foggily saw that he was wearing some of the clothes he had gathered. A pullover on top of a jersey, underneath a thick Norwegian Army uniform jacket. His feet felt layered with several socks, inside large shoes, his hands tucked in several pairs of mittens and gloves.

However, Harry let out a small sob that he couldn't restrain, because of the pain in his head and because he realized they were back in the church, that they had missed the ship, their only chance of going back home.

He felt nothing but misery and despair and hopelessness. And the pain inside his ears sizzled and churned and pierced again, and Harry closed his eyes and curled himself under Tom's arm, with another sob escaping from his lips.

Suddenly, he felt fingers tenderly and soothingly caressing his hair, and Harry snapped his eyes open in alarm.

His distress only grew when he dizzily saw that there was a man crouched before him, touching him, and he froze.

The next second, though, as he saw the golden glow emanating from the man, the milky eyes peering at him, the translucent, handsome face that had become so familiar, and Harry's green eyes went wide. Stunned astonishment, and joy and profound relief swamped him and he nearly threw himself at the man.

Nearly, because Santi was quick to grip him, halting any further movements. The man shot the sleeping Tom a look before he gazed back at Harry and pointedly brought up a finger to his lips, then gesturing at him to follow.

Understanding, Harry kept his silence, as he carefully removed his brother's arm.

It didn't work, at first, because in some kind of automatic reflex, Tom's arm clutched him tighter when Harry attempted to move away.

Harry shot his brother an apprehensive glance, but confirming that the boy was still asleep, he then finally disentangled himself from Tom without awaking him or Ulysses.

He had trouble standing, his mind swirling feverishly, but then he felt Santi helping him up and taking him by the arm to gently pull him along.

Harry was led outside the church, though before he could attempt to speak and explain everything that had happened, Santi placed his hands on both sides of Harry's head.

Staring and blinking, Harry suddenly felt a warm, tickling sensation flowing into his ears as Santi's hands began to glow red.

In the next moment, as Santi dropped his hands and gave him a wide grin, he felt a rush sensations: his mind cleared, his vision became unfogged, his face stopped feeling hot, the piercing pain vanished from his skull, and sounds abruptly surrounded him, the cry of seagulls flying in the sky, the wind howling through the ruins of Namsos, the soft murmur of waves lapping the shore of the town.

"You should be well now."

Harry heard the man's words clearly, and he gaped at him in wonder as he touched his ears. "You healed me." Then he was beaming with happiness and gratefulness because he could hear his own voice again, too. "You found us! You-"

Abruptly, he clamped his mouth shut and gave him a look of horror, glancing around, expecting to see a Ministry letter popping out into existence in any second, as he said with terrible anxiousness, "You used magic, and my Trace-"

"Your Trace cannot detect my kind of magic," interjected Santi, giving him a wide smile. "Fear not."

Harry blinked at him, and then went slack with utter relief and relaxation. He was about to tightly hug the man as he had never done before, not even when Santi had comforted him in the bridge of Hogwarts, wanting to blabber out his immense gratefulness, when the man spoke again.

"You're in quite a fix," said Santi calmly, as he shot him a considering look. "I've come here to-"

"To help us!" said Harry quickly, nodding and warmly smiling at him. "Thank you! I didn't know what to do to get back, because we tried to-"

"No," interrupted Santi gravely, piercing him with his strange, milky eyes that sparkled like constellations. "I came here to offer help to_ you_." His gaze became more skewering and intense, as he added softly, "I can take you back to Hogwarts right this second. I can take you back to your own bed in the Slytherin dormitories."

Harry stared at him, speechless, never imagining that Santi could solve their situation that easily, before he perked up with joy. "Yes! I'll go fetch Tom!"

He didn't even have the chance to turn around when Santi was already preventing it by gently grabbing one of his arms. "No, I said I would help you - only you." He gave him a grave, stern look. "I told you before that Tom Riddle must never know about me."

Harry gawked at him incredulously, and gestured wildly with his hands. "But this is different! We are stranded here, we need-"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Santi curtly. "You have to choose. Either you let me take you back to Hogwarts or you stay here with Tom Riddle."

Harry clamped his mouth shut and glowered at him, before jerking his chin up as he bit out, "I'm not leaving my brother behind."

Santi nodded, not looking at all surprised but rather resigned, bitter, and grim for a brief moment. "Then you have to make your own way back to Hogwarts." He shot him a speculative glance. "You do know the only way in which you can manage that, don't you?"

Harry frowned pensively, as he began to say slowly, "Well, the fastest way would be by apparating or portkeying to Hogsmeade. But we don't know how to apparate or how to cast the charm to make portkeys, and we couldn't do either anyway because we cannot use magic…" His frown deepened. "Though, I suppose we could get a portkey from the Norwegian Ministry of Magic if we found-"

"Exactly," cut in Santi hastily. "They have many portkeys in the shelves of their Department of Magical Transportation, and they are all clearly labeled. They have three, at present, that go to Hogsmeade."

Harry stared at him. "Well, that's good to know but-"

"You'll have to steal one," continued Santi quickly, as he shot him a wide, gorgeous grin, "which you can easily manage by using that Invisibility Cloak I know you have."

"Yes, but-"

"Now listen carefully," added Santi, his tone now urgent as he clutched Harry's shoulders and gazed down at him with piercing eyes, "do you know when the French and British muggle troops will be leaving Norway?"

Harry gazed at him with befuddlement. "Yeah. We just saw a British battalion leaving Namsos, and Ignatius Prewett told me that all evacuations would be finished in four days…" He trailed off, before he added musingly, "Well, he told me that two days ago." He blinked at Santi, and then glanced around. "If today is still Sunday, that is."

"It is. Sunday noon," said Santi, pointing at the sun high up in the sky. "You and Tom have been asleep for six hours since dawn."

"Right," said Harry, frowning. "Then that means that all of the Allies' troops will be out of Norway in two more days." He shot him a puzzled glance. "So?"

"So," said Santi gravely, his hands still on Harry's shoulders, the grip slightly tightening, "it means that you only have these two days to reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic and get a portkey out of this country." His expression turned grim. "Grindelwald is waiting for all British and French muggle troops to leave Norway before striking the Ministry."

Harry swallowed thickly at that. He had known that the Dark Lord's tactics for conquering Norway were different from those used all the times before.

In the last issue of The Daily Prophet it had been reported that Grindelwald had only invaded Norway with his muggle Nazi troops, sending no wizard followers since this was the first time that France and England had sent armies to help another country against the Germans, given that they had declared war only recently.

It seemed as if Grindelwald had been wary of doing anything that could breach the Statute of Secrecy, with so many muggle soldiers in Norway that could see one of Grindelwald's followers doing magic.

Harry had also known, from the Prewett twins, that Wizarding France had been sending Aurors to the Norwegian Ministry, giving aid in preparation against an attack, since Dumbledore had persuaded the French Minister of Magic to declare war on the Dark Lord, succeeding in that whilst failing in convincing Gravius Marchbanks of doing the same, for the time being.

"Grindelwald will strike at noon," said Santi in a low voice. "Precisely at twelve o'clock on Tuesday. Thus, you must reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic before then." He skewered him with his gaze, and demanded urgently, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," muttered Harry quietly, before he gave him an anxious look. "But where and how-"

"It will not be easy," interrupted Santi, pressing tightly on Harry's shoulders before he released him. "But this is what you have chosen." Abruptly, he caressed a lock of Harry's hair and smiled warmly and encouragingly at him, though it looked a mite strained and pained as well, as he said in a murmur, "You said to me, once, that this was your journey of discoveries – discoveries about yourself and other kinds." His smile grew, tight and tense, as he whispered, "You called it your very own Odyssey."

"My Odyssey?" mumbled Harry, feeling thoroughly astounded.

Then he blinked, and suddenly, for the first time, he realized that he fully believed him, as inexplicable as it was. He now believed Santi when the man had said that he could travel through Time, that he was a one-of-a-kind magical being, if he could be called anything at all.

He believed him because the 'Odyssey' only meant something to Harry. Not even Tom or anyone else would have used it as reference of something significant, since it was the tale that Robert Hutchins had often told to the boys of the orphanage, the very one that was Harry's favorite along with the Illiad, and with which he had named his Scorcrup after the hero of the story.

And he then remembered his encounter with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, and how the Grey Lady had told him that the centaurs were referring to Santi when they spoke about the 'The Fates'. He recalled the little palomino centaur, Firenze, looking so awed and excited as he gazed at Harry and chirped that he was 'The Fates' Companion'.

Harry didn't know what that last meant, exactly, but he swallowed thickly all the same, because Ulysses's Odyssey had been fraught with danger, bloodshed, and despair, too, and it didn't seem like a tale of glorious adventures anymore.

"Remember," said Santi sternly, yanking Harry out from his swirling, apprehensive thoughts, "you must be in the Ministry before Tuesday noon."

And with that, the man disappeared in the next bat of an eyelash, leaving Harry there, staring mutely, because Santi hadn't told him where the Ministry was or how Tom and he were supposed to get there in barely two days time.


	46. Part I: Chapter 45

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots and characters are mine.

AN:

Sorry for the long wait! I've been very busy lately, with few chances to write. Anyway, here's the new chappie, finally. I'll try to post the next one by Saturday or Sunday.

Enjoy!

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**Part I: Chapter 45**

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Harry instantly rushed back into the church. He wasn't that surprised when he saw that Tom had awoken whilst he had been outside talking to Santi.

His brother was now rising to his feet as Harry reached him, glaring irritably. "Where have you bee-"

Tom clamped his mouth shut, looking even more annoyed as he glowered at him and began to attempt to communicate by gesturing with his hands.

At that, Harry shook his head and beamed at him. "You can talk to me. I can hear you now."

Dropping his hands, Tom stared at him with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"It seems my eardrums healed themselves while we were sleeping," said Harry dismissively, as he quickly walked around Tom to reach his satchel.

"You always say I heal abnormally fast," he added absentmindedly as he hastily took hold of it. His satchel was still wet from when they had plunged in the sea trying to reach the ship, yet it was still usable, and he wasted no time in plucking out what was left of the map of Norway.

"Not _that _fast," retorted Tom sharply, skewering him with eyes now narrowed to thin slits, gleaming with suspicion and puzzlement.

"Huh?" said Harry distractedly, as he tried to carefully unfold the drenched map. He briefly glanced at his brother to simply shrug his shoulders. "Well, my ears just healed themselves. What does it matter how?"

He went back to peel the map open. The ink had run all over the paper, there wasn't much left except some blurs and smudges, and Harry frowned as his gaze roved over them, as he said musingly, "Ministries of Magic are usually located in the capital city of countries, right?"

"Usually, yes," said Tom shortly, before he glowered at him and demanded in that whiplashing, commanding tone he so liked to employ, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see how we'll get to Oslo, of course," replied Harry, as he kept gazing and squinting at the unintelligible marks of the ruined map.

"Oslo?" Tom took several steps to tower over him, his expression dark and ill-tempered, as he spat, "What for?"

Sighing, Harry glanced up at him and replied matter-of-factly, "Our best chance of getting back home is to find the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. We'll go to Oslo – hopefully the Ministry is really there. And we'll have to find it, and get in and steal a portkey from their Department of Magical Transportation." He pulled a casual, nonchalant expression over his face. "I mean, all Ministries have those Departments, don't they? And they're bound to have a portkey to England or Scotland, or maybe to Hogsmeade itself."

Tom stared at him, his eyes narrowing, before he smirked abruptly as he intoned in a strangely smug and vicious tone of voice, "By portkey, you say? Of course, that would be the safest and fastest way. Yet perhaps there won't be any need to obtain a portkey from a Ministry."

Harry gazed at him in utter befuddlement, as his brother's smirk widened.

"Indeed," continued Tom, looking as if he was relishing a dramatic scene of his own doing, "we might have a portkey already." He gestured at Ulysses, who was staring up at them from the floor, as he added coolly, "I made your little pest go back to Tilly Toke's remains and bring me whatever he could find – whatever there could still be there, whatever of use-"

"You mean," interrupted Harry slowly, first blinking, then frowning, and finally feeling a surge of joyous hope, his green eyes widening, his voice rising with excitement, "that the boot survived? You have it?"

Tom shot him a glower as he sneered contemptuously, "Of course not, you dimwit. That portkey was just an ordinary boot, the explosion caused by the landmine surely blew it to smithereens." His glare turned nasty, as he added acidly, "And boots don't 'survive', you imbecile, they are objects. When will you learn to speak properly instead of embarrassing me by blabbering like an illiterate idiot?"

Bristling, Harry opened his mouth, but Tom waved a hand to shut him up as he intoned placidly, "The fuzzball brought me something else." He took something out of a pocket and dangled it before Harry's face, his voice turning vicious, "Now we know why you were his favorite, don't we, little brother?"

Harry didn't understand at first, as he stared at a small, round pendant swaying from side to side from the silver chain held in Tom's hand. He just stared uncomprehendingly at the symbol –so very familiar– decorating the piece of jewelry.

"But that's-" Harry finally mumbled, thoroughly confused, "that's the-"

"The Dark Lord's mark, yes," said Tom, smirking poisonously.

"What?" Harry stared at him, utterly taken aback.

"I know," said Tom, his smirk widening, his dark blue eyes flashing, his tone low and venomous. "We always wondered who in Hogwarts was Grindelwald's spy. Who was putting the books from the Dark Lord under my pillow, or asking a house-elf to do so." He let out a harsh chuckle. "Who would have thought it was the imbecile of Tilly Toke all along? Genius, isn't it? To recruit the Head of Hufflepuff House as a spy, a wizard who had an Order of Merlin for saving stupid muggles, a man who always spouted nonsense in class, about our duty as wizards to save pathetic muggles." His eyes gleamed as he added with relish, "I bet Albus Dumbledore didn't even suspect him. And it explains so much, doesn't it, little brother? Why Toke was always so interested in you, why you were his favorite, why he praised you and taught you more charms outside of class, why he came here with you-"

"No," croaked Harry, shaking his head, feeling he couldn't be any more gobsmacked or thoroughly bewildered. "It can't be. That symbol is-"

"The proof," spat Tom impatiently, as he pointedly shook the pendant again. "Tilly Toke was wearing this. This was the only thing that wasn't destroyed by the landmine. This is what your stupid little critter found. It must have landed in some patch of snow that covered it, because the Germans certainly didn't see it."

Harry yanked the chain from Tom's hand, grabbing the pendant, frowning as he stared at it. In the next moment he seized the Invisibility Cloak with his other hand, and stared from one to the other, astounded.

He had remembered correctly, he had been right. The symbol in the Invisibility Cloak, by the hem, at one corner of it, was exactly the same as the one in the pendant.

"What are you doing?" said Tom, looking supremely annoyed.

Harry glanced up at him. Of course, his brother didn't see. Tom couldn't see the Invisibility Cloak, and much less the symbol it bore, always looking as if it was made of thin, silvery threads of magic.

"Brother," breathed out Harry, his eyes wide, "the pendant's symbol-"

"Does it have magic? Do you see anything?" demanded Tom, his voice giddy and excited. "It must be a communication device of some sort or a portkey, I think, but I couldn't get it to work-"

"A device? A portkey?" interjected Harry instantly, deeply alarmed. "You didn't try anything with magic, did you?"

"Certainly not," retorted Tom, frowning at him, before he shot him a hard glower, taking a threatening step towards him. "We cannot use magic, no matter what-"

"I know-"

"We cannot activate our Traces," continued Tom, his voice increasingly harsher, his expression growing darker.

"I know, Tom-"

"No one can _ever_ know that we came to Norway-"

"I know-"

Tom towered over him, like an ominous, menacing shadow, as he spat, "No one can ever know about how Tilly Toke died-"

"I know!" yelled Harry at last, agitated and angered. "I know all that. You think I didn't realize? You think I don't understand what the consequences would be!"

Skewering him with his gaze, Tom eyed him closely, before he declared curtly, "Good. At least you managed to figure out what's at stake here." He shot him an impatient look. "Now tell me, do you see any magic in the pendant? Or in the Dark Lord's mark itself?"

"Dark Lord's mark?" Harry stared at him in confusion before he shook his head, deeply frustrated. "This symbol isn't-"

"You mean you didn't know?" sneered Tom scathingly, eyeing him with disdain as he pointed a finger at the pendant. "You didn't know that that symbol is used by the Dark Lord? He marks his Haupte Kommandanten with it." His dark blue eyes glinted. "I've looked into those kinds of Dark Arts spells used to create magical brandings – fascinating, useful things they are, quite ingenious of the Dark Lord to use them." He smirked at Harry. "I've even heard that there's a wall in Durmstrang carved with the crest, etched by the Dark Lord himself when he was a schoolboy."

"Mark? Brand? Crest?" echoed Harry, staring at him. "What on earth are you babbling about?"

"That's Gellert Grindelwald's family crest, you dimwit!" spat Tom, looking irritated and exasperated beyond measure.

Harry became speechless, as his eyes darted from Invisibility Cloak to pendant and back. He was about to say something when he abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

His mind was swirling with confusion and astonishment, yet he realized what was the only explanation possible.

Surely, he didn't think Charlus Potter saw magic like he did himself. He didn't think Charlus could see the symbol, but perhaps the boy knew it was there. Maybe that was why Charlus had never mentioned it – that his family was related to Gellert Grindelwald.

There must have been some Potter and Grindelwald ancestors who had married each other. Only that could explain why the Invisibility Cloak – a Potter heirloom, passed down from father to son, generation after generation, for ages, as Charlus often remarked- could have a symbol that Tom insisted was the family crest of Gellert Grindelwald.

Harry could certainly understand why Charlus Potter didn't want anyone to know that he was related to the Dark Lord. Telling Tom about the symbol of the Cloak would be betraying Charlus and his secret, and Harry wouldn't do that, not after all the kindness that Charlus had shown him.

Furthermore, it was then too when he realized that the Cloak was completely dry. It had been in his satchel when they had swam in the sea attempting to reach the ship, and even now his satchel was still a bit wet. But the Cloak was not. In fact, it felt unaccountably warm. Did all Invisibility Cloaks possess such magical traits? Did they all bear a hidden family crest too?

He would try to ask Charlus about all of it, with as much subtlety and tact as possible, since it was still quite perplexing and mindboggling.

"Right," said Harry, as he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak back into the satchel and returned the pendant to his brother.

"So?" demanded Tom crisply, as he gestured at the piece of jewelry.

"Oh," muttered Harry, staring back at the pendant, before he heaved a deep breath and said sincerely, "No, I see no magic in it."

Tom scowled at that, frowning down at the necklace in his hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Harry, sighing, before he narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What did you want to do with it, if it was still working, anyway?"

Tom didn't answer, merely shot him an ill-humored glare, yet Harry had an inkling and he didn't like it one bit.

They couldn't test with their wands and magic if the pendant was still working, if it had some lingering bit of magic that he couldn't see, that might have withstood the blast caused by the landmine –though it certainly still retained some magical properties, since both chain and pendant looked utterly undamaged.

They had no way of knowing, but if Tom was right and it had been a communication device or portkey, it was clear to whom it would lead – to the Dark Lord himself, the very last person Harry ever wanted to encounter.

Harry preferred not to think about it, how he and Tom never saw eye-to-eye when it came to Gellert Grindelwald, nor about what it meant that Tilly Toke had apparently been wearing that pendant.

He shoved it all to the back of his mind and focused on the matter-at-hand.

"We have two days to get to Oslo, find the Ministry of Magic and steal a portkey from them," said Harry curtly. "That's the only way we'll get back home."

"Two days?" Tom sneered caustically, and Harry was swift to inform him, mostly with half-truths.

Obviously, he didn't mention Santi at all, but ascribed it all to Ignatius Prewett and the things the wizard had told him during the floo-call.

"The Dark Lord will attack the Norwegian Ministry of Magic," said Tom, his eyes narrowed to slits, "on Tuesday at twelve o'clock? Prewett told you such?"

"Yes," Harry lied smoothly. "In our Ministry of Magic they're quite sure of that."

Tom pierced him with his eyes, his jaw clenching. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"I didn't?" Harry blinked at him. "But I told you that-"

"You told me," hissed out Tom infuriated, "when, according to Ignatius Prewett, the muggle British and French troops would be leaving Norway, _not_ when the Dark Lord would be taking over the Norwegian Ministry."

"Oh, really?" said Harry, looking nothing but baffled. "Must've slipped my mind, then." He gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. Anyway, we must make haste."

"Haste?" sneered Tom acidly. "To reach Oslo? And how, do tell, are we supposed to get there? We have no means of transportation, you half-brained imbecile!"

At that, Harry shot him a pensive look. "The Germans-"

"Are gone," snapped Tom irritably. "I heard them leaving the area, in trucks-"

"Trucks?" jumped in Harry instantly, his eyes growing wide. "_All_ trucks?"

They stared at each other, before Tom said churlishly, "I hardly think-" but Harry was already dashing out of the church, with Tom reluctantly following at his heels.

The moment he stood outside in the midst of the ruins of Namsos, Harry came to a halt, as they both looked, as if one, towards the coast. There was nothing left except the half-destroyed port. Evidently, the Germans had also taken the trucks left behind by the British Army.

"As I thought," griped Tom acerbically.

Harry's shoulders slumped in dejection, before he forced into himself some cheer. "Alright. Then we walk."

"Walk?" snarled Tom savagely. "Don't you remember the map? Don't you remember the distance between Namsos and Oslo? On foot, we wouldn't get there in two months, much less in two days, you idiot!" He paused abruptly, giving him a considering look, his dark blue eyes gleaming. "Unless-"

"No," snapped Harry sternly, shooting him a glower. "I didn't ask about the Germans because I had any intentions of going to them. We won't look for them, won't ask for their help in any way-"

"If this can't take us to Grindelwald," interjected Tom in a hard tone of voice as he dangled the pendant before Harry's face, "the Germans might."

"Not likely," said Harry shortly.

They both knew the chances were very slim that any ordinary German foot-soldier would even know who Gellert Grindelwald was. Maybe they had heard the name, since from Slytherin gossip they knew that the Dark Lord masqueraded as some sort of wealthy factory owner, who financed and gave advice to the Führer Adolf Hitler and his cronies, but a common soldier wouldn't have the means to take them to Grindelwald or even know where the wizard was.

Moreover, they knew the risks too. Tom's German was quite good by now, it seemed that languages came naturally to him, nevertheless, a Nazi soldier might just shoot them the moment they opened their mouths and let out British accents.

"Never the Germans," stated Harry stonily. "Never Grindelwald either."

Suddenly, his scar flared with pain, and he bit back a moan as he stared at his brother. He knew what Tom must be feeling and thinking, but Harry refused to get sucked into any quarrels. They couldn't afford it.

"We walk," repeated Harry stiffly, as he turned around to enter the church.

"Oh yes," hissed out Tom from behind, his tone viciously mocking and piercing, sounding like a rattle-snake about to strike, "because that will help us out of this impossible situation we're stuck in - because of you. We can't do magic, can't travel by any means, yet your solution is to just walk? And what – hope we grow wings and reach Oslo in mere days?"

"I don't know what else to do, alright!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs, as he spun around to face him, angered and feeling nothing but sheer misery. "I haven't the foggiest idea. But we're wasting time standing here, arguing! We must get moving. Something will pop up – that's all we can hope for!"

It became a tense affair after that.

They didn't speak to each other, the silence between them strained and weighting heavily, as Harry packed into his satchel the scarce things left that they weren't already wearing, from what he had gathered during his rounds of corpse-ransacking.

With Ulysses tucked under Harry's layers of clothes and the Invisibility Cloak covering them, they took the road of Namsos, and they walked, and walked, for what felt like an unbearable, monotonous eternity.

Hours passed, in complete silence, during which they glimpsed nothing but forests of leafless trees at either sides of the long, winding road, with no bushes bearing berries nor trees giving fruits, only scraggly weeds and trees, and barren land.

There were no sounds, no indication of any life, either, the area certainly having been completely abandoned and deserted.

When the road branched into two, Harry took out the clip-on compass for a broom he no longer had, and followed the direction of the needle, marking south, making them take the road on the left which seemed to lead there.

Their feet began to drag, their breathing became haggard pants, their faces rigid with cold and their muscles petrified, as the chilly, humid winds began to soak their clothes, as their teeth clattered, no matter how many layers of jerseys, coats, socks and gloves they were wearing, since they all became wet as they trudged through snow, their overlarge shoes drenched.

The hunger was painful and stabbing, unmercifully twisting their grumbling stomachs, and it was then when Harry spoke the few times that he did, when Tom complained.

"Not until nightfall," he said firmly. "We'll open the can of soup then. We'll make a fire too. Only at night, when smoke will not be seen from above the treetops. We'll make it small, only to warm us a bit, not enough to give off too much light."

"And after the can is gone?" bit out Tom acidly.

"Then I'll find something else for us to eat," snapped Harry tersely.

His brother didn't appreciate it, either, when he complained about thirst and Harry answered by grabbing a handful of snow, shoving it into Tom's mouth, as he stated short-temperedly, "That's our water."

Harry didn't allow them any rest, not a moment of pause. He was relentless, no matter their exhaustion. As long as there was a faint ray of sunlight, they would walk.

Tom didn't voice his complaints after that, but Harry certainly felt it, his scar flaring in pain now and then, making his head throb constantly, at times feeling as if it was about to split open.

Yet, Harry said nothing about it, because Tom had been right. They were in such a dire mess because of him, and he had no right to grouse or whine and ask his brother to control his fury at him and the difficult situation they found themselves in.

Tom kept up with the pace, yes, but Harry knew the real reason. Not to reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic before Tuesday noon, but to be there exactly at that time, to encounter Grindelwald in person, at long last.

It wasn't a mere suspicion about his brother's true motives and desires, it was a certainty. Tom had wanted to meet Grindelwald since their first journey in the Hogwarts Express, the very first time they had ever heard about the wizard, from Felicity and Felix Prewett.

Harry didn't know what Tom believed Grindelwald would do with them if they ever crossed paths. He didn't think his brother was deluded or blinded – Tom didn't worship, he used and took from people. He certainly wanted to do likewise with the Dark Lord.

Nevertheless, Harry never wanted to find out if Tom was sly enough to match wits with the Dark Lord, managing to be the manipulator instead of the manipulated. The reason for Grindelwald's interest in them –for the letter and books the wizard had sent, declaring himself their 'mentor' from afar- was still a mystery, still unexplained even if the Dark Lord somehow knew they were Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants.

For Harry, it had gone beyond deeply distrusting and disliking the Dark Lord. Now, he wanted Grindelwald dead.

However, he didn't speak about any of it, not until he had to break the silence between them, when the sun had already set and vanished and there was no daylight left – the moon and stars obscured by the clouds filling the dark sky.

"We should stop," breathed out Harry, a stitch at one side of his torso paining him, his stiff limbs feeling unbearably heavy, the hunger twisting his entrails piercing, constant and overwhelming, to such point that he could think of nothing but food, and rest, and sleep.

The new road they had taken hours before still hadn't led to anything but more of it, fading into the distance. They had come upon no villages, no trucks or motorcars circulating on the road either. It felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere, but Harry still hoped that they might cross paths with some other road, a wider one, perhaps one of the main ones in the country. One that could take them to Oslo.

However, it was certain that they needed some rest. They had been walking for a whole day, without any sustenance, with clothes now damp with frost, and with exhaustion that felt crippling.

Tom looked awful, with a face pale from tiredness, lips nearly blue from cold, always shivering, with dark shadows forming under his eyes, looking thoroughly unkempt, smelling of sweat and dirty, unwashed clothes. Harry didn't think he himself could look much better.

He glanced at the forest to his right, and pointed a finger at it. "We should make camp there."

Tom followed him in silence, as they entered the woods. Harry was quick to drop his satchel on the first small clearing he found, to then set little Ulysses on the snow-covered ground.

"Go see if you can find something to eat," he said hopefully to his Scorcrup. "Perhaps a small animal that you could hunt for us."

Ulysses instantly obeyed and disappeared between the trees, as Harry turned around to face his brother and sighed. "Help me get some wood for a fire."

It was easy to find a stone with a sharp edge, and Harry yielded it as if it were a knife as he inspected one of the trees nearby. He touched it, feeling the bark wet from snow and therefore useless. The other tree trunks would be the same, he knew.

"Hoist me up," he said to Tom, and quickly clarified when his brother arched an irritated eyebrow at him, "I'll have to hack off some of its branches. Wood has to be dry to make a fire."

Tom scowled at him. "Why should I be the one who-"

"Because you're freakishly tall for our age!" snapped Harry impatiently, huffing and irked due to the fact, which seemed so unfair to him. "So I need you-"

"I'm far beyond average, as I should," drawled Tom arrogantly, a smug smirk quirking his lips, "as I am in all things."

"-to help me up so that I can reach the dry branches," continued Harry peevishly, ignoring his brother's interruption.

In the end, Tom did help by steepling his fingers together and letting Harry use his joined hands as a foothold, then finally managing to climb to his brother's shoulders and stand on them.

"Be quick!" Tom groused as he held Harry in place and helped him retain balance by grabbing his calves.

Harry scowled down at him as he kept hitting and cutting a small branch with the sharp-edged stone. "I don't weight much!"

"Yes, but you're not a feather either," gritted out Tom from teeth clenched in effort, glaring up at him from between Harry's legs. "Hurry up!"

Half an hour later, Harry climbed down with pockets filled with small twigs, while Tom glared and rubbed his abused shoulders.

Making a fire was no easy deal. Harry had the cigarette lighter he had found in the ruins of Namsos, but he had no coals or newspapers to use, and it was only after his fifth attempt when he succeeded in burning one of the twigs for long enough so that it could ignite the others, forming a small pyre with them.

By then, Ulysses had already returned, meowing despondently, letting him know there was no prey to be found in their surroundings.

"A rabbit would have been nice," mumbled Harry, nevertheless patting his familiar on the head for his efforts.

The fire was a rather pitiful one, but both he and Tom were quick to sit in front of it, so that its warmth would help dry their clothes a bit.

They draped the Invisibility Cloak over their shoulders, as they shivered and pressed close together, while Harry finally fished out the can of soup from his satchel.

In a few minutes, after he had placed it by the edge of the fire, it was heated, and with hands protected by layers of gloves and mittens, he clumsily took it back. With the sharp stone, he finally smashed the top open, and ravenously dipped it back so that its contents could trickle into his awaiting mouth.

The moment the fluids entered and went down his throat, Harry spat it right out, spluttering, hacking, and coughing.

"It's stale!" he chocked out, wheezing.

"Give me that!" snapped Tom, yanking the can from Harry's hands and testing its contents. He dipped a finger into the soup and then brought it to his lips, carefully licking his fingertip.

The can of soup was violently hurled into the distance, Tom looking furious as he rounded on Harry. "Perfect. Just perfect. We need to eat something in order to survive!"

Harry shot him a miserable look, before he perked up. "According to Old John, a person can live for three weeks without food, as long as they have water. Soldiers during the Great War-"

"They were sitting in trenches!" snarled Tom angrily. "They didn't have to walk for miles upon miles! We won't make it if we don't have food, you imbecile!"

"True," retorted Harry, doing his best to maintain his cheer, yet he began to nervously play with the buttons of his Norwegian Army coat, as he suggested tentatively, "We could – erm, well… Hutchins-"

"I'm not eating your excrement," hissed out Tom, looking livid, "or drinking your urine. Nor mine. I'm not a mindless beast!"

Harry sighed at that, he wasn't looking forward to feeding on pee and dung either. He musingly glanced at his surroundings, trying to remember all the little tidbits of information that Old John had shared.

"Oh, I know!"

He was up to his feet in a second, and vanished into the forest.

"I can make a vegetable soup of sorts," he said bracingly when he returned a long while later, grinning at his brother as he showed him the scarce bits of gangly weeds he had gathered, along with bits of tree bark he had chopped off.

Tom answered him with a glare, as he spat, "That won't be enough. Our bodies are already burning everything just to keep warm!"

Harry could say nothing to that, but worked undaunted, as he went to look for the can that Tom had tossed away. He emptied it and cleaned it with snow, and then stuck the weeds and pieces of bark inside, along with some more snow, and placed it by the edge of the fire.

It took nearly an hour, for the snow to melt into water, to heat itself and boil the bark and weeds and make them tender.

Harry finally offered the can to Tom, who was quick to grab it, drink a bit from it, and declare with an ill-tempered expression on his face, "Disgusting."

After tasting it for himself, Harry had to admit that it was quite awful. Boiled or not, the bits of bark were hard to swallow and the weeds tasted flat or had a pungent, bitter flavor.

He even felt hungrier than before when they had drank the whole improvised 'soup', and his brother seemed to be right. All the energy they had already expended in walking and in keeping warm amidst such cold surroundings wouldn't be restored with just some bits of weeds, and they still had a very long way to go.

"Something will turn up," mumbled Harry when Tom kept glaring at him.

They went silent after that, Harry using one of the spare twigs to poke at the fire, staring at it morosely, while Ulysses snuggled on his lap, with furred tail coiled around to keep warm. His familiar looked more like a porcupine than a Scorcrup now, with his fur frozen with frost and snow, standing up in all directions.

He was yanked out of his depressing musings when he felt Tom shifting at his side. He glanced at him, and instantly snapped anxiously, "Will you stop fiddling with that!"

Tom glowered at him, as he kept turning Tilly Toke's pendant this way and that, inspecting it, as he sneered hatefully, "Why should I?"

"Because I don't want to end up in Grindelwald's clutches!" yelled Harry angrily. "We still don't know what he wants from us, and I don't trust him one bit." He wildly gestured at their surroundings. "He's the one who's caused all this – this stupid war that's getting so many people killed." He glowered and roared furiously, "That almost got HUTCHINS KILLED!"

Tom shot him a contemptuous look as he sneered, "He only gave the filthy muggles an excuse to kill each other – and good riddance, I say."

"He's been doing much more than that," bit out Harry, glaring at him, "and you know it."

"So what?" said Tom crisply, narrowing his eyes.

Harry jerkily carded a hand through his hair in exasperation. They had both seen all those corpses in Namsos, and that had only been one small town in Norway. He could easily imagine all the other times something like that had already happened, in all the other countries the Dark Lord had already conquered.

"It's a waste," said Harry angrily. "A complete waste of lives."

"Oh, is that what War is now?" drawled Tom mockingly. "It has not lived up to your expectations? It is no longer thought by you to be so filled with noble and glorious adventures-"

"I don't think that anymore," muttered Harry, as he crabbily jabbed the fire with the twig once more. "Haven't, for a long time." He abruptly snapped his head around to glare at his brother. "It _is_ a waste, and all for what? Just to-"

"To make a better world," spat Tom impatiently, "for wizarding kind. The Dark Lord has the power to make it happen, so he is – with war, the fastest and most efficient way-"

Harry instantly regretted having spoken at all. He had already heard all the arguments before, and they still disagreed on every point.

"-because Magic is might, little brother. It is power, it is control over nature and all others, it is superiority," Tom continued harshly, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. "Hence, why should wizarding kind be the ones hiding and cowering from Muggles? It should be the other way around!"

Carding a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and kept silent. It was pointless to argue. His convictions had only solidified with the things they had seen and experienced, and someday he would let Tom know that, and he would make him understand. But not now, not when he needed his brother's help to get out of the fix they were in.

"Oh, you remain silent," said Tom scathingly, piercing him with his eyes. "Could it be that you're finally seeing sense?"

"Sure," grumbled Harry, shrugging a shoulder dismissively.

"Then take it," said Tom sharply, his tone challenging as he eyed him closely and held up a hand, Tilly Toke's necklace dangling from it.

"No," Harry bit out waspishly, shooting the pendant a dirty look. "You keep tinkering with it, if you want. But if you suddenly vanish, don't expect me to go rescue you."

"I would not need to be saved," sneered Tom contemptuously, closing his hand around the pendant as he lifted his chin up in sheer arrogance, "and much less by the likes of you. Keep your pathetic heroics to yourself." His eyes glinted as he added viciously, "And in case you hadn't noticed, when you try to help someone, you get others killed."

Harry stiffened instantly, feeling as if he had been dealt a cruel, harsh blow. He squared his shoulders in the next second, as he bit out curtly, "Fine. I won't."

He knew what was coming, had been dreading it for hours, and indeed, Tom –as always- knew what to jab and twist to make him hurt.

"I hope you're satisfied, little brother," drawled Tom venomously, before he let out an harsh chuckle. "Oh, yes, you should be applauded – getting a pureblooded wizard killed in exchange for saving the life of a worthless muggle-"

"I didn't get Professor Toke killed," gritted out Harry through clenched jaw. "I didn't mean – it was an accident!"

Tom nastily smirked at him, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Yes, but the circumstances in which he was killed were of your own doing, weren't they? Toke wouldn't have stepped on that landmine if he hadn't come here to Norway, at your insistence."

Glaring at him, Harry felt that oppressive sensation again, something mercilessly constricting his chest, but he refused to give his brother the satisfaction – to let him see how his words hurt him like stabbing daggers, pointing out his grave, unforgivable mistakes.

"You're..." Tom trailed off, intently staring at him, to then make a sound of disgust from the back of his throat. He shook his head, as he sneered acidly, "You idiot! You're feeling guilt again – you never learn, do you?"

"Learn?" Harry stared at him, taken aback. "What are you-"

"I could tell you," hissed out Tom, looking vastly irritated, "that it wasn't your fault." He dangled the pendant in front of Harry's face. "That Toke came here due to ulterior motives, because he was the Dark Lord's spy, without a doubt-"

"Couldn't have been willingly," whispered Harry miserably, glancing up at his brother with wide, pleading eyes. "Grindelwald must have been forcing him, or blackmailing him, or even threatening him with death, right? Because Toke was good-"

"What does it matter!" snapped Tom with impatient annoyance. "He was still betraying your trust, was he not?" He shot him an ugly sneer. "Making you like him, befriend him, all the while giving information about you to the Dark Lord – that must have been part of his orders, at the very least." He skewered him with a hard look, as he spat, "Toke betrayed you."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, and glanced down at his hands, frowning. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Toke during the whole day when they had been walking, but now he still didn't know what to think of the wizard, didn't know what to feel either.

"My point is, little brother," continued Tom, his voice low and cutting, "that saving the idiot of Hutchins cost Tilly Toke's life. And you should not-"

Harry's shoulders hunched automatically, and he wretchedly stared at his brother. Tom, for some reason, went silent, looking furious with his reaction.

"Tell me," abruptly demanded Tom in a harsh voice, "if it had been a simple matter of choosing between Tilly Toke's life or Robert Hutchins', which would you have chosen?"

"What?" croaked out Harry, blinking at him uncomprehendingly before he bristled, and yelled dejectedly, "I didn't want Toke to die! How many times do I have to say it? I didn't mean for any of it to happen-"

"I know," snapped Tom ill-temperedly, "just answer the question!" His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he added in a soft, cruel tone, "It wouldn't be the first time you had to make such decision, unwittingly or not. I made you choose between Julian Erlichmann's life or that of the Czechs. Remember? And you chose Erlichmann."

"That was different!" cried out Harry, agitated. "I thought Dumbledore would prevent it, that he would help the Czechs-"

"You chose to make me keep quiet about Julian Erlichmann's role as Dumbledore's spy, in fact saving his life in doing so - a wizard you have never met, a complete stranger to you," continued Tom, now looking vastly irritated, his jaw clenching, as his eyes narrowed. "Someone for whom you harbor a weird obsession and fascination for, always reading the Daily Prophet in hopes of finding any mention of him, always-"

"Obsession?" choked out Harry, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hadn't thought his brother had noticed, he hadn't known Tom had been observing him so closely.

Tom shot him a sneer, before he said scathingly, "You felt guilt, when you discovered that Dumbledore had done nothing to save Czechoslovakia, yet you told me later that you would have chosen Erlichmann's life all over again." He gestured impatiently, as he bit out sharply, "This is the same scenario I'm posing before you. So I want you to answer truthfully. Just think of it as a mere hypothetical exercise to satisfy my curiosity."

"Fine!" snapped Harry angrily and frenziedly. "If it had been just a matter of choosing, I would have chosen Robert Hutchins." He glowered at him. "Of course I would have. Ten times over!" He deflated abruptly, staring unseeingly at his hands, as he whispered, "I liked Tilly Toke, but Hutchins…" He winced, feeling pained and awful. "Robert Hutchins is Robert Hutchins. He means the world to me."

"Exactly, you imbecile!" snarled Tom, darkly glaring at him. "So why are you feeling guilt for Toke's death? You should never feel guilt, whether it's for something you did on purpose or a consequence of your actions and decisions. Guilt and regret is for the weak-minded!"

Harry snapped his head up to stare at him incredulously. "You are using what happened to… what- give me a life lesson?"

"Precisely," said Tom, smirking with self-satisfaction, before he quirked an eyebrow at him. "Has it sunk through your thick skull?"

Harry could say nothing but kept staring at him, frowning slowly.

Giving him a very impatient look, Tom gritted out, "You deal with the consequences of your actions, you learn, but you never allow your mind to be clouded by crippling and useless emotions like regret, little brother. Are you able to finally understand that?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, eyeing him weirdly. "I think I do."

Tom widely smirked at him. "Good."

And Harry really did, but about much more than Tom could ever suspect.

His brother was right, because it was true that feeling guilty for Tilly Toke's death was useless, it wouldn't bring the wizard back from the dead. It was also true the self-awareness he had suddenly comprehended: that he could be ruthlessly selfish, with no right to do so, choosing the life of someone over that of others. Wasn't he like Tom, in that? Yet not quite, because he had chosen Julian Erlichmann and Robert Hutchins due to emotions, and Tom never acted out of those kinds of feelings and desires.

Nevertheless, he could put his wishes and interests before those of others, with horrible consequences, yet feeling relieved if the outcome went his way, no matter the cost, as had already happened. Because if Hutchins was safely sailing back to England, it had all been worth it.

Was that what Santi had meant, about his 'Odyssey' and the discoveries he would make? About what he was capable of doing and choosing? About…

Frowning, Harry touched the Invisibility Cloak draped over their backs. The corner of the piece of cloth, precisely the one that bore the symbol, was dangling from his shoulder. Grindelwald's crest, allegedly, in a Potter heirloom.

He glanced at the pendant, still in his brother's hands, now that Tom had gone back to inspect it for the umpteenth time. Grindelwald's crest on a piece of jewelry that had hung from Tilly Toke's neck.

Oh, yes, he now knew at last, what some of those things the Founders' judgments had blabbered about during his Sorting meant. He had never forgotten, just hadn't understood. Now he did.

'You are the tool of titans, boy, and you'll need to become one yourself if you wish to survive!' Salazar Slytherin's judgment had said.

Harry didn't know about the last bit, but the first part was clear given recent events. One titan: Gellert Grindelwald. The other, who else but Albus Dumbledore, a wizard believed to be a match of the Dark Lord's in magical prowess and powers, one who was always observing him and Tom closely, always seeking to speak to him in private.

And he in the middle, their tool? For what, exactly?

Regardless, Harry didn't think so. As if he would ever let them use him for whichever obscure purposes. But he would have to find out, wouldn't he? There were too many strange occurrences. What was Grindelwald's crest doing in Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak, for starters? Was it really that they were related to each other?

And then, would he be thinking about such things and reaching such conclusions if Santi hadn't told him beforehand that he would be making discoveries? What was the relation of cause and effect in this instance? Had Santi told him on purpose, knowing what decisions it would lead to? Was this another task given to him by Santi - to unravel it all?

Yet, if Santi could travel through Time as he pleased, as now Harry was sure of, why keep giving him tasks when Santi knew everything that was going to happen? What difference could Harry make in a future that was already fixed? Unless that wasn't Santi's purpose. Or… was Santi another titan, then? And Harry his tool too?

Harry sighed, pushing such convoluted thoughts to a side, and rose to his feet, glancing at his brother. "You should go to sleep. I'll take the first shift."

"Shift?" Tom peeled his gaze away from the pendant in his hands and stared at him.

"Because of The Sleep of Death," clarified Harry. At his brother's frown, he mumbled tiredly, "What happened to soldiers in the Russian front during the Great War, brother. Old John said many went to sleep and never woke again, because of the cold. We can't risk it. So we'll sleep no more than two hours at a time each. I'll take the first shift, while you sleep, and we'll take turns."

He didn't wait for his brother's consent and took the Army-issue gun he had found in the ruins of Namsos, tucking it under his belt as he left the clearing.

Ulysses was quick to follow him, and Harry frowned as he glanced down at him.

"You can't transform here either," he said in warning. "The same rules apply as in Hogwarts."

Indeed, if they came upon a muggle, the last thing he needed was for Ulysses to transform his tail into that of a scorpion's. Harry didn't want to imagine what a muggle's reaction would be to that.

Unchanged, Ulysses looked simply like a little kitten, albeit one with some strange features, like his folded ears and too protruding muzzle.

Ulysses let out a meow that sounded resigned, but nonetheless bobbed his head up and down in understanding, and Harry could only glance at him in amusement.

He sometimes thought that his familiar rather enjoyed spitting and hissing and making terrifying clanking sounds as he changed his soft, fluffy tail into the frightening one of a scorpion's. As much as the Scorcrup clearly enjoyed charming people and making them coo at him when he pulled adorable little stunts, like purring loudly, peering with green eyes too big for his face, licking cheeks, and playing with his tail for the observer's entertainment. When they were alone, Ulysses didn't go chasing after his own tail like an idiot, after all.

It was incredibly boring, pacing a wide circle around the edges of the clearing of the forest, keeping guard and being ever alert for the unlikely happenstance that someone might appear and stumble upon them.

It was unpleasant too, now that he was away from the fire, since Harry had to constantly rub his arms and legs so that they wouldn't go numb.

He merely entertained himself by counting the seconds, then minutes, and finally two hours, the only measure left for him since they sorely lacked a clock of any kind and casting a Tempus Charm was certainly out of the question.

* * *

"Wake up!" someone whispered sharply in his ear.

Harry started, as he groggily opened his eyes, only to see Tom's face looming above his.

His brother looked even worse than before, his usually neatly groomed hair completely disarrayed and dirty, the circles under his eyes now puffy and dark, his face too gaunt and pale.

Well, Harry wasn't feeling peachy either. Lack of food and proper sleep was certainly taking a toll on them.

"Is it my shift again-?" he began to yawn out, before Tom made a shushing motion with his hand, urging him to stand up.

Harry blinked, yet obeyed, realizing it was dawn already. The sky was pink and violet, with the sun's orange streaks illuminating it all quite beautifully.

Yet he couldn't enjoy it. For him, it simply meant that it was Monday morning already, and they were no closer to getting to Oslo before Tuesday noon than when they had set out.

It was when he finally stood on his own two feet and swayed, when he realized just how exhausted and weak he felt, his body shivering and trembling of its own accord, his head feeling heavy and his mind slow and foggy.

"Look," whispered Tom, as he briskly pulled Harry behind a tree.

He realized what his brother meant when he heard distant, chopping noises and peered over one side of the tree, curious and intrigued.

He then stared at the sight, his green eyes going wide. Far away, he glimpsed five men, two with axes in hands, with all the appearance of being lumberjacks or just muggles hacking off some chunks of wood from the nearby trees.

It was only when he kept inspecting them when he realized they were soldiers. At least from such distance he could discern that the men were wearing coats exactly like theirs.

"They are Norwegian soldiers," Harry breathed out, ecstatic, turning around to face his brother, his expression glowing with hope and joy. "Tom, they could help us!"

Tom frowned, before he curtly nodded. "Yes. Perhaps, but we should consider this carefully-"

"Consider what?" said Harry with exasperation, before his voice turned frantic. "Tom, without help there's no way we will ever reach Oslo. We have no supplies and I don't think that without those we could walk for much longer." He gestured excitedly in the direction of the soldiers. "They could have food, or even a truck! And they are on the good side-"

"Good side?" sneered Tom acidly. "Don't be an idiot, there's no such thing-"

"You know what I mean," snapped Harry impatiently. "We need help. We could at least try."

"Very well," said Tom flatly, not looking too thrilled at the prospect of asking muggles for aid.

Grinning, Harry dashed back to the clearing. The fire had extinguished itself long ago, by the looks of it, nothing left behind but mere ashes, so he simply packed everything else into his satchel.

Harry finally stretched the collar of his jersey and gently tucked Ulysses inside, tightly wrapping his Slytherin scarf around them to further protect his Scorcrup from the blistering cold, leaving the creature's small black ears to tickle Harry's chin, little Ulysses' green eyes and tiny nose poking from above the scarf.

When he was ready, he reached his brother and nodded at him. They both began trudging through the patches of snow and yellowish grass, weaving through the trees as they approached the men.

One of the muggles caught sight of them, who was quick to elbow the others and they were all soon staring at them, pausing with axes in hand.

Harry began to smile, to make himself look as harmless and friendly as possible, before he frowned.

"RUN!" bellowed Tom suddenly.

And Harry did so immediately, just as his brother did the same, because he had seen it too: the men's uniforms were utterly disheveled and torn, worn with a motley disarray of shabby civilian clothes. If they had once been soldiers, they clearly weren't any longer.

Haggardly panting for breath, as he heard the men chasing after them, roaring and yelling, he soon lost sight of his brother. They had dashed into different directions, darting through the trees and snow, in their mad escape from the unknown.

A stitch in his side was soon paining him, as he nearly collapsed against a tree, with Ulysses frantically hissing under his chin, and Harry slumped over, grabbing his knees with his hands, wheezing and coughing.

He staggered and stumbled when he tried to break into a run again, and suddenly halted at the voices he heard, calling out.

One was Norwegian –or at least it certainly wasn't German, it spoke in the strangest, most unintelligible language he had ever heard, not letting him understand a single word- the other voice was Tom's.

"Harry, come out from wherever you are!"

Extremely wary, Harry pressed against the tree and quickly poked his head over one side. He took a glimpse of the situation and instantly hid back, unseen.

Sighing, and anxiously carding his fingers through his hair, he knew he had few options left.

The men had captured Tom. They were standing there, several feet away from him, with Tom at the front, one of the men aiming the gun at Tom's head, the others with their axes held up threateningly, as they glanced at their surroundings, looking for Harry.

One of them yelled again a string of incomprehensible words, but Harry caught the gist of it. Either he revealed himself or they would harm Tom. And Harry gritted his teeth, because they had the gun, because his brother had been the last on guard duty during the night and the men had obviously taken the gun from Tom's belt. His brother hadn't been quick enough.

But it couldn't be that bad, could it? The muggles were deserters from the Norwegian Army, indubitably, but still Norwegians –allies of England and France, for as long as that had lasted.

He and Tom just needed to find a way to communicate with them, and explain, and everything would be all right.

Harry comfortingly patted little Ulysses on the head, before he stepped away from his tree, raising his hands in the air, in case the Norwegians thought he could have a gun too, and began to walk towards them.

As he reached them, catching sight of their expressions, he knew it had been a grave mistake.


	47. Part I: Chapter 46

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Sorry for the wait! I thought I would have time to write this chapter during the weekend. But at least it's finally here, and it's a long one. Enjoy! ;)

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 46**

* * *

The gleam in the men's eyes was very ominous, of greed, satisfaction, excitement, and malevolence.

Harry was quick to appraise them and know who was the leader. The one pointing the gun at Tom, the one who had called out with a deep, coarse voice.

They all looked half-starved, hair entangled, disgustingly dirty and oily, bodies reeking with accumulated sweat and other unwashed odors, obviously not having used soap in ages, with faces grimy, rough and weathered, along with frizzy, unkempt beards, sunken cheeks and dull eyes that only gleamed when they glanced at him or Tom – as if they were an unexpected booty the men had come upon.

Even the leader, heavy-set, gigantic man that he was, with legs as thick as tree trunks and neck corded with muscles, had a gaunt air about him, of desperation and hunger. He looked all the more brutish given his wide, flat nose, which seemed as if it had been broken several times throughout his life. A scar crossing a thick, bushy eyebrow, and thin lips that curled at the sight of Harry, revealing a mouth with black teeth, missing a couple, lent him even a more menacing appearance.

He was the bully – he had that nasty glint in his eyes, like Dennis Bishop and Mr. Jenkins and all the other people Harry had known, who were violent and mean by nature.

The other three, looking to be in their mid thirties, were his lackeys, because bullies always had gangs, miserable cowards that they truly were, as Harry knew well.

The fifth, though, was much younger. More a boy than a man, who couldn't be much older than eighteen or nineteen, pimple-faced, with scarce, fuzzy hairs on his jawline and no real beard, looking nothing more than a wimp. Eyes too small and close together, front teeth too large, making him look like a scaredy rabbit, impression accentuated by the way he seemed to be constantly glancing at his companions, with both wariness and giddy expectation.

Still with hands in the air, Harry halted before them.

It had been a mistake, to come out from his hiding place –he could have thought of some way of getting Tom back– but it was a moot point now. He would have to simply think of a way of getting the men's trust and aid.

"We're English," said Harry quietly, darting a nervous glance at the men, "we're lost, we need-"

"Stillhet!" roared the Leader, as the gigantic man advanced on him and suddenly wielded the axe in his hands.

Before Harry could even see it coming, he was struck on the chest with the butt of the axe's handle.

For a moment, as he fell on his hands and knees on the snow, he chocked, without being able to breathe, feeling as if his chest had caved in inwards, his lungs shrunken, and he gasped for air, frantically and painfully.

"Get up, you imbecile," he heard Tom's voice whispering sharply somewhere above him. "And do whatever they want."

Harry was wheezing, coughing and hacking, as he spluttered for breath, as his lungs suddenly expanded and filled, and he could finally catch a bout of air, though the pain in his chest was still sharp and throbbing. He felt as if something had cracked.

Someone suddenly grabbed him by the hair, and he found himself scrambling on the tiptoes of his feet as he was pulled up, crying out in pain, "Stop! We mean no harm-"

"Stillhet, sa jeg!" snarled the man that was violently lifting him up by the roots of his hair, and Harry winced in pain as he caught a glimpse of him; it was the Leader again, with a terribly angered expression on his broad face.

"Shut up," hissed out Tom's voice quietly. "Don't speak again, you idiot."

Flinching and with tears of pain in his eyes, Harry glanced at him, just as the Leader released his hair and shoved him towards his brother. He stumbled and nearly fell again, but Tom grabbed him by an arm just in time.

Wheezing, Harry staggered until he found his balance with Tom's aid, and then saw that they were standing amidst the men, who seemed to be loudly arguing and bickering amongst themselves, as they shot him and Tom calculating glances.

Nevertheless, he didn't say another word, tense and wary, and merely gave his brother a look of desperation as he rubbed his aching chest. If they couldn't speak, how were they supposed to explain things to the Norwegians?

Abruptly, the men fell silent, just as the Leader shoved him and Tom forward, with axe in one meaty hand and gun in the other, aiming at their backs, as he snarled, "Flytte!"

Foreign language or not, the command was clear, and utterly exhausted and grim, Harry and Tom staggered forward as they began to walk, with the men at their backs.

The young one, the Scaredy Rabbit, who acted like some kind of servant boy, was left behind, apparently to pick the chunks of wood they had been chopping, because he reached them some minutes afterwards, with a heavy-looking bag dangling from one shoulder, filled with pieces of wood.

The trek felt eternal, as Harry and Tom walked in silence, hearing the men talking amongst themselves at their backs, sounding joyous and excited.

The Leader menacingly prodded them from time to time with the gun, grunting something or other, particularly when Harry, utterly fatigued, stumbled on a patch of snow and nearly fell flat on his face.

Whatever the men were up to, they seemed to be in a hurry as they herded them forwards through the forest.

"They're deserters," whispered Tom from the corner of his mouth, staring ahead without looking at him.

Harry merely nodded a fraction, because he had already realized that. And apparently, the fact filled his brother with misgivings, because Tom's expression seemed grave and bleak.

It was after what felt like ages of dragging their feet, when they reached something in the middle of the forest, and Harry stared.

It was a small cabin, with a strip of farmland at one side, where nothing was growing, and a fenced pen at the other –for cattle, it seemed, though whatever livestock could have been there, was long gone. Apparently the deserters had been feeding on the last animal, because there was a mound of snow at one side, with some bone sticking out and dotted with splashes of blood of the cow or sheep they had butchered and then buried.

One of the lackeys opened the battered, wooden door of the lodge, and the Leader harshly shoved Harry and Tom through the threshold.

The cottage was small and dingy, musty smelling, though it looked as if it had once been a cozy and well-lived in place. It had only one room, with a small fireplace before two sofas, a small table with two chairs, a kitchenette in the back with stove, shelves and pans, and a bed at one side with a messy heap of blankets and thick covers.

The bed had to be the Leader's sleeping place, since there were four improvised cots spread on the floor, for the others.

Nevertheless, as Tom and Harry were pushed to one side of the cottage, apparently to remain there, standing in silence, it was the small details that Harry glimpsed which helped him understand what was going on.

The grimy window had pretty curtains, unwashed and dirty, but with patterns of flowers, the rug before the fireplace was worn but homey and thick, there was a vase on the small table with blossoms now withered and rotten, but which had once adorned the place, along with hunting traps, cages, and equipment stacked near the stove, and everything –sofas, chairs, and the cutlery he could see- came in two.

Evidently, the cottage had once been that of a couple's, and his suspicion was confirmed when he finally caught sight of a framed, black and white picture on the fireplace's mantlepiece: a tall, handsome man standing with one arm thrown over the shoulders of a young woman with a pretty round face, beaming with a beautiful smile on her face, wearing a rather shabby sundress.

Harry gave Tom an anxious look, because it was clear that the deserters had occupied the cottage and there was no sight of the couple that had once inhabited it. Had the man and woman abandoned their home due to the war, then? He dearly hoped so. The alternative wouldn't be good at all.

He was startled when his satchel was abruptly yanked from him.

The Leader was looming before him, gun aimed straight at him and Tom, as he barked something completely unintelligible.

Harry gave him a look of utter incomprehension, and Tom must have done the same because the gigantic man scowled fiercely before he took Tom by the lapels of his coat, shook him violently, and then harshly pulled the coat down from one of Tom's shoulders.

Swallowing thickly as the gun was aimed at him again, Harry got the gist of it and began to undress slowly, casting his brother a nervous look.

Tom complied in silence too, until they were wearing nothing more than their trousers, their shirts, and only one pair of socks, making them shiver with cold.

Apparently, though, that was enough for the Leader, since the man's lackeys were now hoarding all the other clothes Harry and Tom had been wearing, going through them and sorting them, picking whichever they liked the most, from all the jerseys, scarves, mittens, gloves, socks, the two Norwegian Army coats and the two pairs of overlarge shoes.

Nevertheless, Harry nearly yelled when the Scaredy Rabbit grabbed Ulysses.

The Scorcrup had been revealed when Harry had taken off his pullovers and Slytherin scarf, and had been dangling from his shirt, clawing to stay in place. But now, as the youngest of them had Ulysses in his hands, staring at him, chuckling and poking, the other men took an interest.

The Scaredy Rabbit might have been patting Ulysses with some measure of fondness for cute little animals, but the other men didn't look at all charmed or entertained by the Scorcrup's soft meows.

One of the lackeys took hold of Ulysses by the fur of the neck, briskly saying something to silence the Scaredy Rabbit when the boy apparently complained, and was soon harshly shoving Ulysses into one of the cages near the stove. A cage for rabbits, it seemed, and Harry watched, crestfallen, with foreboding twisting his entrails.

Tom abruptly grabbed him by the arm, saying nothing, but the grip was tense and painful, when Harry nearly opened his mouth and took a step forward to prevent Ulysses' capture. But his brother was right.

He shouldn't say anything. It didn't seem as if the men liked when he or Tom spoke, and he should be feeling relief that Ulysses had done nothing so far except meowing.

Indeed, apparently his Scorcrup thankfully remembered Harry's instructions. It wouldn't go well if Ulysses transformed before the muggles, not when they were armed and Harry and Tom weren't. The shock of seeing a 'kitten' with a scorpion's tail could be too much for trigger-happy muggles.

After Ulysses had been caged, the Leader loomed before them again, grunting something. They both froze, when the gigantic man instantly clarified his command by gesturing with his hands for them to turn out the pockets of their trousers.

Harry went completely pale, and glanced at his brother, just as Tom looked at him at the same time.

His brother looked extremely tense, and Harry wasn't feeling much better either, utterly anguished and fearful. He could see by Tom's expression that his brother was doing some hard and fast thinking, and he hoped his brother reached the same conclusion as him.

No matter what, they couldn't do magic. They had come too far to lose everything now.

He saw Tom hesitate for a brief second, but when the Leader made a move to forcibly inspect their pockets for himself, Tom was quick to show the only things they had left, and Harry followed his brother's lead, possibilities warring inside his head, not knowing if he should feel relieved or not by his brother's decision of going along and doing what was safest for the time being, even if Harry himself had also thought it was the wisest thing to do.

The Leader stared at their hands, as they presented their wands, and Harry didn't think he had ever felt so stressed and wary, on tenterhooks, awaiting the muggle's reaction.

"They are wood pieces," Harry then mumbled quietly, hopefully, as he stared up at the man, "twigs."

"Stillhet!" snarled the hefty man, as he violently grabbed the wands from their hands.

Harry's heart was thundering frenziedly in his chest as the Leader turned their wands this way and that, inspecting them, frowning, while he felt Tom stiffening and tensing further with each passing second, because their wands didn't look like mere common twigs, they were smooth and polished, and the muggle could-

Their wands were tossed. That was what the muggle did abruptly, with a sudden expression of complete dissatisfaction and disinterest. The man merely tossed their wands towards the fireplace, apparently with perfect aim, since they landed on the stack of wood blocks that the Scaredy Rabbit was forming at one side of the hearth, as he unloaded his bag.

Yet it didn't make Harry feel any less uneasy, because if the Scaredy Rabbit made one move to use their wands as fire-building material, he knew Tom would react. Bloody hell, Harry would too.

After that, thankfully, the Leader apparently lost all interest in Harry and Tom, leaving them standing at one corner, shivering and with teeth clattering, as the men went through all their things, like conquerors dividing the spoils.

It was very painful and nerve-wrecking to watch, though. Not when the men allotted the clothes between themselves, but when they spilled the contents of Harry's satchel on the table, because the Invisibility Cloak was there.

His heart pumped frantically in his chest, as he saw the mantle of silvery magic fluidly and slowly falling to the floor, and his heart lodged in his throat because most of it had fallen under the table, but there was a bit sticking out, unshielded by any furniture.

The muggles couldn't see it of course, but they were walking around the table as they sorted through the contents of Harry's satchel, and if one of them stepped on the Invisibility Cloak, perhaps they would feel there was something under their boots, perhaps they would crouch on the floor and search with their hands, and they would touch the Cloak and feel it and realize that it could not be seen, but that it was a piece of cloth that made their hands invisible when covered by it.

Indeed, Harry's pulse was beating off the roof, as he watched, petrified, as the Leader was quick to claim for himself the cigarette lighter and the clip-on compass, grunting and barking something when one of the lackeys apparently attempted to contest the man's acquisitions.

If he dreaded the possibility of the muggles seeing Ulysses transform or of trying to use their wands to feed a fire, he outright feared what their reaction would be to the discovery of something like the Invisibility Cloak.

Not often had he pondered how muggles would react to the Wizarding World and its gadgets, but it was then when he finally understood that it would be devastating, and extremely dangerous, for wizards. Especially for wizards captured by muggles.

"Hva er dette?"

Harry glanced up, seeing one of the lackeys towering before him, shaking the flask of Blood Replenishing Potion in front of his face, looking puzzled.

"Er... it's soup," said Harry quietly, hoping he had gotten the gist of the man's question.

The Norwegian stared at him, clearly not having understood a word, before he scowled and unstopped the flask. Harry wasn't too worried about it, even if no one with half a brain would believe that soup would be held in a glass phial, of all things.

Predictably, the muggle took a tentative sip from the flask, only to spit right out what he had swallowed.

Harry nearly shot him a nasty, vindictive smirk –the Blood Replenishing Potion tasted like rotten eggs, after all- but was quick to swipe off his expression when the muggle glowered at him and hurled the flask to one corner of the room.

None of the muggles seemed to take notice that no crashing sound followed and that the flask didn't break, the men had all gone back to chatter with satisfaction amongst themselves for the things they had stolen.

The Leader seemed to be the one most content, inspecting the clip-on compass with a greedy glint in his eyes. It was framed in gold, after all, and looked expensive, one of the things from the Broom Serving Kit that Alphard Black had given Harry for his thirteenth birthday. And thankfully, though rich-looking, the compass didn't have any weird symbols or depictions of stars, constellations, and phases of moons like other compasses of the Wizarding World.

The gigantic man's attention was then focused on the gun they had stolen from Tom. Apparently, the deserters had had no weapons, but only cases of ammunition, which the Leader was now using to reload the gun with bullets, looking very smug as he shot his companions harsh, nasty glances.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't quite know what to expect or do, and merely stood there beside Tom in one corner of the cottage, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to stave off the cold, as his gaze anxiously darted from the Invisibility Cloak on the floor, to their wands in the stack of wood, to Ulysses who was sitting in his cage, observing the muggles, looking alert. So many things could go wrong.

He felt as if he was standing on a thin sheet of ice, with no idea of when it would give way or if it would break at all.

The muggles were paying no attention to them, and Harry took the chance to cast a glance at Tom, as he whispered very quietly, "We should-"

"Do nothing," whispered Tom, shooting him a hard look. "We wait."

"For what?" said Harry from the corner of his mouth, frowning, feeling very jittery and nervous.

"Wait," hissed out Tom sharply, before he went back to stare at the muggles, with a plotting and calculating gleam in his eyes.

Or at least, Harry hoped his brother was thinking of some way of escaping or of winning the muggles to their side, so they could have their help.

They both tensed when the youngest of the men, the Scaredy Rabbit, began to make a fire. Their eyes followed the boy's every move, as he took pieces of wood, as he used the cigarette lighter and old pages of newspapers, as a fire kindled, and thankfully the boy hadn't yet touched their wands.

Soon, there was a pot hanging above the fire, as the boy tossed into it large pieces of meat from a metal container. It seemed as if the deserters had been reduced to using the fireplace, the stove having ran out of propane gas at some point, because the Scaredy Rabbit was quick to cook some kind of mutton broil in the pot, the smell wafting from it spreading throughout the cottage.

It smelled mouth-watering and delicious to Harry, feeling so hungry and starved that he had half a mind to plead to the muggles for a bit.

He didn't have much of a chance, however, because the Scaredy Rabbit was soon handing out bowls of the broil to the others, and the men instantly sat down for their lunch: the boy seating on the floor, two lackeys on the sofas, and the Leader and another lackey at the small table, on the only two chairs in the lodge.

The five muggle men, looking like half-starved, desperate, mindless beast, attacked their food ravenously, while Harry stared morosely, his stomach twisting and complaining painfully.

Suddenly, it all seemed to happen at the same time.

The heap of blankets and covers on the only proper bed in the room shifted, a muffled moan of agony seemed to come from it, a thin, bruised leg revealed itself as the heap moved slightly, and Tom stared, his gaze flying from the heap, to the pot in the fireplace, and to the men, as he muttered under his breath, "It was no sheep."

And with those words and the abrupt flash of realization they provoked, Harry lost all color from his face, his mouth hanging agape, horrified, as his own gaze went from the heap of blankets, a female half-face suddenly revealed from under it as another excruciated moan echoed in the room, to the framed picture on the mantelpiece of the happy man and woman, as he remembered the mound of snow he had seen outside the cottage, the bone, the blood, and the men's axes.

And the muggle men were devouring the chunks of cooked meat like a pack of voracious, savage wolves, and Ulysses was stuck in a cage –for rabbits– and Harry and Tom had been left there, divested from everything and barely clothed, at one corner of the room –like trapped livestock.

"It was no sheep," breathed out Harry, his green eyes impossibly wide, horror-struck, "it was the husband." He shot a frantic glance at his brother, feeling faint with terrified agitation, anxiousness, impotence, and fear. "We have to get out of here now!"

"Be quiet!" snarled Tom under his breath, tensing when one of the lackeys shot them a frown as he kept stuffing bits of broiled meat into his mouth.

Tom briefly glowered at Harry, as he whispered sharply, "We play dumb, we play along, we win us some time and wait, until I can think of something-"

"Danse!" abruptly roared the Leader, spitting out some of his food as he pounded a meaty fist on the table, laughing loudly. "Danse!"

"Ja, danse! Danse!" echoed the lackey seated by the Leader's side, as he halted in his feeding to grasp a small, battered radio from a shelf, turning the knob, noise and voices crackling until the muggle was satisfied and a melodious song sprung from the contraption.

"…_heaven, I'm in heaven, a__nd my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek…"  
_

"Danse, danse!" was soon chorused by the other men who were clapping and pounding fists as they expectantly stared at Harry and Tom.

"What?" croaked Harry disbelievingly, staring back at them because at least that single Norwegian word was easily comprehended.

"We play along," reiterated Tom, his voice a mere low, harsh whisper, as he grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him to the middle of the room. "Let's entertain the muggle scum, little brother."

"… _heaven, I'm in Heaven, and the cares that hang around me through the week, seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak, when we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek..."  
_

Harry gaped at him, utterly incredulous.

"Fred Astaire, ja?" yelled one of the lackeys, chuckling as he clapped his hands, following the tune.

"Yes," said Tom smoothly as he turned to face the muggles, a warm, solicitous smile on his face. "Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Swing and Tap Dance. You like that, do you?"

"Swing, ja!" roared one of the lackeys, cackling and applauding. "Danse!"

"Then you're in luck, because we know how to dance the Swing very well," intoned Tom, beaming gorgeously at them, apparently to show the muggles how very well disposed he was, before he shot Harry a hard look. "Don't we, little brother? Alice taught us and you loved it, remember?"

"You've gone bonkers," croaked Harry faintly, as Tom briskly shoved him forwards.

"Dance, you fool!" hissed Tom, as he perfectly and fluidly executed the steps that Alice had so long ago taught them, an eternity ago, when she had been happy, when she had used the radio in the orphanage to listen to the latest hits, to teach the children how to have fun and dance, before she began to always tune the radio to news stations, to hear about the German threat like someone possessed, to cry wretchedly and in despair, before Hutchins had left to join the British Army, before sirens rang in London and people fled in the havoc and chaos, before the rise to power of the Nazis, before the German had began their program of conquering vital space for their Arian race, before Hitler had been helped along by Grindelwald to reach political power, before Grindelwald had publicly announced himself as the new Dark Lord of the age, before War had struck them all, and now they were dancing Swing, before the rabid eyes of five Norwegian muggle men, deserters of their army, who were finishing their plates of cooked human flesh as they watched Tom and Harry dancing, men who had gone mad in the war.

They had all gone mad.

"… _Oh, I love to climb a mountain, and to reach the highest peak, but it doesn't thrill me half as much, as dancing cheek to cheek…"_

"Cheek to cheek!" roared the lackey seated by the Leader's side, apparently the bully's right-hand man. "Som dette!"

As he danced mechanically, feeling as if he was floating in some frozen moment of utter horrid, grotesque and ludicrous lunacy, Harry didn't realize what the Norwegian had said or meant until the lackey rose to his feet and reached the bed.

The other men had also finished with their gruesome meal, and seemed to be watching their companion with avid anticipation.

Grabbing the heap of blankets, the lackey pulled them off, and Harry tripped and stumbled as he stared, aghast.

He didn't know what he had expected to be revealed: the woman in the picture, certainly, having already caught a glimpse of a thin leg and part of a face, having heard the moans of agony, but not her state. Half eaten alive, he had expected with mind-numbed horror, perhaps, but that she was not.

In fact, she seemed whole, though there was little that looked like the woman in the framed photo on the mantelpiece.

The real living woman was painfully thin, her face sunken, her cheek and shoulder bones protruding ghastly, making her look cadaveric, her hair a dirty mass of unwashed, frayed curls, her stick-like legs and arms filled with blue and yellow bruises and red gashes, a trail of dried blood running down her legs, revealed by the torn dress hanging loosely from her small frame, buttonless, displaying one of her breasts –not looking round and full like in the picture, but withered with scarce flesh, drooping, with bite and blunt fingernails marks.

And it was then, when Harry stared at her, speechless, when he realized that her, the former soldiers hadn't used to feed on. Oh no, as little as he knew about such matters, it was evident what the five men had been keeping her alive for.

He had heard about such things before, from Santi. Is that how poor Sherisse Slytherin had looked like when Morgon Gaunt had been done with her?

But this muggle woman, so completely brutalized, barely looking coherent or conscious, having gone through who-knew-what kind of unimaginable tortures, perhaps knowing what her husband had been used for by the men who had invaded her home, wasn't going to be given any rest.

The lackey had taken hold of her, harshly pulling the woman off the bed, taking her hands in his, as she let out a weak, frail moan, as the man tossed her around in some parody of joyful swing-dancing, her limbs flailing about limply with every move, like some sort of gruesome, lifeless doll, her head snapping from one side to the other, as the song continued cheerfully.

_"Oh! I love to go out fishing, in a river or a creek, but I don't enjoy it half as much, as dancing cheek to cheek…"_

"Cheek to cheek!" cried out the lackey again, as he demonstratively swept the half-dead woman around. "Som dette!"

The others sprung to their feet, laughing uproariously as if they were having the time of their lives, as the woman was tossed and passed from one to the other, as they forced her into the Swing dance moves.

It was the most perturbing and macabre spectacle Harry had ever seen, making his insides churn and twist sickly.

The only one who didn't participate was the youngest, the Scaredy Rabbit, who had remained seated on the floor before the fireplace, with empty bowl on his lap, with hunched shoulders and head hung low, as if the boy didn't want to observe, as if he was trying to escape from it all, too.

"Oh no, you don't," snapped Tom sharply, taking a hold of Harry's arm before Harry had even realized he had taken a step towards the men tossing the woman around. "You can't save her, you twit!"

Harry stared at him, just as one of the men yelled again with chuckles and laughter, singing along with Fred Astaire's melodious, upbeat tones.

"Listen to that," said Tom, smirking with what appeared to be dark amusement. "The filth do know their lyrics. Quite a demonstration they're giving us. Let's please them further, shall we?"

Before he could even gather back his wits, Harry's hands were grabbed, as Tom pressed their faces against each other's, precisely cheek-to-cheek.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" hissed out Harry sharply in his brother's ear, as Tom kept leading him around.

"_Oh! I love to go out fishing, in a river or a creek, but I don't enjoy it half as much, as dancing cheek to cheek…"_

"Giving them a jolly good show," drawled Tom calmly, as he spun Harry around, so unexpectedly that Harry nearly fell flat on his face.

"Stop it!" roared Harry as regained his balance just for his brother to swing him around again, to then press them close together. "Have you lost your marbles! You must know what they want us for - that was no mutton they ate! We have to-"

_"…dance with me, I want my arm about you, the charm about you, will carry me through to Heaven…"_

"Of course it wasn't," whispered Tom harshly into his ear. "And lower your voice, you idiot, or you'll draw their attention back to us." His voice turned vicious and nastily mocking, as he mimicked in a high-pitch, "Oh, let's ask the nice Norwegians soldiers for help, because they're on the 'good side'." Tom's faked expression of stupid joy vanished from his face, as he glowered, his eyes becoming furious, narrowed slits, as he spat in a virulent whisper, "You fool! I'm never going to pay heed to any of your 'brilliant' ideas again."

"…_I'm in Heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek…"_

"Cheek to cheek!"

"Yes, cheek to cheek!" Tom yelled back, his tone chirpy and cheerful, a gorgeous smile on his face as he abruptly swung Harry around once more. "My brother and I are dancing cheek to cheek, just like you are with the pretty lady!"

"Pretty? Ja! Pretty!" parroted one of the men, Harry didn't know who because he was busy trying to catch his brother's gaze, to stare at him, to impress upon him the dire gravity of their situation because Tom seemed to have taken leave of his senses.

"Stop fumbling around so stiffly," snarled Tom quietly, as he pressed the sides of their faces together. "Relax, and dance properly, or they'll know something's up."

Harry slightly pulled his face back to give him a desperate look, as he whispered frantically, "So something _is _up? Do you have a plan?"

"Of course I do, you imbecile," sneered Tom acidly, intently piercing him with his dark blue eyes. "Now, listen carefully. You have to-"

They seemed to have the worst of luck, because just then Fred Astaire's song ended, giving way to another one, someone foreign song Harry had never heard before, by the sound of it, some other romantic crap, slow paced and very sedate this time.

"En perfekt sang, dette!"

And suddenly the Leader was there, looming before them, violently tearing them apart. And everything seemed to spiral down and out of control so quickly, senselessly and horribly, that Harry for a moment didn't comprehend.

Two of the lackeys had stopped dancing, pushing the woman to the bed, hungrily and frenziedly roving their hands up her dress, all over her skeletal body, as she whimpered weakly, while the brawny Leader shot her a look of immense disgust, as if he had become utterly bored and disinterested in what was left of her, to then stare back at them, first at Harry, then Tom, and back, a dark gleam of appraisal in his eyes.

Abruptly, in the bat of an eyelash, the remaining lackey, the bully's right-hand man, nodded at the Leader as if he had been given a silent command, and took hold of Tom, pulling him away, shoving him to one corner of the room, as the brawny Leader began to advance on Harry.

Automatically, Harry stepped backwards as the gigantic man kept moving forward, as a nasty smile displaying rotten or missing teeth spread on the muggle's broad face, until Harry felt the back of his knees hitting something.

With wide, round eyes glancing around, Harry realized the bed was behind him, with the woman lying spread on it at one side, the two men looming on top of her, bickering in angered Norwegian, seemingly fighting each other for their first go at her, and she had stopped attempting to struggle feebly, now lying lifelessly and compliantly, staring up at the ceiling with dull, unseeing eyes.

As the Leader horribly grinned at him again, Harry's numbed, mind-boggled, shocked and stunned incomprehension finally gave way to realization, as the man began to unbuckle his belt. He had become the substitute of something too overused and battered to still interest the Leader.

And someone was yelling. Tom was yelling furiously at the top of his lungs, from his corner of the room, and it rang loudly in Harry's ears though he couldn't understand the words, which sounded meshed together in his mind, like noisy, senseless gibberish, but the enraged yells abruptly halted with the sound of flesh hitting flesh, because the remaining lackey seemed to want to satisfy his pent-up sadistic madness by beating Tom into silence and submission, into a pulp.

And the sound of punches and kicks continued, just as Tom cried out and roared once more, and this time, as if coming from a distant, foggy dream, Harry understood his brother's enraged shout.

"Don't you dare put a finger on him, you filthy muggle scum!"

Harry felt it too, his scar sizzling, throbbing, splitting apart in unbearable pain, the worst he had ever felt, heightened and meshed with his brother's crazed, murderous rage, so profound and hateful and seething as he had never experienced before, yet there was something horribly familiar.

This was a hundred-fold in intensity, but he had felt all those things long ago, when Dennis Bishop had been bullying him in orphanage's backward, and Tom had stood up and the boy had fallen to the ground, screaming in agony and writhing, because Tom had wanted to 'make him hurt', as his brother had put it when later explaining it to an astounded Harry.

However, this time, he was seeing it too, and for a split second Harry could only stare, as he saw something pulsing around his brother like a throbbing mantle of dotted specks and swirls and fog, of sheer magic wrapped around Tom's body, flowing out of him, expanding, making the skin of Harry's arm prickle, his small hairs standing up as if struck by static electricity.

Never had he seen his brother's core magic before, not even when they practiced dark curses from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks. He hadn't even known that his Magic-Sight ability, as Alphard called it, could allow him to see the magic of others.

Yet, the overwhelming sense of sheer awe instantly transformed into panic, because Tom didn't seem to realize what was happening, because his brother was attempting to physically lash back at the muggle attacking him with fists and kicks, to pick himself off the floor, but the intense hatred and rage darkening Tom's eyes meant that his brother's magic would soon be obeying his wishes, unwittingly or not.

And there was such mindless, murderous insanity in Tom's eyes that it could only end in utter devastating catastrophe for them.

"Our Traces!" bellowed Harry frenziedly, as he began to leap forwards, attempting to dash around the towering Leader. "Tom, stop! OUR TRACES-"

"Stillhet!"

A meaty fist struck him so hard on the face that Harry was catapulted backwards, making him crash on the bed, as black dots momentarily obscured his sight, as his jaw throbbed and flared with such intense pain that for a moment he thought it had been crushed and broken to splinters, as blood flooded into his mouth.

The Leader was suddenly before him once more, fumbling with his belt, and Harry felt nothing but utter desperation, because in any second Tom could be doing something that couldn't be taken back, that would take everything away from them - Hogwarts, his friends, the Magical World, and perhaps even their freedom.

Abruptly, he saw a flash of steel, and without a thought, Harry went for it, leaping at the Leader, yanking out the gun tucked in the waistband of muggle's trousers, and he took aim.

The Leader stared at him in what seemed to a be a frozen second, looking stunned before he roared with laughter, as if he was seeing nothing but a scrawny little boy trying to play the big, bad, threatening man, and he had never seen something so amusingly ridiculous.

As the hefty muggle raised a hand as if to indolently bat the gun away from Harry's hands, Harry didn't hesitate.

The kick and backlash when he pulled the trigger, when it ran up his arms and propelled him backwards, was so unexpected that Harry nearly staggered and collapsed on the bed again.

And just then, everything seemed to burst and explode into chaos around him, everything happening so fast, screams and yells and people moving and racing and attacking, all occurring in mere seconds that Harry could only react instinctively, as he yelled frantically at the top of his lungs, "Ulysses, KILL!"

Yet he didn't pause, as he kept aiming and pulling the trigger frenziedly, at the Leader who had only been wounded on the shoulder because it seemed that having excellent aim in throwing Quaffles through Quidditch hoops wasn't the same as good aim in gun firing, but he was successful the second time as a bullet struck and went through the Leader's left eye, making the man stumble like a tottering Troll before he fell back on the floor, the thud loud and reverberating.

And Harry succeeded again as he kept mindlessly clicking and clicking, when the two lackeys who had been on top of the woman gaped at him before they launched themselves at Harry, as he heard another clicking sound, one he didn't make, because Ulysses had easily opened his cage with a paw and jumped and became a hissing and spitting black blur leaping through the air, a series of clanking sounds following the transformation of his fluffy tail into the carapace of a scorpion's, as the Scorcrup latched himself on the neck of one of the lackeys attacking Harry, as Ulysses' lethal stinger struck once, twice, thrice, and the muggle's face became latticed with protruding, black veins, froth erupting from the man's mouth, before he fell dead on the floor a second later, while Harry kept firing at the other lackey, blasting the man's head open.

While Tom had somehow, at some point, gotten hold of one of the axes, and was striking like a crazed madman at the lackey who had been using him like a punching bag, looking livid, seething and enraged beyond sense, snarling and bellowing who knew what, but his magic had disappeared.

And the Scaredy Rabbit, who had been seating on the floor all the while, with head hung low, covered by his arms, as if he didn't want to see or hear what his companions would be doing with the woman or what the Leader had wanted to use Harry for, was now looking up, apparently having finally realized that matters had changed drastically.

The boy's expression of shocked and stunned disbelief instantly turned into absolute terror, as his eyes flew from Harry and his gun, from the 'little kitten' now wielding a stinger, to Tom hacking into the remaining muggle's skull like a psycho with axe in hand.

But it was when the Scaredy Rabbit took hold of the fireplace's poker, jumping to his feet, rushing at Tom with a crazed look of fear and frantic distress, that Harry's eyes went wide with horror, because his brother had his back turned towards the boy and hadn't seen the danger, and he wildly took aim and pulled the trigger, again and again, just as Ulysses jumped at the boy's leg and struck with his scorpion's stinger.

The boy went down almost instantly, but Harry didn't seem able to stop clicking and clicking, until he suddenly realized nothing was being fired, that he had expended all of the gun's bullets, and he abruptly halted, staring at the gun and his hands stained with blood, his shirt splattered with it, as he felt his arms and legs shaking, as he felt utterly numbed when he glanced around at the carnage, because everything had suddenly stopped, there was only silence.

Except for the radio, which was now sounding with an upbeat, cheerful song that made it all the more surreal, and the chop, chop noises coming from Tom, who still seemed to be in a world of his own.

Blinking, as his breathing became haggard, hitched pants for air, Harry shakily stuck the gun in his trousers, as he reached his brother.

"Stop. He's already dead, Tom," he rasped out, his throat suddenly feeling very dry as he stared at the corpse's head his brother kept hacking into, nothing left but a mass of brain matter, pulp, and fluids.

Harry frowned when the axe kept falling, again and again, and glanced up at Tom, swallowing thickly as he caught sight of his brother's face.

He had often heard that his brother was astoundingly handsome, and he often saw it for himself too, but not then.

Right then, for the first time, Tom looked monstrously hideous, his eyes dark with a crazed gleam of vicious enjoyment, his lips curled and twisted, his features contorted with savage, mindless hatred and rage.

For the first time, as he stared at him, Harry felt true fear, utterly scared of his twin.

"Enough!" roared Harry anxiously, as he laid a hand on one of Tom's shoulders, and shook him hard. "BROTHER!"

The axe halted, as Tom abruptly turned his head around to stare at him. For an instance, Harry nearly took a step backwards, but the demented look in his brother's eyes faded in the next second, as Tom blinked and stared at him again.

"It's over," whispered Harry quietly.

Tom frowned, slowly lowering the axe as he glanced around.

His eyebrows slowly rose upwards, before he turned to Harry again, his lips hitching into a wide smirk, as he intoned coolly, "So it is."

Harry swallowed thickly as he took another glimpse of the carnage, the five bodies, the gore and blood, and back to his hands that didn't seem able to stop shaking.

And he frowned down at them, fisting and unclenching them, trying to make them stop, as his mind swirled and he muttered under his breath, "My own Odyssey."

"What?"

Harry snapped his head up to glance at Tom, who was frowning at him, and mumbled softly, "I've killed. We've killed, Tom. We're murderers-"

"Killers, yes," snapped Tom sharply, scowling at him. "Murderers, no." He shot him a hard look, as he sneered acidly, "It's not murder to kill to protect and defend yourself, to prevent any kind of harm to come to you." His eyes narrowed to slits, as he added angrily, "Do not tell me you're feeling guilt and regret, again!"

At that, Harry frowned at him, before his eyes darted towards the Scaredy Rabbit's body. A boy that couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, who had seemed to have been living through his own hellish nightmare for some time, given the company he had been keeping, perhaps out of necessity, a boy who hadn't participated in any wrongdoing.

Granted, a coward too, who hadn't tried to put a stop to any of it, but Harry could understand that: trying to save one's own skin instead of helping others. In Hogwarts, he lived amongst Slytherins, after all, and most were just like that. Yet, the boy had gone for Tom, and that cinched it.

Harry glanced up at his brother, as he replied honestly, "No. None."

Tom stared back at him, his eyes narrowed and piercing, as if wanting to see into Harry's very soul to detect any lies. A moment later, he relaxed, looking thoroughly satisfied with a positive assessment.

"It seems you're finally learning, then, little brother," drawled Tom, looking supremely smug and pleased with himself.

"Right," griped Harry acerbically. "Learning how to be a killer with no conscience, you mean?" He shook his head, sighing somberly, not giving his brother a chance to say another word, as he added curtly, "Let's get our things, and leave."

Unsurprisingly, Tom went straight to look for their wands, while Harry gathered back the Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it in his satchel. He recovered the Blood Replenishing Potion and finally crouched before the corpse of the Leader.

He didn't even feel fazed as he stared at the large, dead body, didn't even have to steel himself to search the man's pockets to retrieve the cigarette lighter and the clip-on compass, along with the box of ammunition the muggle had used before for the gun.

It seemed to him that, lately, he had only been seeing corpses everywhere, in Leisure Alley, in the ruins of Namsos, and almost Robert Hutchins' too, looking dead, floating in accumulated feces and urine.

That three of the dead bodies in the room were of his own doing, didn't seem to make any impact on him either. He just felt extremely weary, exhausted, so fatigued and fed up, that he went through the paces mechanically, wanting to be done with it all, as he reloaded the gun and kept the box with the remaining bullets.

He felt a faint frisson of joy, though, when he discovered that the Leader had been keeping a pocket watch. Right useful that, given their need to tell time in order to reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic before Tuesday noon.

Harry inspected it for moment, having the inkling that it had probably been stolen from the woman's husband before the deserters had killed the poor sod.

Then he blinked. The woman. He had completely forgotten about her.

"Tom, help me-" He trailed off as he rose to his feet, staring at his brother who was looming before the fireplace, apparently peering down into the pot dangling above the merrily crackling fire. "What on earth are you doing?"

"There's nothing left," groused Tom irritably as he glanced at him. "The scums ate it all."

It took a moment for Harry's mind to wrap around what his brother was saying to him, and he gaped disbelievingly. "So what? Surely you weren't thinking about eating the bits left of the woman's husband!"

Tom scowled at him. "Moot point, isn't it? Because, as I told you, there's nothing left." An eyebrow arched, and a smirk suddenly appeared, as he pointedly gestured around. "Not of him, that is. But there's plenty to be had of the others, now."

"What?" croaked out Harry faintly.

Tom reached him in seconds, looking magnanimous as he thrust a hand forwards, offering his blood-dripping axe to Harry as if bestowing the noblest, most selfless of favors. "You can use it, if you want."

"What?"

Tom frowned at him. "You're the one who's been studying about Healing. Hence, you should know about human anatomy. At least, which parts are the most fleshy and tender."

"What?"

Tom glared at him irritably, as he sneered contemptuously, "Fine. If an axe is too heavy for your puny, pathetically scrawny arms, I'll get you something else. Must I always do everything?"

Shooting him one last glower, Tom stalked off to the kitchenette, opening drawers and perusing their contents, until he came back to a Harry that still stood rooted in place.

"Here," said Tom shortly, slapping a large knife into Harry's hands. "A chopping knife. That should do the trick."

"What?" Harry finally shook his head, staring at his brother with horrified disbelief, as he cried out, "We're not eating human flesh!"

"Why not?" Tom frowned at him, looking puzzled.

"Why... not?" echoed Harry slowly, blinking at him, feeling utterly stupefied by his brother's nonchalance.

Now looking extremely annoyed, Tom bit out impatiently, "Flesh is flesh. Human or animal, it's all the same. I don't see what's the matter with it." He gestured impatiently at the bodies littering the cottage. "In desperate times, desperate measures. The filth, at least, understood that."

"They were howling, raving mad!" spluttered Harry, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Loons, and desperate, as you said. Starved and desperate, Tom! That's why-"

"And so are we!" snarled Tom furiously, glaring at him. "If we don't eat something, we'll die, you imbecile! We haven't eaten in ages. We're weak. We're exhausted. There's nothing in this damned, forsaken land but snow and trees. We need food. Any food!"

"We don't have time," mumbled Harry, shooting him a pleading look. "The gunshots could have been heard-"

"We're in a cottage," interjected Tom sharply, clearing not wanting to allow any feeble excuses, "in the middle of a forest, that is in the middle of nowhere. We saw no houses nearby. There's no one around in miles. Nothing was heard."

"Fine!" spat Harry, bristling and angered, as his fingers jerkily tightened around the knife. "Fine!" He gestured briskly at the pile of clothes that had been stolen from them, lying in the separate piles the Norwegians had made for themselves. "Then get those while I work! And a frying pan from the kitchen, and some plates and cutlery - we'll need those. Some of the hunting traps too, just in case. And twigs and some chunks of wood from the fireplace!"

Tom left him to follow the instructions without complaint, apparently well satisfied that Harry had finally decided to comply with his deranged wishes.

Yet, for this, Harry did have to steel himself, as he crouched before the hefty body of the Leader, as he used the knife to tear the trousers open, to sink the blade into the man's large calves, as he began slicing, carving, and butchering with clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

He employed the metal container the Scaredy Rabbit had once used, to store the bits and pieces of flesh, as he kept chopping and gathering.

When he was done, he felt utterly sick, having to swallow down bile, to finally reach his brother, to stuff everything into his satchel, before they finally changed into the clothes that had been stolen from them.

"Let's go."

"Not yet," retorted Harry briskly, as he held the Blood Replenishing Potion in his hands as he made his way towards the bed and the woman. "Help me with this-"

"With what?" hissed out Tom, instantly appearing by his side, towering and glaring. "You're not using our last potion on a filthy muggle woman who's already half dead!"

"I'm the one who thought of bringing potions," snapped Harry waspishly, "and the one who stole them, so I'm the one who decides what will be done with the last of them, not you! And I'm not leaving her like this."

He gestured at the piteous, skeletal woman lying on the bed, clearly having fallen into unconsciousness at some point. Hopefully she hadn't seen the carnage that had ensued, because she must already be traumatized and scarred beyond what was bearable.

"We haven't bled," he added sharply, as he peeled his gaze away from the woman, "so we have no use for the potion. But she does."

"We haven't bled, thus far," spat Tom poisonously, looking livid. "But you're always getting us in trouble, thereby we might need-"

Harry turned a deaf ear to his brother's gripes. He was determined. He couldn't possibly leave the poor girl like that, knowing she would certainly die without the aid of the potion.

Tom didn't lift a finger to help him, and kept hissing out a constant virulent harangue, but Harry did his task, unflappable.

Working her thin, frail throat with his fingers, massaging the muscles, he managed to make her reflexively swallow the whole potion he dipped into her open mouth, seeing some color suffusing her gaunt cheeks.

"You're a fool!" bit out Tom contemptuously when Harry was done and tossed the empty flask into the fireplace.

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry loftily, as he turned around to swing the strap of his bulging satchel over a shoulder. "Spare me. I've heard it all before." He searchingly glanced around, before he caught sight of his familiar and grinned, opening his arms. "Ulysses, to me."

The Scorcrup instantly jumped into them, meowing contently as Harry hugged him, beaming a smile as he said softly, "You did very well. You saved us. Thank you."

Little Ulysses purred loudly, licking Harry's cheek with his tiny, rough tongue, as he nuzzled his small round face with Harry's, tickling him and making him chuckle happily.

"How very disgustingly sappy of you," sneered Tom acidly, looking revolted at the lovey-dovey scene they were making.

"You're just jealous because he's mine," said Harry, shooting him a wide, smug smirk, "and you've finally realized just how useful and clever he is."

Tom scoffed nastily at that, yet they were quick to throw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves as they left the hellish cottage at long last.

Harry only paused on the threshold for a second, glancing back, wishing he had the time and strength to drag the bodies out of the cottage, to bury them, so that the woman, when and if she woke up, wouldn't see any of it.

Alas, he did not. He felt completely drained and worn out, and the journey before them would be daunting and taxing enough.

* * *

They had no sense of where they were, at all. Not knowing where the cottage had been, not knowing what forest they were trudging through, not even knowing if they were closer or further away from Oslo since leaving Namsos.

Their encounter with the Norwegians had left them completely disoriented and clueless regarding their whereabouts.

By glancing at the pocket watch, Harry only knew that they had been walking for over four hours, that it was Monday afternoon, and that it was impossible to reach Oslo with so very few hours left.

He had never felt so utterly distraught, wretched, hopeless, and dejected, as he kept sluggishly dragging his feet, one after the other, because he could think of no other thing to do.

And they weren't doing well.

Harry had been the first to stumble and nearly collapse from exhaustion, and Tom, in an uncanny display of brotherly solidarity, had helped him, supporting his weight as they kept walking - only scowling, glaring, and saying something scathing, because Tom was Tom, after all.

Then it had happened to Tom, and Harry had repaid the kindness, without the insults. And thus, they had begun to take turns at being the other's walking stick.

However, at present, Harry felt as though he would faint if he tried to take one more step.

"Rest," he coughed out, wheezing. "I need – to stop – for a bit."

"Then, we'll eat," said Tom commandingly, piercing him with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, alright," whispered Harry haggardly, as he dropped on the ground like limp, dead weight.

Working together, and with the twigs and pieces of wood they had taken from the cottage, and the cigarette lighter they had recovered, it was fairly easy to make a small fire, to throw the chunks of raw flesh on the frying pan, and let it cook slowly.

The wafting smell was intoxicating, so mouth-watering that when he took his plate with his portion of meat, Harry felt such rabid hunger that he didn't think about it and stuffed his gullet with bit of meat after bit, swallowing ravenously, until it was all gone and he was frantically licking his fingers.

"That was so good," he finally breathed out, before he realized just what he had said and cringed, aghast.

Tom looked unbearably smug, as he intoned smoothly, "I told you, didn't I? Meat is meat, no matter where it comes from."

"Right," retorted Harry, sullenly staring at the crackling fire. "So besides being killers, now we're cannibals to boot."

"Cannibals are those who eat their own kind," drawled Tom superiorly, "and filthy muggles aren't our kind, are they?" He widely smirked at him. "Thus, if you have no intention of taking a bite off me, we'll have no problems."

Harry sighed, finding no amusement in it. His brother had always had a very twisted sense of humor. Yet he couldn't find the will to argue and bicker with his brother about the issue. It would be pointless, anyway, and hypocritical too, because he hadn't been able to resist the hunger, the need, and Tom would be quick to nastily point that out.

They went silent, as they pressed close together to keep warm, with the Invisibility Cloak draped over their shoulders, Ulysses on Harry's lap, savoring his own plate of cooked human flesh, and for a moment Harry envied his Scorcrup's nature and way of being, utterly unburdened from any moral considerations.

To be only driven by instincts and basic needs and desires, what a gloriously carefree, easy existence that would be.

Harry scowled at himself for those thoughts, and then frowned, and finally sighed before he broke the comfortable, companionable silence between them, as he kept staring at the dancing flames of the fire.

"You killed her, didn't you?" he said quietly, not looking at his brother.

"What?"

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom frowning at him, disconcerted.

"Mrs. Sharpe," clarified Harry tersely. "All those years ago."

Tom tensed instantly, before he scoffed and drawled snidely, "What are you babbling on about?"

Harry glanced at him at that, as he said calmly, "I always suspected that you lied to me. That it wasn't that she tripped and fell down the stairs before you could reach her– or that you watched without helping, as you said later." He sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead as he added, "I think you pushed her, that you killed her, on purpose. And I think I've always known, but didn't want to face it. Well, not back then, at least."

He searchingly stared at his brother. "And I think that's why you lied to me, because you weren't sure how I would react to the truth. Because you feared that I wouldn't understand or forgive-"

"Fear?" spat Tom, his expression seething, his jaw clenching so hard that muscles strained. "I fear nothing, and much less any reaction or opinion of yours regarding anything I do."

Harry chuckled wryly under his breath. "Yes you do. You always do." He shook his head, as he sobered, adding gravely, "But you see, I understand now, because I've done the same. I killed three people in that cottage, so I can't judge, can I? And you were just a little boy back then, probably didn't even realize what-"

"I knew exactly what I was doing when I shoved her – hard," snarled Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at him. "I knew she would break several bones, if not her neck, as came to happen. If you say you understand, then don't delude yourself about my motives and reasoning."

Harry stared at him mutely, as Tom continued in a harsh voice, "I killed her for the same reasons you killed those muggles in the cottage, to protect us, because with her as the Matron of the orphanage, allowing Mr. Jenkins to do as he pleased, violence would have only escalated with the years, unchecked." His dark blue eyes narrowed to mere slits, as he bit out furiously, "And no one was doing a thing to protect us from that. It was I who did what was necessary, who saved us from what would have happened."

Harry nodded at him, as he muttered, "Yes. I know that now. I do understand."

"But you wouldn't have, back then."

It was posed as a harsh statement, though there was a hint of a questioning in it, of a need to know, and Harry glanced at his brother, tilting his head to a side, considering it. "Maybe not." He sighed heavily, carding a hand through his hair. "You did right by lying to me. By allowing me to believe whatever I wanted to."

"Whatever you were comfortable with, you mean," quipped Tom acerbically, a hint of accusation in his tone.

Glowering with annoyance, not feeling at all proud of the fact, Harry snapped, "Fine. Yes."

Tom smirked indolently. "Just as I thought."

Narrowing his green eyes, Harry said warningly, "It doesn't mean, though, that you can lie to me now that we're older - now, when I can understand."

Tom merely arched a cool eyebrow at that, saying nothing, as he shifted awkwardly.

Harry noticed the brief twinge and wince, and frowned. "You're injured?" His eyes went wide. "From the beating you took from that lackey-"

"I wasn't beaten," snarled Tom, venomously glowering at him.

"Lemme see," snapped Harry sternly, making a move to lift up his brother's layers of jerseys.

"Get off, you dimwit," bit out Tom churlishly, harshly slapping Harry's reaching hands away from him. "I have some bruised ribs, that's all." He shot him a scornful look, as he sneered acidly, "And you have a rather hideous bruise on your face, yourself. Shouldn't have given that potion to the muggle woman, should you?"

"The Blood Replenishing Potion wouldn't have healed us," said Harry absentmindedly as he gently prodded his jaw. He pulled his hand away the next second, wincing since the touch had made his jaw throb painfully.

"Is it broken?" demanded Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"No," said Harry, sighing deeply before he shot his brother a curt glance. "Let's get going."

"We need more rest," gritted out Tom, a hard expression on his face.

"We _need_ to get moving," insisted Harry tiredly. "We'll never reach Oslo if-"

"Reach Oslo – still?" echoed Tom, letting out a harsh bout of laughter, as he sneered contemptuously at him. "Ever the optimistic, pathetically hopeful idiot-"

"Optimistic?" interjected Harry, his lips twisting wryly. "Why do you think I made you get those hunting traps? It takes hours, if not days, of waiting for prey to get captured in those kinds of things." He shot him a sour look. "Those traps are in case we don't get to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic in time before it's controlled by Grindelwald and his minions. They're in case we're stuck in Norway for days, weeks, or months, before we find some other way to get back to Hogwarts, brother."

Tom stared at him, before he nodded grimly.

"Regardless," added Harry sternly, "we have to keep on trying to find the Ministry in time, and we cannot waste another second."

They soon set out again, after they extinguished the fire with snow, as Harry kept the pocket watch in one hand and the clip-on compass in the other, continually glancing at them, checking how the minutes ticked by and how the needle spun and marked the south-bound direction they had to follow.

It was when the sun had already set and begun to vanish, a mere orange sliver on the horizon, when they suddenly found themselves leaving the forest behind, stepping into a road. A very wide one. A paved one.

Harry stared at the asphalt under his shoes, and then stared up at his brother, as he stuttered with breathless hope, "It's a – a – it looks like a – a main road! It looks like one, right? Right?"

Tom frowned, inspecting it. "Maybe… it does." He shot Harry an impossibly wide smirk. "It does."

"So it could lead to Oslo, yes?" said Harry, swept by such profound and intense relief and joy that he felt he was about to burst.

"It could," intoned Tom placidly, a gleam of contentment sparking his dark blue eyes. "If it really is one of Norway's central roads."

"It must be!" said Harry excitedly. "Come on, let's take it!"

It was then when he suddenly heard it, a distant rumbling sound, and he snapped his head around, staring at a black dot – traveling on the road, towards them, getting larger and larger with each passing second.

"Is that…" he began to mumble before he trailed off, squinting hard, before his eyes went wide. "It's a truck!"

"Yes," muttered Tom, frowning as he also stared at it intently, until it became more discernible, until Harry himself caught sight of the insignia displayed on the vehicle.

"It has the Nazis' swastika!" breathed out Harry.

Tom glowered at him, as he spat furiously, "If you tell me now that you want us to hide from these Germans, after you so stupidly trusted that Norwegians would help us-"

"Help?" scoffed out Harry. "Oh no, we're not asking for help again – not to any soldiers of any side."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, but Harry didn't give him a chance to beep a word, as he shot him a grim grin and declared firmly, "I know exactly what to do, this time around. So go lie on the middle of the road!"

"I beg your pardon?" Tom hissed out slowly.

Harry urgently waved his hands around. "I've got a plan! You lie there, writhing and screaming, in agony and stuff. Oh, and clutch some part of your body too, you know – like your ribs or a knee!"

"What?" sneered Tom acidly. "Explain yourself."

"We've got no time for explanations!" said Harry frenziedly. "They're coming. Just trust me – I won't make mistakes this time, I promise!"

"If this is another reckless, harebrained plan of yours," raged Tom thunderously, "that will end badly again-"

"You'll smite me to dust with your wand when we're back in Hogwarts," said Harry quickly. "Yeah, I know."

"If we _ever_ get back to Hogwarts," spat Tom, seething, though he briskly spun around all the same, making his way to the middle of the road.

Harry watched, on tenterhooks, with his heart pumping fast, as his brother splayed himself on the pavement, looking irritated beyond measure.

"Now scream, for Merlin's sake!" urged Harry hurriedly. "Writhe and moan and do stuff - be convincing!"

Tom shot him a dark, withering look, before he began his play-acting.

With his brother's perfectly executed screams of agony scintillating his ears, Harry dashed forward, standing several feet in front of Tom, as the truck came closer and closer, and he began his own role in the plot.


	48. Part I: Chapter 47

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

**Important:** I'll be addressing the comments left for last chapter at the end of this one, so that I won't be giving anything away beforehand. No one likes spoilers ;)

Hope you enjoy this one! Another long chapter for my faithful and patient reviewers, you always keep me going :) :)

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 47**

* * *

The truck was slowing down, as Harry kept waving his arms in the air for them to stop, as he kept yelling in the best German he could manage, as he paused for a bare second to glance down at Ulysses, who remained tucked and hidden under the Slytherin scarf and the layers of jerseys, checking that his Scorcrup had understood the whispered instructions he had given him.

"Halt, bitte!" Harry bellowed again, pulling an expression of immense distress over his face as he kept frantically waving his arms over his head. "Mein Bruder ist verletzt! Helfen Sie uns, bitte!"

He knew his pronunciation was atrocious, he knew he wouldn't fool them into thinking he wasn't in fact a foreigner, but that wasn't the point.

Hopefully there wouldn't be any need for explanations. Hopefully, it would only be necessary for the Nazis driving the truck to understand that he was asking for help, for his injured brother.

For a moment, however, he thought that perhaps his German wasn't as clear as he had counted on, because the truck had slowed down yet was still moving forward.

It was then when he realized that perhaps Tom was too good an actor.

Indeed, his brother was still writhing in the middle of the road, clutching his chest as if he had been pierced by bullets, screaming in agony that was too convincing, sounding as if he was in the throes of death.

Maybe the Germans would think that Tom already looked like road-kill so running over him would be a matter of no consequence, like putting him out of his misery.

Harry blanched at that, but didn't dare turn around to show any apprehension to Tom. If his brother got the barest hint that there was any true danger to his life, Tom would be up on his feet in the bat of an eyelash, no matter the need for a plan that had to work without a hitch.

Nevertheless, Harry thought that if the Germans did attempt to run him over, Tom really just had to roll to a side. Honestly, it wasn't that bad.

"HALT!" he then shrieked at the top of his lungs, because the truck was almost upon them, the motor was still roaring, the heavy wheels still churning, the exhaust pipe still puffing clouds of smoke, and he was standing there with arms in the air, trembling, in an insane show of mindless bravery of putting himself in the way so that his brother wouldn't be trampled over.

There was an abrupt, ear-splitting screeching sound and a burning smell, and with his heart lodged in his throat, he opened his eyes, not having realized he had scrunched them shut.

And he blinked, finding that the truck had stopped, its gigantic grilles an inch from his chest.

Harry stared at it, at what would have been smeared with his blood and flesh if the Germans had slammed on the brake but a second later.

His arms fell to his sides shakily, as he let out the most potent exhalation of sheer relief.

He didn't have much time to savor the fact of still being alive, alas. Two Nazi soldiers climbed out of the truck's front cabin, roaring angrily in such a quick German that Harry barely understood a word.

Thankfully, though, it was clear that the truck was one that carried provisions instead of transporting soldiers, and after that reassurance, he instantly remembered his role.

He blinked twice, effortlessly making tears roll down his cheeks, as he stared up at the German soldiers with impossibly wide green eyes filled with heart-wrenching plea and despair, as he pointed at Tom and wailed, "Helfen Sie ihm, bitte!"

The two men looking to be in their early twenties, with neatly cropped blonde hair, impeccable uniforms, and fair of features, frowned, with rifles in hand.

One snapped a question demandingly, something that was utterly incomprehensible to Harry, while the other was casting looks at their surroundings – at the forest at either side of the road.

And Harry understood then, why they looked so stiff, wary, and suspicious. They thought it could all be some ambush ploy, from some rebel group crouching in the forest before leaping out, perhaps.

They clearly didn't consider Harry and Tom to pose a threat by themselves, because the two men didn't even look at them, but kept scanning the forest with their gazes, rifles aimed.

"Norweger ihn erschossen!" said Harry in deep anguish, hoping that if he blamed Norwegians for his brother's state the two German soldiers would feel a mite more relaxed and inclined to give aid. He gestured at Tom once more, who was sly enough to just then let out a scream of intense suffering. "Helfen Sie ihm, bitte!"

The two soldiers shot him a frown, before they whispered hurriedly between themselves.

At last, they seemed to reach a decision, and moved forwards. One still keeping an eye on the forest with rifle aimed, the other advancing towards Tom, his brows furrowed.

It was just then, the moment after they both had their backs turned to Harry, when he finally whispered urgently, "Now, Ulysses!"

All happened in mere seconds, his Scorcrup shot out of Harry's jerseys, propelling himself through the air, a series of clanking noises accompanying his tail's transformation, landing on the back of the soldier eyeing the forest, and striking with his stinger at the back of the man's neck, just as Harry leaped at the other man, jumping high as he yanked the gun out of his pocket and struck the muggle's head with the butt of the gun's handle, with all the strength he could muster.

Nearly instantly, the soldier limply crumbled to the asphalt unconscious, while Ulysses' victim went as stiff as a board, falling on his back with a loud thud, because his familiar had done precisely as Harry had asked, not to use his stinger's lethal poison this time, but the petrifying one.

To cinch the matter, Ulysses was quick to strike the unconscious one as well, at Harry's motion of a hand.

Breathing heavily, Harry stared at them with a surge of triumph and relief, just as Tom shot up to his feet, eyeing him nonplussed.

"Why have you done this?" demanded Tom, frowning. "What's your intention?" His dark blue gaze darted to the truck, a look of horrified, dawning realization spreading over his face, before he glowered and snapped sharply, "Absolutely not. You are not driving that contraption!"

"I am," said Harry, feeling unaccountably cheerful, "because I'm the only one who knows how." He shot his brother a toothy grin. "Shouldn't have turned your nose up when Hutchins offered to teach you as well, should you? So now you have no other choice. You're stuck with me as the driver."

Tom's face twisted, as he hissed out, "I'm not getting on that thing-"

"No time for arguments," piped in Harry hurriedly. "Come on, help me drag them out of the road."

They did so, first one, then the other, Tom grabbing them under their arms, Harry by their ankles. They huffed and puffed with the effort, since both men felt as if they weighted a ton each, but finally managed to lay them side-by-side, hidden in the forest behind some trees.

Now and then, Harry kept shooting the road apprehensive looks, because if it really was one of Norway's main ones, they couldn't count for it to remain without transit for much longer.

"What are you doing?" said Tom sharply, when Harry began to divest both men of their upper clothing.

"We need to change into their uniform's coats and jackets," replied Harry hastily, as he continued with his task. "Once we're inside the truck, that's all anyone will see. We can pass ourselves off as Nazis as long as no one peers at us too closely."

"I gathered as much, you dimwit," spat Tom irritably. "What I meant is why haven't you shot them first."

"What?" Harry paused, glancing up at him as he remained crouched on the ground, by the side of the soldier he was stripping, as he said utterly dumbfounded, "Whatever for?"

"Because they've seen too much!" hissed out Tom impatiently. "Your Scorcrup transformed-"

"They didn't see him!" interjected Harry loudly. "I gave Ulysses the order to attack precisely when they had their backs turned to us, for that very same reason–"

"-and they've seen us," continued Tom in a hard tone of voice, ignoring Harry's interruption. "They've seen too much. We can't leave any loose ends behind-"

"They aren't loose ends!" snapped Harry angrily. "They didn't see Ulysses, and even if they had-" he gestured wildly with his hands "-who would believe them if they began raving about some kitten with a scorpion's tail!" He shot him a firm look. "And by the time their petrification fades, we'll be long gone. Let them run screaming for the hills, for all I care. They present no risk to us-"

"They are a liability, you idiot!" snarled Tom furiously, glaring at him.

"They aren't," gritted out Harry, his exasperation rising, as he added sharply, "What about your little speech, what you said, the difference between committing murder and killing out of necessity-"

Tom advanced on him, making a sudden lunge for the gun Harry had tucked in his belt, yet Harry was quick to dive to a side, roaring angrily, "Stop!"

"To cover our backs _is_ a necessity," spat Tom seething, apparently desisting in trying to get the gun by force. He tightly grabbed Harry by an arm to pull them close, giving him a contemptuous look as he sneered scathingly, "I would have thought you would have no scruples about killing Germans. After all, you've always been saying how terribly evil they are, for being on the 'bad' side, for being Grindelwald's puppets-"

Harry let out a mirthless bark of laughter at that. "Are you off your rocker? How could I possibly still think in those terms after everything that's happened? The Norwegians were supposed to be good, and look what happened with them!"

He grimaced, before he pointed at the two Germans splayed on the ground, his voice lowering, "And they were supposed to be bad, yet they stopped the truck. They didn't run us over, or shot us and asked questions later." He fulminated his brother with a piercing, hard look. "They didn't attack us, so I'm not killing them. And I'm not letting you do it either. Enough is enough!"

Tom released him, giving him a long, considering look.

His lips suddenly quirked upwards, his expression supremely smug, as he intoned softly, "My, my, you're finally admitting it, that I've been right all along, all these years. It has taken quite a lot for you to come to such a basic realization, hasn't it?" His eyes flashed, as he added in a low, intense tone of voice, "That there is no Good or Evil-"

"Yes," snapped Harry, bristling and shooting him a dirty look.

For his brother to choose this moment, of all times, to rub it in. That Tom had been right since they were little children, always saying to him that he had to face the harsh realities of human nature and how the world worked, that there was no justice or fairness but only corruption and self-interest oiling the cogs.

He carded his fingers through his hair, meeting his brother's demanding gaze as he muttered somberly, "No Good or Evil. Yes, I know that. No need for you to-"

"Precisely, little brother," whispered Tom very quietly, skewering him with an intense gaze, as his dark blue eyes flashed with a gleam of exultant, feverish, zealous triumph. "No Good or Evil. There's only power, and those too weak to seek it."

Harry stared at him at that, utterly taken a back, because Tom was grandiosely gesturing at their surroundings as if recent events made the point in case, as if that last phrase, the notion behind it, was an epiphany he had had long ago, harbored and kept to himself, close to his heart, now to be revealed and reinforced by circumstances which lent it incontrovertible strength and credence, and because Tom's fervent, fanatical expression, just then, suddenly made Harry feel very wary, a frisson of ominous apprehension and forebodings running down his spice.

"Only power and…" Harry mumbled and trailed off, speechless and incredulous, not quite knowing what to say, before he shook his head, because they didn't have the time for such debates.

"Right," he then said stiffly, as he thrust one of the soldiers' jackets into Tom's hands. "Let's get changed."

In a matter of moments, wearing Nazi uniformed long coats, jackets, neckties, and armbands with their respective insignias and pins, and with their dirty, worn jerseys and pullovers stuffed in Harry's satchel, they were stepping back on the road, as Harry adjusted one of the soldiers' caps on his head, making sure his disarrayed hair covered his face as much as possible.

"What are you doing?" he said, pausing in his steps towards the truck as he saw Tom fumbling with his own cap, who appeared to be insistently raking his dirty hair with his fingers.

Releasing a sigh of exasperation, Harry raised his hands to help his brother rumple his hair.

"Get your grubby little paws off me," snarled Tom, harshly batting Harry's hands away from his head. "Don't mess with my hair!"

Harry gaped at him, before he choked out incredulously, " 'Don't mess with my hair'? Have you gone batty-"

"I'm not being vain, you imbecile," hissed out Tom, straightening up with indignant offense. "German soldiers are known for being disciplined and neatly groomed-"

"Who gives a rat's ass if we don't look like proper, poncy Nazis!" cried out Harry in disbelief. "We'll pose as shabby ones and that's that – the point is to cover our faces as much as possible, so no one sees we're too young!"

Looking very ill-tempered, Tom grunted, but nonetheless bent his head down to give easy access, given their difference in heights, allowing Harry to tousle and utterly dishevel his precious hair until it was a tangled mass obscuring his face, with cap on top.

It was as they climbed into their respective seats in the truck's front cabin, just when Harry used two of their jerseys to cushion his seat so that he would appear taller from the outside, when they heard a noise in the distance, catching a glimpse of a distinctive speck far away on the road.

It was a motorcar, by the looks of it. Oh, Harry had known something like this would happen, but his brother just had to waste their time by talking about serious stuff at the worst possible moment, arguing about the merits of killing and raving like a loon about power and the weak and whatnot.

If that motorcar had Germans in it, and if he and Tom were still inside an unmoving truck in the middle of the road by the time the motorcar reached them, they were done for.

The people would know something was up, and the motorcar would stop by the truck's side and whoever they were would see that Harry and Tom were no soldiers but mere boys.

And Harry dearly didn't want another life-threatening situation. He'd had enough –the stress, the fear, the need of harming others just to get away and survive. It could not happen again.

Both supremely peeved and frantic, Harry shut the door of his side, as he handed Ulysses over to Tom, snapping urgently, "Give me your belt!"

"For what?" demanded Tom, giving him a suspicious look.

"Just give it to me!" bit out Harry, as he frenziedly yanked his own off, quickly using two spare pullovers to roll them into two bunches.

Once he had his brother's belt as well, he used both his and Tom's to secure each bunched pullover under his shoes.

"I should have known – you're too much of a runt to even reach the pedals!" hissed out Tom as he caught sight of what Harry was doing, his face suddenly losing all its color, before he made a lunge for his door's handle. "That's it. I'm not staying in this deathtrap-"

Harry twisted the ignition key, wrenched the shift stick to first gear as he pushed on the clutch, and instantly slammed on the gas pedal, so hard that as the truck violently lurched forwards, Tom was tossed backwards against his seat.

"To the right, you twit!" bellowed Tom at the top of his lungs, looking half hysteric as he hung for dear life on anything in reach. "We're in Norway not England!"

"Oh, yeah," mumbled Harry as he brusquely swerved the steering wheel, jolting them to a side, having forgotten that foreigners were so weird that they drove on the wrong lane.

"Not so fast!" yelled Tom in sheer agitation, as they moved along the right-hand lane of the wide road while Harry perfectly executed the hand-and-feet coordination to make the required gear changes as their velocity picked up.

"I'm not even going forty kilometers per hour," groused Harry crossly, as he checked the speedometer. "Besides, if the motorcar-"

A loud rumbling sound came, and Harry instantly sat up straight on his jersey-cushioned seat, making himself look as tall as possible, his face looking forward through the windshield, hoping his hair was truly covering his features, hoping he looked nothing but a scruffy-looking Nazi soldier minding his own business, dutifully following orders and driving a truck of provisions to who-knew-where.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom tensing, more than he already was, at that, but it all came to nothing.

It was indeed a motorcar, a fancy-looking one with small Nazi flags flapping from the sides of its narrow, shiny black hood, that came speeding through the road, that overpassed them in seconds, that was soon fading in the distance, and Harry had only caught a glimpse of three occupants – a driver, and two Germans at the back, one looking as some sort of high-ranked Nazi officer, the other apparently the man's aide.

Their truck wasn't even spared a glance.

"Well," breathed out Harry, before he turned his face to shoot his brother a wide grin of triumph and toothy smugness. "We're finally-"

"Keep your eyes on the road, you halfwit!" snarled Tom, glaring at him as he tightened his fingers around the grab handle on his side, his knuckles turning white.

Harry rolled his eyes, before he obeyed nonetheless while he declared proudly, "Robert Hutchins taught me how to drive perfectly well. I'm excellent at it, so there's no reason for you to-"

"As if I would trust any ability of yours with my life," sneered Tom snidely. "So focus on what you're doing!"

"I am," said Harry with exasperation, keeping his eyes on the road ahead because his brother was certainly ridiculously jittery. "Plus, driving around London is much harder than along this boring road," he added loftily, "let me tell you."

"You drove around our neighborhood," hissed out Tom acidly, "not the entirety of London."

"Same thing," said Harry nonchalantly, flapping a hand dismissively.

"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" shrieked Tom in a screechy high-pitch worthy of Walburga Black herself.

Harry couldn't help it, and burst into uproarious laughter, as he glanced at Tom and chocked out, "You – squeal – like a – little girl!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" snarled Tom furiously, glaring at him viciously. "And eyes forward!"

Realizing his brother was going barmy -so twitchy and antsy, in such a state of constant anguish and panic attacks at every little thing that Harry did- he finally gave up in trying to soothe Tom's irrational fears and quite insulting lack of trust in his driving skills.

The only good thing that came from it was that Tom followed every single one of Harry's instructions, too scared that Harry would want to do those himself and detract from the concentration he should be focusing on the road.

Indeed, Tom –however reluctantly and sour-faced– allowed little Ulysses to coil up and sleep on his lap, and even petted him for a job well done with the German soldiers, when Harry threatened to do it himself if Tom didn't.

Tom even took the pocket watch and clip-on compass from Harry's satchel and kept an eye on them both, to tell Harry if they were following the right southbound direction and how many hours passed as they drove on.

Alas, it also meant that Tom wasn't up to the task of keeping Harry entertained by chattering with him.

"No talking! Concentrate!" Tom hissed out like a frenzied Gorgon every time Harry attempted to initiate some conversation, which didn't help Harry at all in trying to stave off his tiredness, of battling against his drooping eyelids.

He just wanted to fall asleep. They hadn't had any proper rest since leaving Hogwarts nearly three days ago, not any proper food that gave sustenance either, except for-

Well, Harry preferred not to think about _that_ ever again, shuddering and shying from the subject.

If fact, he didn't want to think about any of the things that had happened. He wanted to fall asleep, for a whole year, if he could, and not ponder about any of it until he absolutely had to – until he had to have a serious conversation with Tom, about the rather disturbing and alarming things he had said, because that was a must.

Hence, in silence, the hours passed by in monotonous boredom –which Harry considered excellent, monotony was the height of everything that should be aspired, no more thrills required, he'd had his fill, thank you very much.

Indeed, in much appreciated tediousness, time ticked by, as it became night and Harry had to turn on the headlights, as they watched forest giving way to pastures without snow, to smaller roads branching off, of sights of villages and then larger towns in the distance, at either side, as other vehicles appeared going to and fro in their road, wagons and carts drawn by horses, then motorcars and other trucks similar to theirs, the transit on the road increasing with every kilometer they drove.

Suddenly seeing a flash of something, Harry breathed out hopefully without turning his head to glance at Tom or his brother would have another conniption, "Was that a-"

"Yes," snapped Tom shortly.

"And it said?" urged Harry nearly breathless with anticipation, because they had zoomed past a pole at one side of the road with several signs, pointing in different directions.

"Oslo," said Tom, his lips hitching upwards. "The one indicating our road ahead said Oslo."

"Are you certain?" said Harry pressingly, giving him a quick look.

"I am," drawled Tom in a contented tone of voice.

Harry let out a shuddery exhalation of breath, and went back to focus on the road.

Some time later, they found themselves trailing after a long line of other vehicles, which became progressively more sluggish and cluttered.

He frowned, trying to see ahead as they had to come to a halt. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," muttered Tom, as he peered out his windows. "Something is making them stall, but I cannot see what it is."

Harry maneuvered the gearshift and pedals, as they had to lurch forward when the motorcar in front of them began to advance again.

They progressed at a crawling pace, and it wasn't until they were almost there that they realized what it was.

Ahead of them, blocking the road, was a booth with a gate being commandeered by a pair of armed German soldiers, as another one of them, with gas lamp in hand and rifle strapped on shoulder, was approaching the vehicles in the line, one by one, apparently asking for identity cards or documents.

Harry went pale, his mind swirling chaotically, trying to think fast and hard, but not a single spark of an idea was emerging from his sleep-deprived, frazzled brain.

He shot Tom a panicked look, as he said frantically, "What do we do now?"

Tom stared at him, eyebrows furrowed, then slowly glanced at the gate, his expression calculating and turning sly and gauging as he then eyed the vehicles in front of them.

Yet when his brother still didn't say a word, Harry snapped frenziedly, "Well?"

"I have a thought," said Tom coolly, pocketing the watch and compass, as he brusquely shook Ulysses awake, unceremoniously tossing him to Harry's lap. "Take your little pest, and-" he quickly perused Harry's satchel, palming its contents until he withdrew the Cloak he could not see but sense by touch, throwing it at Harry "-use this to climb out of the truck. You'll need it, the soldiers are on your side."

"And then?" Harry stared at him as he tucked Ulysses under his Nazi coat, clutching the Invisibility Cloak.

"You'll see," said Tom shortly, widely smirking at him. "Just leave the motor running, and follow me once we're outside. Now move."

Harry nodded instantly, and draped the Invisibility Cloak over himself as he opened his door as noiselessly and inconspicuously as possible, seeing Tom doing the same on the other side.

Once his feet hit the asphalt, he darted around the front of their truck to reach Tom, quickly covering his brother with the Cloak as soon as they stood together.

"Come," whispered Tom, taking hold of Harry's hand and breaking into a run as they sped along the line of vehicles.

Harry only realized what Tom's plan consisted of when they stopped behind the very first vehicle halted in front of the gate.

It was a German truck -much like theirs, the Nazi insignia emblazoned on the tent-like cloth canopying the sides and back- which apparently had already been inspected and passed approval, since the soldier checking papers was three vehicles behind them.

Tom carefully opened the flaps of the canopy an inch, taking a peek inside, before he whispered quietly, "There's no one. It's transporting crates. We must be quick."

Nervously glancing now and then at the gate, because in any second it would be lifted, Harry hastily helped his brother to unloop the cords tying the canopy to the pegs in the truck's back.

A whirring sound, and the gate began to be raised by the two German soldiers standing guard by the booth.

"Hurry!" wheezed Harry frenetically, as they both fumbled urgently with the cords.

It was not a second too late when they were pulling the freed canopy wide, jumping and climbing as best as they could into the back of the truck, like desperate monkeys, just as the truck lurched forwards, making them slam into large, hard containers that they couldn't see in the absolute darkness.

As the truck suddenly sped, they were tossed around, each muffling their groans of pain as they struck against crates at all sides, as Harry felt Ulysses jumping out of his Nazi coat, surely making a dive for safety.

Finally, as the truck kept a steady, constant velocity, Harry was able to crawl on hands and knees, fumbling in the dark until he reached the canopy at the back, and opened it a slice, glimpsing how they were leaving the gate and soldiers far behind.

Furthermore, apparently, their abandoned truck had been discovered, because the three Nazis now looked like frenzied ants, their loud voices rattled, barking, and shrieking with questions, and then began to fade, until Harry couldn't hear them anymore, until the line of other vehicles waiting to be allowed passage slowly disappeared from sight.

It was only then when he dropped on the floor, letting out an exhalation of breath as his heart settled back into some measure of tranquility.

A click, and a small flame suddenly appeared.

Harry stared at Tom's face in the gloom, bathed in a dim yellow light, as he saw that his brother had the cigarette lighter in one hand and Harry's satchel in the other.

Ulysses made an appearance then, looking all the worse for wear as he jumped to Harry's lap.

"And now we wait?" whispered Harry apprehensively as he took hold of the lighter when his brother passed it on to him, and tried to comfortingly pet his Scorcrup with the other hand. "And hope that the drivers at front are bound for Oslo?"

They could hear them, muffled voices chatting in German, not sounding drowsy and lethargic as Harry would have expected, but cheerful and well awake.

"They are," said Tom quietly, a look of concentration on his face. "We're on the road that leads there and…" He trailed off, his lips suddenly twisting, as he shot Harry a glance. "And I believe they are talking precisely about some sort of feast or celebration that is going to take place in their barracks in Oslo." He gestured at the crates surrounding them. "These are for that, it seems."

"I'll take your word for it," muttered Harry, because really, Tom certainly knew much more German than he did. He sighed heavily, as he shot his brother an anxious look. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning," announced Tom coolly as he checked the pocket watch.

Harry paled at that, astonished and consternated both.

It meant that he had been driving for nearly nine hours nonstop, and it was now Tuesday.

Very early, granted, but how many hours would it take for this truck to reach the capital, then? Would they ever find the Ministry of Magic before noon, at that?

Harry stared down at Ulysses, his poor familiar who looked so battered, and gently rubbed the little creature's head, in between his small ears as the Scorcrup so loved. Nevertheless, it appeared that even Ulysses was too fatigued to even voice his appreciation and enjoyment with a purr.

At least, out of the three of them, the Scorcrup managed to obtain some rest, because Harry and Tom certainly didn't.

They didn't get much of a chance of even getting a wink of sleep. Three times it happened that the truck slowed down and suddenly halted, that they heard German voices coming from outside, that they crouched in a small space between crates, with Invisibility Cloak tightly wrapped around them, so that the Nazi soldier who opened the canopy and took a peek would not see there were stowaways inside.

It was a very nerve-wrecking and tense experience, hiding there in what felt to Harry like a perpetual state of panic, tribulation, and wariness. Then again, in the last couple of days, it seemed as if his existence had been solely reduced to that.

* * *

"Wake up!" someone hissed sharply in his ear.

Harry jerked awake, completely startled, not having even noticed when he had dozed off.

"What time is it?" he demanded woozily and highly agitated.

"Twenty minutes later than the last time you asked," groused Tom acerbically, looking profoundly tuckered out, groggy, disheveled, and utterly irritated. Especially when he slapped the pocket watch into Harry's hands. "You take this."

Which was a fair, Harry thought, because the last thing he remembered was asking Tom the hour for the hundredth time during the journey, and nearly sobbing when his brother answered.

There was something different this time, however. He heard noises coming from outside, a cacophony of them, sounds of voices, vehicles, and all sorts of activities meshed together.

Harry quickly parted open the canopy a bare inch, his eyes going wide as he took a peek.

It was a city, awake, noisy, filled with people walking and carrying on with their lives, quietly, somberly, with many heads hung low, a city defeated and brought down to its knees, with traffic of heavy vehicles and glum passersby, with clutches of Nazi soldiers strutting on the sidewalks like princes in their new kingdom, _their_ voices high and exultant, amused, cheerful, or satisfied, the red Nazi flag hanging grandiosely from the most magnificent and stately of buildings.

"Oslo," Harry breathed out, as if it were the sweetest, most precious word that had ever escaped from his lips, such wondrous jubilation and euphoria encompassing him that for moment he could do nothing but watch as life progressed and unfolded all around them outside, no matter the pervading air of gloom and misery, still feeling that it was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

Harry released the canopy and instantly checked the watch, his heart thundering loudly in his chest, soon to be swept by sheer dismay.

"Eleven o'clock," he croaked out, shooting Tom a look of wretched despair.

"Indeed," said Tom stoically.

"An hour," Harry chocked out, his expression crumbling further. "We've got only one hour."

"Yes."

Harry heaved a deep breath, infusing himself with firm encouragement, as he said bracingly, "All right. We can do this." He glanced around, as he made sure everything was packed inside the satchel. "We must change our clothes, first."

Exchanging their uniformed Nazi coats, jackets, armbands, neckties, and caps for just one of their jerseys each, since Oslo certainly felt much warmer than up north, they were nearly ready.

Crouching before the flaps of the canopy, with Ulysses once more stuck inside Harry's clothes and with the Invisibility Cloak draped over them, they waited.

And just when the truck halted for a moment at the end of a street, surely due to some traffic light, they carefully climbed out of the truck, making sure the Cloak kept covering them both.

In went without a hitch. The moment they touched ground, they sprinted to the nearest sidewalk, making sure of not smashing into anyone, and kept darting through people until they found a small alley.

Checking they were alone, Harry at last pulled the Invisibility Cloak off them, stuffing it inside his satchel.

"And now, how do you propose we find the Ministry?"" drawled Tom, as he arched an eyebrow, looking as if he was merely posing an academic question to a philosophical matter and was simply curious about the degree of outlandishness of Harry's response.

Harry nervously bit his lip. "Haven't the foggiest." He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "We'll just have to walk around, I reckon. And explore, I suppose, until we see something."

"Something," repeated Tom placidly.

Harry gave him a dirty look, because his brother could have just been sneering the word out, but was instead standing there like a pontificating, pompous prat, having no business in sounding so calm, thus making the suggestion appear so ridiculous.

"Yes, something," he said flatly, narrowing his green eyes at him. "Unless you can think of anything better."

"Alas, I cannot," said Tom impassively.

"Then," bit out Harry grumpily, "we do as I say."

"Certainly, little brother," drawled Tom, as he mockingly gestured forwards, sweeping a hand in invitation, "lead the way."

Harry shot him a nasty look, before he marched off.

Oslo was just as he had seen it from inside the truck, as he walked with pocket watch in hand and Tom following placidly by his side, as he kept glancing all around in the hopes of seeing the barest hint of magic - powerful and strong enough that would be visible to his eyes and ability, of a ward on a building, of a dome of magical shields, of anything at all, really.

Yet, as they walked and walked, as they took corners and discovered new street after street, a commercial area over there, a financial one several blocks the other way, a quiet residential district minutes later, and then another area with much activity all around, he glimpsed nothing in the slightest bit unusual.

Harry kept checking the watch again and again. Forty minutes to go, which became thirty, and then twenty.

"Given up, yet?" asked Tom indolently as he caught sight of Harry staring at the clock with a look of absolute horror.

"Shut up!" bit out Harry tensely, as he snapped his head up to glower at him. "You could at least try to help!"

"Help, how?" sneered Tom acidly. "What miraculous feat would you wish for me to do? Do tell me and I'll have a good laugh."

Harry utterly deflated, his shoulder slumping, as he whispered distraught, "We're never going to make it, are we?"

"I don't see how," said Tom coolly.

Harry clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, trembling in sheer impotence, before he began to wildly look at their surroundings, searchingly, for anything. Anything at all – there had to be something!

His frenzy vanished as he caught sight of a scene, making him bristle.

It was group of German soldiers, loudly jibbing, taunting, and mocking a very old woman who was painstakingly bending to pick up cans from the sidewalk, with a very heavy-looking bag of groceries that seemed to have spilled, and the Nazi soldiers were having a petty laugh at her expense, kicking the cans away as she tried to reach for them.

It made Harry seethe, pouring out all his misery and anger at their own situation towards the one he saw: the poor old woman, clearly Norwegian, shrunken, wrinkled, and so very frail-looking, wearing a brown shabby dress and a moth-eaten woolen shawl over her bony shoulders, her grey hair a mass haphazardly drawn in a bun, being cruelly taunted by the very same people who had taken over her country and her life, surely.

But then, as he kept observing, telling himself he had other things to worry about, and that he certainly couldn't afford to interfere, he suddenly went absolutely still.

"Brother," he breathed out slowly. "Look."

Tom did, before he sneered sarcastically, "Fascinating."

"No," whispered Harry, his gazed pinned on the old woman. "Look at the pocket of her dress. Her left pocket, Tom."

Frowning, Tom stared intently, before his expression changed drastically with a look of utter surprise.

Harry glanced at him, as he whispered fervently, "It's a wand! That thing poking out of her pocket is the tip of a wand's handle. She must be a muggleborn living in Oslo."

Tom nodded, now looking as if his mind was rushing with possibilities and plots, but Harry had no time to waste and he rushed forward without a second thought, hearing Tom cursing under his breath behind him, at his impetuous dash.

The Germans weren't at all happy when Harry interrupted their entertainment by hastily picking up all the cans and taking hold of the old woman's arm to help her up.

"Sie ist meine Großmutter," said Harry quickly to the soldiers, in the most perfect German he could muster, which sounded just right to his ears, for once, his tone soft, pleading, and cringing with apologies, his expression one of absolute submission. "Bitte."

The old woman gave him a startled glance, but was wise enough to say nothing at his interference. Harry didn't think she had understood that he had said she was his grandmother, she didn't seem to understand German.

The soldiers shot him a look of utter annoyance and irritation, but when Harry reiterated his plea, they waved him off briskly, as if they couldn't be bothered with the likes of them any longer.

Tom, of course, had quickly cottoned on to the plan, and had grabbed the old woman's grocery bag, solicitously holding her other arm, as they both acted as if they were doing nothing but helping along their dotty old grandma, gently herding her down the street.

When they were far away from the soldiers, they halted, and Harry was quick to pointedly touch the tip of the wand poking out of her pocket.

The old witch jerked backwards, an expression of horror on her face, looking about to bolt as far as her arthritic feet would carry her.

"No, wait!" said Harry hurriedly, as he gestured at himself and Tom, lowering his voice. "We're wizards too. You understand?"

The ancient woman stared at him, and Harry gestured again at her pocket, as he whispered urgently, "Wand. Magic. We do magic too. Wizards."

"Veivisere?" she croaked in a raspy voice, gazing at him with large eyes.

"Veivisere? That's wizards, then?" said Harry, grinning at her. "Yes, we're veivisere. And we're looking for-" he thought fast and then pointed at her wand, raising his fingers, representing two wands crossed together like dueling swords, the symbol of Aurors, in England and other countries too, hoping that such was the case in Norway as well "-Aurors, you know?"

She stared at him, blinking, and Harry bit his bottom lip, before an idea struck him.

"Valko Krum," he said hastily. "The Head of Aurors of Bulgaria, the one who became famous and a hero when he died trying to defend the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic! Krum – Aurors!"

"Krum," she repeated, her eyes growing with understanding as she nodded at him. "Valko Krum. Auror? Ja."

"We need to find the Aurors," said Harry slowly. "Your Ministry of Magic."

"Magidepartementet?" she rasped out, blinking at him.

"Yes! Magidepartementet, Ministry of Magic, right? Yes!" Harry breathed out, nodding eagerly at her, as he gestured at Tom and himself. "We need you to help us find the Magidepartementet – it's an urgent matter! Very urgent!"

The old woman gazed at him, looking hesitant, before she cast the group of Nazi soldiers in the distance a sour, hateful look, then glanced back at Harry, her expression softening as she raised a frail, wrinkled hand and patted him gently on the cheek in gratitude, nodding her head.

"Thank you," said Harry fervently, as the old lady made a gesture with her hands for them to follow.

Helping by carrying her heavy grocery bag, Harry hurried along by her side as Tom shot him a glance and tapped a finger on his wrist, as if he had a watch there.

"I know," whispered Harry distressed, as he glanced at his own pocket watch, seeing they only had fifteen minutes left.

Sooner than he would have expected, the old Norwegian witch entered a small, dingy shop of antique furniture. Harry followed, a tad nonplussed, through the dusty store till the very end, where the old woman greeted an old man as wrinkled, tiny, and frail-looking as her.

Given the way they kissed each other with infinite tenderness and love on the cheeks, they seemed to be husband and wife, and as Harry settled her grocery bag on the counter, the old lady began to speak in quick Norwegian to her husband, now and then gesturing at him and Tom.

Whatever she was saying, the old man didn't seem too disposed to obey, shaking his head, answering back, and shooting them frowns, until the old witch snapped something at him and his expression became one of reluctant consent.

The old woman turned around to smile at them warmly, before she pointed from them to her husband.

Getting the gist of it, they followed the husband into the back of the store, to what was apparently the old couple's living spaces.

A small, yet cozy sitting room awaited them, with clear indication of magic all around, in the moving portraits, glass figurines which glowed with an array of swirling lights, a porcelain figure of a man and woman dancing to some slow tune, mirrors with faces on them, and such.

The old man halted before the fireplace, taking a pot of what was evidently Floo-powder in his hands.

At that, Harry shot his brother an anxious glance. "Will our Traces-"

"Not with Flooing," said Tom shortly, before he frowned. "Yet I cannot hazard a guess as to what the old codger is planning on doing. I doubt we could just Floo into the Norwegian Ministry of Magic."

Harry shrugged at that. They were entirely in the hands of the old man, and whatever the ancient wizard could do for them would have to be enough. They didn't have many options but to trust that these two Norwegians knew what they were doing.

The old man impatiently gestured at them to go inside the fireplace, and they did, just as the wizard threw a handful of Floo-powder in the hearth and enunciated an impossibly long Norwegian word.

It was Harry's first experience with Floo-travel and it was a bizarre sensation, as he felt as if he was spinning and spinning on the spot, seeing flashes of other sitting rooms and chambers, until he stopped whirling, his stomach churning and unsettled, while he heard poor Ulysses letting out a hiss of complain from inside his jersey.

Tom looked a mite greenish too, as they both stepped out from some other fireplace, soon having to make way when the old witch's husband appeared, coming out of green flames just behind them.

It was then when Harry glanced at their new surroundings, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

They were in some sort of museum about the Viking people.

There were glass case displays with swords, round wooden shields, and horned helmets, others with mannequins dressed in the armor, shoulder pads, and skirts of Vikings, and an array of drawings and paintings of Norse gods, a model of a Viking village, and most marvelous of all, a whole, large Viking ship in the middle of the museum's vast main room.

Not only that, but it wasn't perched with supports on the floor. Instead, it looked as if it was floating in water, in a fountain that was just large enough for the ship, which made it very wide indeed.

Nevertheless, it couldn't be deep enough for a real ship. Logically, the ship itself had to be a model too, a very realistic one.

The vessel had beautiful lines and decorative patterns, with rows of oars interpolated with shields at either side, and with an impressive representation of a dragon's head made of wood at the bow.

There were only a very few muggles walking around, which wasn't surprising given the Nazi occupation of Norway. Yet, none of them seemed to have even realized that Harry and Tom had just come out of a fireplace stuck in between two glass case displays, which was only one of the many Harry saw scattered in the room. It was certain that the numerous hearths were hidden from muggle sight with enchantments.

A muggle did see them. Well, couldn't be a muggle then, since the man approached the old wizard who had brought them there, clearly being close acquaintances, a look of utter surprise and puzzlement on his face as he glanced from the old wizard to Harry and Tom, and back.

Harry couldn't fathom what both wizards began speaking about in Norwegian, but the wizard of the museum, looking to be a curator or guard of some sort, looked downright alarmed as he shook his head again and again in refusal, scowling, agitated, angered, or wary at different times.

The guard finally threw his hands into the air, saying something back to the old wizard in a very sharp tone of voice, as if warning him that consequences would be on his head.

Or at least that was what Harry surmised, because the guard seemed to have grudgingly yielded to the old wizard's wishes and began to unceremoniously shove Harry and Tom forward.

Harry shot him a puzzled glance, but went along, as the old wizard turned around and vanished into a fireplace without a word in parting.

To his utter astonishment, they were being led right to the Viking ship, to a wood plank that went from the floor surrounding the fountain to inside the vessel.

"Gå, komme oss inn!" the guard barked at them impatiently.

Harry took that as 'go', and did just so, outright puzzled as he got inside the model of the ship along with Tom.

Not a single muggle even glanced at them, and Harry realized that what the muggles didn't see was the ship itself. It was the most magnificent display in the whole room and not one muggle was approaching it.

He felt utterly stupid as he sat down on the model vessel's central beam, in between the oars, and began to feel that the guard had to be taking the mickey out of them. Surely it was a joke of some kind.

Just when he turned around to glare and snap something at the guard staring at them from the floor, everything seemed to become hazy around him.

He found himself surrounded by fog, so dense that he couldn't even see Tom, who was seated just a few inches away.

Just as abruptly as it had come, the fog vanished, and Harry's eyes went impossible wide, as he breathed out dumbfounded, "We're not in Oslo anymore."

Tom didn't say a word. It seemed his brother was just as astonished, or better said, impressed, his expression one of appreciation and approval.

Yet, Harry could only gape with wonderment. Their Viking vessel wasn't in some museum anymore, and certainly not a model either.

They were in a vast lake somewhere in Norway, so immense Harry couldn't even see its shoreline, as the ship's oars were moving of their own accord, striking water, making the vessel move inexplicably fast, towards an isle in the very middle.

He gawked in fascination. The isle was completely occupied by the most beautiful building he had ever seen. It looked like some sort of immense, ancient stave church, or cathedral given it's gigantic size, looking to be made of gorgeous wood, with layers of black roofs, conical or triangular, one on top of the other, countless stories-high, with woodwork-crafting forming geometrical decorative patterns all around.

To his eyes, it all glowed, with layers upon layers of mantles of colorful, shimmering magic – and incredibly potent wards they must be, for him to see it as clearly as he saw the ones in Hogwarts.

"This is their Ministry of Magic?" mumbled Harry astounded and incredulous. "It looks as though it's one of the most ancient places in the Wizarding World – and they use it for their government?"

"Apparently," said Tom succinctly, before he shot him a sharp glance, demanding, "What time is it?"

Harry had nearly forgotten all about that in his marveled stupefaction, and when he glanced at the pocket watch, he wished he had not, as he whispered bleakly, "Four minutes to noon."

Tom merely nodded at that, and went back to stare at the isle they were approaching so very quickly.

"We're not going there to see Grindelwald make his appearance," said Harry sharply, not liking one bit his brother's lack of alarm at the hour. "We're going there to obtain a portkey back to Hogsmeade, brother."

Tom glanced at him, arching an eyebrow and with an inscrutable expression on his face, as he drawled unruffled, "Certainly, if we can succeed in doing so."

Harry pierced him with green eyes filled with suspicion, before he realized they were almost upon the Ministry.

He instantly pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel, throwing it over them, while he glanced down at his Scorcrup, who had his head poking out the collar of Harry's jersey, and patted him on the head, as he whispered comfortingly, "We'll soon be back home, you'll see."

Little Ulysses let out a soft meow that sounded a tad mournful and apprehensive, and Harry petted him again, reassuringly.

"Look ahead," whispered Tom suddenly.

And Harry understood why, as their Viking vessel reached the isle and struck shore, a wood plank suddenly appearing, leading the way down.

Without a second thought, Harry grabbed Tom by the hand and pulled him along, as Tom secured the Invisibility Cloak around them with his free hand.

They ran down the plank, their feet stomping on sand, then grass and finally wood boards, as Harry made them madly dash up the grand stairway leading to the ancient, stave cathedral-like building, as he saw that the high-arched and beautifully decorated entrance had no door but an immense wall of dark blue magic, a gate of some sort, and he kept making them run at full speed, as Tom hissed angrily for his recklessness, as Harry knew it had to be one or two minutes before noon and they would never make it in time to find the Department of Magical Transportation, to steal a portkey, but he wouldn't let them give up without trying.

They pelted through the wall of blue magic, feeling as if they were crossing through a waterfall, and came out on the other side.

Yet Harry didn't take a second hitch of breath at the sight before him, countless of wizards and witches with their wands drawn, standing in rows after rows in the vast main hall of the building, or apparently posted at strategical places all around.

There were people of all sorts, hundreds of them, most with violet robes, and Harry understood they had to be Norwegians Aurors, by their disciplined stance, and by the determined, fierce expression on their faces.

Many others were recognizably French Aurors, in their pale blue tunics, because Harry knew that Dumbledore had convinced the French Minister of Magic to declare war on the Dark Lord, to send all his Aurors in succor to the Norwegians.

Furthermore, there were many other assorted wizards and witches, not Aurors, many clearly Norwegian Ministry workers, but plenty others looked foreigners too, people who had voluntarily and bravely answered the Norwegians' call for help.

And they were all ready. They all knew what was coming, the day, the place, the exact hour, down to the second. Evidently, because Julian Erlichmann was Dumbledore's spy, because just as Harry had thought, the young wizard must have passed on the information to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore to his French allies.

It was a whole Ministry filled with wizards and witches making their last stance for a country already conquered by Grindelwald's Nazi troops, in a country left behind and abandoned by the Muggle Allies.

And Harry's chest constricted, because he knew they didn't have a chance. As much as he wished, he doubted a Dark Lord could be halted by them, but only by someone equal in power, and he knew now who the 'Titans' were.

Nevertheless, he didn't stop, as he ran and pulled Tom along, as he saw that their entry had been noticed, surely due to some indication given by the wall of magic of the entrance.

As powerful as it had looked, it hadn't been there to block access to everyone, just to the enemy, clearly. Just as the whole building inside was pulsing and throbbing with layers of magical wards to ward off Grindelwald and his minions, glowing before Harry's eyes.

Several witches and wizards yelled loudly, and tried to see who had crossed, but of course, Harry and Tom were invisible.

Suddenly, someone, thinking enemies had somehow entered, someone clearly very smart and an Englishman, bellowed, "Accio Invisibility Cloaks!"

Harry nearly fainted, until he realized that Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak had not shifted an inch, still faithfully draped over him and Tom.

He didn't spare a second to wonder or question it, as mind-boggling as it was, since more wizards and witches attempted the same spell, a series of "Accio Invisibility Cloaks" or Cloak in singular, echoing loudly, in several different languages.

"Let's keep going!" whispered Harry frantically, as he tugged on Tom's hand and careened forward.

"Where?" hissed out Tom furiously.

Harry briskly pulled him along into another mad dash, weaving through the people, as he headed for a large board he had glimpsed. It seemed to indicate the floors in the Ministry and the location of every Department, to guide visitors.

"Here," wheezed Harry, as they stood before it, his voice haggard and frenzied as he added in a whisper, "Look for anything that could be the Norwegian name for the Department of Magical Transportation-"

_The time has come…_

Suddenly, Harry screamed as intense pain speared into his head, as he heard his shout accompanied by those of everyone else, as he fell on hands and feet like the others who did to their knees or crumbled to the floor, as it seemed as if beastly, savage claws were ripping through his brain, as a deep, low voice echoed and reverberated as if it was coming from all around him and from inside his skull, as it continued with whip-lashing force.

_Surrender, and your life will be spared... _

It was overwhelming, incapacitating, it was all he could think of or hear, of surrendering as the voice said. An utterly unfamiliar voice he had never heard before, yet he knew who it was, because the knowledge of its identity was being suffused inside his mind, and it was followed by terror, because it was Gellert Grindelwald talking to him, to everyone, inside their heads, in the respective languages their minds comprehended.

"No!" groaned Harry desperately, as he tried to scramble on hands and feet, as he tried to open his eyes which seemed to have scrunched shut with a volition of their own, tears of pain leaking from them, as he had to find his brother because it was imperative that he took Tom's hand again, that he found it.

_Submit, and no harm will come to you... _

Yes, to submit was to live, submission meant surviving to see another day. Harry howled as the alien thought wrecked inside his mind, clutching his head, as he chocked and wheezed, attempting to draw breath, yet he felt he couldn't.

He would not breathe, unless he submitted to the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard of them all, who held his life in his hands, hands that could be merciful, tender and forgiving, yet brutal and ruthless if not shown the acceptance and loyalty that was due to him.

"No," choked out Harry, shaking his head violently, trying to keep the foreign thoughts away from his head, feeling as if he was sinking in a miasma of confusion and madness.

_Resist, and your life and those of your loved ones will be forfeited..._

It was insanity, sheer devastating insanity that didn't let him think clearly, that made his sight swim and his mind lurch and battle against a crushing force that was overpowering, in will and strength and magic, because it was true, to resist was to die, and there was no bravery in that but stupidity and waste.

"TOM!" Harry cried out, in despair and wretchedness, fraught with the need to see and feel his brother, the need of not being alone in the madness, to be helped out of it.

_You have three minutes to decide, between Life or Death._

It stopped. Everything suddenly stopped, and Harry found himself splayed on the floor, like everyone else, his head throbbing yet all pain and confusion was gone, leaving only clarity behind.

"I'm here, little brother," said a haggard voice, as a hand pulled on him.

Harry staggered, as Tom helped him up to his feet.

Everyone around them looked ill, pale, shaky, and even some seemed half-crazed with fear.

Harry caught a glimpse of several witches and wizards, here and there, tossing their wands or breaking them, as they bowed their heads low, clearly in a display of a decision they had made, to surrender.

Some were even fleeing, but most, all the Aurors and other assorted people, remained standing in place, ready to fight till the end, to never yield.

Harry glanced at Tom, seeing that his brother looked ghastly too, his face pale, his lips contorted in a snarl of fury, and Harry understood, because if Tom had felt the same as he had, thoughts of submission forcefully lashing through his mind, it was something that must have agonized and enraged Tom beyond any degree of measure, because Tom bowed to no one.

Yet, there was something else in Tom's dark blue eyes, a gleam of awed fascination, of greed, of hunger, of sheer necessity to know and master.

Harry shook his head, before he stared at his brother and gasped out weakly, "What - was - that? What - did he do?"

"That, was full mastery of the Mind Arts," said Tom shortly, his voice hoarse. "That is what a dark wizard like Grindelwald can do with Legilimency and immense power." His dark blue eyes flashed. "That is what I, and you, will have to learn, little brother. Because there is no survival if one is too weak to seek power, is there?"

"What?" croaked out Harry, before his eyes widened with horror. "Three minutes, he said!"

"Indeed," said Tom coolly, skewering him with his eyes. "Hence, if you don't want to 'fall into his clutches', as you so aptly put it before, we have to leave. Now."

"Yes," breathed out Harry.

Tom had the Invisibility Cloak in his hands. They had been there in the middle of the entrance hall with everyone else, in sight as the Cloak had fallen off them, yet no one seemed to have noticed the two boys among them.

Nevertheless, Tom was quick to pull the Cloak over them, as Harry checked on Ulysses, whom he was sure he must have squashed when falling. However, his Scorcrup seemed unharmed, as resilient a creature as he was, and Harry didn't waste another second.

"Where do we go?" Harry whispered frantically.

"Anywhere," snapped Tom sharply. "We hide. We wait for the battle to end. And then we search for the Department of Magical Transportation under the Invisibility Cloak. It will not matter if there will be Grindelwald's minions strutting about."

Harry nodded, just as Tom grabbed his hand and made them run through the crowd, and Harry's heart lodged in his throat between pants, as they began reaching the end of the entrance hall, as they saw a wide corridor leading into the depths of the Ministry, as they ran for their lives towards it.

_Time has come to an end..._

Grindelwald's voice echoed in his mind, with no pain or force behind, just the statement, simple and clear, the reaping of the ultimatum previously given, and everything exploded around them.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Some reviewers have remarked that last chapter contained too much brutality and horrible things. And perhaps I should have written a warning in the Author's Note, but I didn't think it was necessary. I thought it was implicit - after all, we all know that this fic is taking place during WWII, it's even stated in the summary. So of course that a lot of brutal and horrifying things are going to happen, and Harry will experience some of them –some even worse than last chapter, I expect.

World War II was one of the most savage wars in history, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I like to write as realistically as possible. So for those people who don't like harsh things, which I understand, I would recommend skipping such scenes, because there's little else I can do –except writing a warning next time, which I will.

I'm sorry that's all I can do, because I really think that the fic would be terrible if I had to make things 'softer', since it wouldn't be at all believable given the decade it's set in.

Regarding what Harry should or shouldn't have done, I don't think there was much else he could have done for the woman. He didn't have any food to leave her with, and he didn't steal any life-or-death necessities from her either - he took back what the deserters had stolen from them, plus a box of bullets, a pocket watch, and one hunting trap. That he left the corpses there was a matter of urgency. Imagine having to drag and bury five large bodies, as exhausted and hurried as they were. They had their own concerns to deal with and at least Harry finally showed a sense of self-preservation by not remaining there trying to do the impossible to nicely fix everything – that naivety of his is long gone, I think. The solution certainly wasn't ideal, but he did as much as he could afford and think of, given the situation.

About why Tom keeps going along with Harry's schemes, it's quite simple: they're reduced to having to trust each other. I think their bond has strengthened because of this; of having to do whatever occurs to one or the other, in every new dire circumstance. And Tom goes along, just as Harry did regarding the necessity of eating the only thing they had left.

As to why Harry and Tom ended up in Norway, in the warfront, why I made it happen, it's simple, as I often point out, everything in my fic happens for a reason, everything ends up mattering down along the plotline. I understand it can be exasperating to see the plot diverging in such ways, of not always writing about them in Hogwarts, of not sticking with the one plotline that might be more interesting or important to many, but I never do these sorts of things without a good motive *winks*

I think that after this chapter we can understand what came out of it, for Harry's and Tom's character development, in many ways.

Hope this has served to clarify some things! Until next time :)


	49. Part I: Chapter 48

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for all the reviews, they were a nice surprise and cheered me up! ;)

Hope you enjoy this chappie too!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 48**

* * *

Everything around them burst into such pandemonium and chaos that Harry could hardly comprehend all that was happening.

The floor under their feet was shaking as if being wrecked by an earthquake, the walls and high-arched ceiling of the entrance hall was trembling again and again, as if the fists of some immense Giant was pounding against the building, each stroke debilitating the wards, whilst Harry understood that it had to be Grindelwald's magic slamming against the layers upon layers of shields of the Ministry, because the glowing wards were breaking like glass panes that were being punched, webs of cracks appearing where they were being hit, spreading and becoming wider and wider, running with lines of greyish magic.

Harry suddenly realized he was seeing the Dark Lord's magic, the color of tarnished silver, bright grey and glowing, whiplashing and pounding, until the wards crumbled like shards falling from the skies, turning to dust before hitting the trembling floors.

The masses of people inside were screaming, some in panic, hundreds of others, those who had decided to never yield, madly running all around, casting spells after spells, trying to fortify the wards, to prevent them from being utterly destroyed.

Harry abruptly cried out as he and Tom were swept in the frantic crowd, jounced to all sides, their hands breaking apart, until he could no longer see his brother who seemed to have been swallowed in the mass of people.

He desperately pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it in his satchel, so that his brother would be able to see and find him, as he wildly looked around for him as well, as Ulysses hissed like a kettle, as layers upon layers of wards finally fell, until the insides of the main hall glowed only with some sole ancient ward, powerful before his eyes but clearly not significant enough to halt the Dark Lord or make him bother with destroying it too, because just then, immense spheres, looking like gigantic cannonballs made of flames, blasted into the building as if being shot from outside, piercing the walls, leaving huge holes behind as they rolled into the main hall, crushing countless people as many others were burned alive by the flames - the smell of burning flesh, the sight of people ablaze, looking like human pyres, and the screams of agony were horrifying, so much so that at first Harry could do nothing but stare with wide, terrified eyes.

Terror which turned paralyzing the next second, as the immense spheres of flames cracked like eggs, monstrous creatures pouring out of each and every one of them, instantly leaping at the nearest witch or wizard, like mindless beasts with jagged, rotten teeth, ripping flesh and snarling, moving so quickly and with such unnatural speed and strength that they were blurs.

"HARRY!" bellowed Tom, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere from among the crowd of frantically battling people, reaching him, his expression wild. "INFERI!"

Of course they were, Harry knew well. They were Grindelwald's new breed of Inferi -the families of those who had ever fought against the Dark Lord in other conquered Ministries having been turned to such- not sluggish and weak as ordinary Inferi of old, but insanely savage and brutal.

He had already drawn out his gun, his heart beating so frenziedly inside his chest that felt as if it was about to jump out of his mouth, because with only a gun as weapon, they stood no chance against such creatures as he saw, so rabidly feasting on the victims that had already fallen, tearing throats, entrails, and flesh apart, moving so mind-boggling fast that they were flashes.

"Move!" Harry suddenly roared as one of those blurs leaped at Tom, as he rushed and plowed into his brother just in time to get him out of the way, making them land painfully on the floor, but he kept going, he rolled until he was crouching on his knees, until he wildly took aim and pulled the trigger.

The bullet tore through the flaps of rotten flesh of the Inferius, making it stumble backwards for a moment, and it was just then, as Harry was able to get a glimpse of it, that he went completely pale.

He recognized it, from the pictures in the Daily Prophet of so long ago, from Felicity and Felix's grief-ridden descriptions, because this Inferius still had some clumps of red hair and a wide belly that was slit open, drooping loosely in torn, ravaged flaps of withered flesh, because it had once been withchild, and it was no more, and he didn't want to know what had become of the baby that should have been there, if none of it had ever happened.

"Nettie Prewett," Harry choked out, his eyes filling with tears at the horror of it, just as she instantly recovered and made a lunge at him, snarling fiercely and mindlessly, just as he dove to a side and kept firing the gun without thinking about it twice, piercing her again and again.

She staggered, and fell, fetid black blood oozing from her wounds, but was up to her feet instants later, again and again, no matter how many times Harry shot her, until his gun clicked and clicked and no more bullets came of it.

"Ulysses, help!" he yelled frantically, as Tom shouted and violently pulled him to a side to save him from another lunge, as they staggered and slipped on a pool of someone else's blood, as the screams around them heightened, the gruesome wet sounds of the creatures feasting, the cries of agony and horror meshed with the roars and bellows of curses and spells cast.

His Scorcrup had jumped out of Harry's clothes before Harry had even finished voicing his desperate plea, and was a black blur in the air as he transformed, as he struck Nettie Prewett in whichever part of her rotting body he could, his scorpion's stinger flashing.

Yet, as Harry and Tom regrouped, Tom breathing hard as he brusquely took Harry's gun and hastily reloaded it with the bullets from the ammunition box Harry had stolen from the Leader of the Norwegian Army deserters, as Harry crouched by his brother's side, panting loudly, he saw that his familiar's attacks were being ineffectual.

The Inferius that had once been Nettie Prewett didn't fall on the floor convulsing with froth burbling from her rotten lips, her veins didn't bulge with poison. Instead, she merely staggered a bit, before attacking Ulysses with long, sharp, jagged fingernails resembling claws.

"Petrify her!" urged Harry wildly, realizing that Ulysses' lethal venom could not kill something that was already dead, as his Scorcrup once more managed to jump away from her just in time before the Inferius could shred him to slices.

Ulysses did so, latching himself on her decaying neck and striking once, twice, thrice, as she snarled and savagely batted him away so hard and with such unnatural strength and swiftness that the Scorcrup was no match in that instance, being propelled through the air, harshly smashing against a wall, letting out a pained yelp and then feeble whine as he crumbled to the floor.

Harry cried out in utter horror and anguish, and darted through creatures and wizards as he rushed to his Scorcrup's side before Tom could halt him, his brother roaring angrily as he left him behind.

Little Ulysses was still breathing as Harry gently picked him up in his arms, but it was certain that he was badly injured, that some bones must have cracked and broken, because the Scorcrup could only let out soft yipping sounds of pain as Harry protectively tucked him inside his clothes as carefully as he could manage.

"Watch out, Harry, you fool!" yelled Tom's voice furiously, just as a series of booming gunshot sounds reverberated and Harry swirled around to see that his brother was attempting to take down Nettie Prewett once more, firing the gun again and again, with a rather bad aim, at the Inferius who seemed to not be even affected by Ulysses' other type of venom.

Nevertheless, it was enough to give Harry the chance to swiftly scuttle, dash, and dart until he managed to reach his brother, wheezing and panting so loudly that he felt he couldn't take another breath of air.

His despair only grew as he realized that the Ministry had turned into a massacre, a brutal carnage, a mass extermination, as Inferi slaughtered and fed, so many wizards and witches overwhelmed by the sheer numbers that as much as they fought back they had fallen as prey to the feasting creatures.

Which meant, Harry realized in the next second, that the Inferi that were done with some victims, were now looking for more, that there were three of them who had gotten a whiff of his and Tom's smell, who were now rabidly leaping and bounding towards them, added to Nettie Prewett who seemed outright immortal, the damned thing.

Tom was pale, fumbling and trying to reload the gun once more, and just when Harry felt utterly hopeless, just as he thought that Death was certain and inevitable as he gazed around with mind-numbed horror, a sudden realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

It was so simple, so logical, that he didn't know how Tom or he hadn't discovered it before: that spells had been cast all around them, and yet no letter from the English Ministry of Magic had popped into existence. That long minutes before, witches and wizards had cast 'Accio Invisibility Cloaks' inches away from them, and nothing had happened either. That there was still an ancient ward shimmering before his eyes all around the main hall, discarded as inconsequential by the Dark Lord, certainly, but still functioning on some level.

"We can use magic!" Harry gasped out, snapping his head around to stare at his brother.

"What?" hissed out Tom harshly, glaring at him.

"Our Traces aren't working here!" Harry cried out joyfully, as he wildly gestured to the ward that glowed before his eyes. "Ancient magical wards interfere with the magic of the Trace Charm – like magic interfering with muggle electricity. Hogwarts isn't an exception to the Trace – the Trace wasn't made to be automatically disabled just in the case of Hogwarts, because there's no need for that! It's interfered with – it has always been blocked by Hogwarts' wards! The answer has always been ancient powerful wards!"

Tom stared at him, before his expression blazed with sudden understanding, then contorting with glee and triumph. "Brilliant, little brother!"

His brother's dark blue eyes were glowing with such contentment, and such show of appreciation for Harry, as Tom had never displayed before, that Harry felt himself swelling with pride and warm, fuzzy feelings.

He could count in one hand and a few fingers the scarce times Tom had ever showed any affection for him so openly, and his brother's expression just then was certainly a first.

Tom was smiling at him, and his brother had never smiled in his life. Granted, it was a tad twisty and curly, but still, it was more smile than smirk.

"We battle Dark with Dark – we battle Inferi with FIRE!" snarled Tom then, as Harry understood what his brother meant, as they both rose to his feet as if one, as Tom tossed the gun away like yesterday's rubbish, and they both whipped out their wands instantly.

Indeed, Harry understood everything, because his brother had been right all along, Magic was Might in such circumstances, Dark Arts could only be battled with Dark Arts in a war such as this, and Tom had been right to make them relentlessly pour over, study, and practice all those Dark Arts curses from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbook till the one of Grade Four, until they dropped from exhaustion.

And if Tom implied that only fire-wielding curses would work against Inferi, Harry took his word for it, because it was his brother who always spent all his spare time secretively ensconced in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library, who constantly researched and taught himself such matters as all sorts of Dark Arts and about such creatures as Inferi.

And Harry knew how, because Tom had always been an excellent teacher, mercilessly strict and demanding, yet patient too, and thanks to his brother, he had mastered most curses that could be found in Grindelwald's textbooks.

It had all taken a split second, as they brandished their wands just as Nettie Prewett and the other three Inferi were upon them, as they both knew which curse was best to cast and deftly performed the wand movements and roared as if one, "Flamma Flagellium!"

Cords of fire erupted from their wands, as if transformed in a whip, as they struck and lashed against the incoming Inferi, again and again, as the beasts' rotten flesh sizzled and burned, as the creatures let out ear-splitting inhuman screeches that would surely haunt his nightmares, as he and Tom cast the curse time and again at one creature or the other, bit by bit burning every part of the Inferi as the creatures tried to escape in mindless fear.

They were both panting loudly and haggardly, as they kept lassoing and trapping the Inferi with the cords of fire shooting from their wands, lashing against the creatures, making them finally combust and turn to ashes. But it wouldn't be enough.

Harry blanched, as he saw more beasts taking notice, finishing with some corpse they had been feasting on and turning around to rush towards them like rabid blurs of jagged teeth and claws.

"Use your magic, brother!" Harry yelled desperately. "Your accidental magic – your wandless magic! Let it pour, let it free!"

Tom shot him a brief glance at that, yet seemed to understand as he turned to face the Inferi once again.

Harry felt it suddenly, his scar feeling as if it was splitting open with his brother's fury and murderous rage, with the vicious violence and enjoyment, as he glimpsed Tom's magic for the second time in his life, like in the cottage, a hazy mantle of dark, midnight blue magic throbbing and pulsing all around Tom. Only this time, apparently, his brother knew it was there even if Tom only felt and didn't see it, because this time, the magic seemed to be controlled, seemed to know what do to, as it lashed out, striking at Inferi.

Harry didn't know exactly what Tom was willing his magic to do, only that it appeared to work, as Inferi staggered backwards and let out pained shrieks. However, something else was happening too.

Something in his scar seemed to be burbling upwards in giddy enjoyment, rising and pulling, pulling at something within that seemed to answer back, to respond to Tom's show of magic. And Harry felt it, something swirling inside, and rushing through his veins, sizzling and hot, and caressing his skin.

Before his eyes, he seemed to be glowing in warm, red magic, and he became breathless and marveled at its beauty, at its existence and display, because he somehow knew that this was _his_ magic, and he had never seen it before, never suspected or dared to hope that such thing was possible in him, like in Tom.

Yet, as much as he glorified in it, and as much as he tried, he didn't know what to do with it. It had been Tom who had been able to control his accidental magic when they had been children, who had made Dennis Bishop 'hurt', who had hanged Billy Stubbs' Puffy the Bunny from the rafters, but not Harry.

Harry had only apparated once, when fleeing from his childhood's tormentor and bully, and had only made the windows of Mrs. Sharpe's office explode, the shards piercing Mr. Jenkins' face when the brute had been savagely canning Tom. But he had no idea how he'd done those things, no idea how such wandless magic worked, and didn't have the time to figure it out either.

Thus, as Tom used not only his wand but magic too in whichever way he could, Harry limited himself to just using his wand, casting the same dark curse again and again.

_Desist, surrender, or your lives will be crushed…_

"Damn him!" choked out Harry, as the voice and thought wrecked through his mind with thundering, reverberating, incapacitating force, as it made him fall his to his hands and knees, losing grip and sight of his wand.

And just as another Inferius made a lunge at him, as he was only able to push against it with his feet, with his knees bent against his chest as he laid splayed on the floor, with the creature's maw of jagged teeth inches away from his face, snarling and spitting at him as it tried to rip out his face or throat, just as Harry's hand blindly fumbled on the floor, searching for his wand yet suddenly touching something else, steely and hard, just as he knew what it was and grasped the gun Tom had discarded and was able to blast a hole in the Inferius' head, being completely splattered with the creature's rotten bits of flesh, something happened.

A loud trill sounded, echoed and rose in a hope-bringing, beautiful song, as a burst of fire seemed to explode in the middle of the main hall, a group of wizards and witches suddenly appearing.

Harry gawked, as he recognized the magnificent bird, who had saved him once.

It was Fawkes who had appeared in a blaze of flames, with a bunch of wizards and witches hanging from his tail's feathers, before they dropped on the floor and immediately began to cast spells in perfect coordination, certainly knowing what they were doing by casting such as 'Igneo' and 'Flameo' against the Inferi, while Fawkes vanished and reappeared again, bringing more and more wizards and witches, all of them who began helping the Norwegian and French Aurors still alive, who roared in hope and gratitude, as they all turned to push the Inferi backwards, to herd and corner them with fire spells.

The newcomers were cloaked, and clearly wearing glamours, since Harry didn't recognize a single one of them yet knew that one had to be Aurora Bones. They were the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry's green eyes grew wide, with such relief that he was nearly breathless, and he glanced around, joy and hope rising in him.

Yet... such emotions were crushed as he realized that someone was missing.

Dumbledore was not amongst them.

_Welcome, at long last…_

Grindelwald's voice echoed in his head, sounding delighted and triumphant, as if it was _this_ what he had been waiting for, as if he had known beforehand hand or counted on such people making an appearance, as if it had all been a ploy to ambush them.

However, the next words thundered through Harry's mind, enraged and spitting.

_Hiding in your precious Hogwarts, Albus?_

It was followed by an abrupt bout of crowing, amused laughter.

_You disappoint me, Albus… Do you fear temptation?_

"Accio wand!" wheezed Harry frantically, because he just knew nothing good was going to happen, because he knew everything was going to take a turn for the worse, if that was even possible given the carnage all around him.

_Are you so weak, so scared of succumbing to what I'm willing to offer you?_

Just as Harry's wand slapped into his hand, Tom appeared, pulling him up to his feet, before urgently tearing out the Invisibility Cloak from Harry's satchel, pulling it over them.

"We must hide!" hissed out Tom, apparently the same alarmed thoughts having crossed his mind as in Harry's. "We must make our escape now, and hide!"

_You want it and I know where it is… With it, you could have her back. Don't you want her back, Albus?_

"Yes!" panted out Harry, as he tucked the gun under his belt, just as Tom took a hold of his hand and they made a mad dash towards the corridor they had tried to reach before, away from the main hall, leading to the depths of the Ministry, both with wands firmly gripped in their hands.

As the Order of the Phoenix and the remaining Aurors kept battling the Inferi, destroying one after the other, Fawkes' beautiful trill echoed loudly all around.

_Are you hearing me, through the bond with your phoenix, Dumbledore? Will you see through your phoenix's eyes, how my armies will destroy them all? And do nothing?_

Harry and Tom ran for all their worth, staggering and jumping over the ravaged corpses littering the floors, the Invisibility Cloak flapping, Ulysses' strained meow coming muffled from within Harry's jersey at the jolting motions.

_Come face me, Albus… or your followers will pay for your cowardice… _

"Hurry!" spat Tom in agitation, as he harshly pulled Harry along when Harry slid and slipped on some blood and nearly lost his balance and fell on the floor.

_No? Very well, let it be on your conscience, Albus. I will give no quarter. I will show no mercy._

They were finally in the corridor, when everything seemed to freeze over, when the temperature dropped drastically, as if the walls were being covered with frost, when their pants of breath came out as white puffs, when all hope seemed to vanish from Harry and he was only filled with utter despair.

They both turned around exactly at the same time, as black hooded creatures poured into the main hall from the immense holes in the walls, flowing towards the Aurors and the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Dementors," whispered Tom in a shaky voice, his dark blue eyes wide, and Harry saw true terror and fear in his brother's expression, for the first time in their lives.

Harry had known what the creatures were too, from descriptions, yet he was utterly stunned because there hadn't been a single rumor about the Dark Lord having obtained the allegiance of such things, not a single gossip from their housemates, not even a hint of it in alarmist articles of the Daily Prophet.

Tom instantly snapped his head around to stare wildly at him. "Do you know how to-"

"No," said Harry haggardly, panic gripping him, because he really didn't.

His chest constricted at the recollection, because it had been Tilly Toke who had mentioned the only spell that could be used against such creatures, who had described how it worked, promising to teach them the charm in Seventh Year, yet neither of them knew the wands movements required for casting it, not even the incantation.

Harry stared at him, in utter misery, as he stuttered, "Maybe the Invisibility Cloak-"

"It can't hide us from such things!" bit out Tom frenziedly, his face losing all its color. "They'll sense us regardless! Dementors sense souls, you imbecile!"

"Then we keep running!" bellowed Harry desperately, as he took hold of his brother's hand, as he glimpsed that so many more things were happening, because just as the Dementors swooped and Order members and Aurors cried out "Expecto Patronum!", astonishing figures of animals of all sorts flying around, looking to be made of beautiful silvery white magic, there were black blurs falling as if raining down from the ceiling with whooshing sounds, which were revealed to be hundred upon hundreds of grey cloaked wizards and witches, their faces hidden and shadowed by hoods.

Grey cloaks… Grey, the color of Grindelwald's magic, Harry remembered, and thus realized that those wizards and witches were the Dark Lord's followers.

It all exploded into a fierce battle, with Dementors swooping in from all sides and Grindelwald's minions roaring, snarling, and spitting Dark Curses left, right, and center, the vast main hall being illuminated in countless flashes of colors and beams of magic.

Harry had never seen something like it before, yet it became evident to him that the Order and Aurors didn't stand a chance. The Dementors were too many, as were Grindelwald's minions – they would all soon overwhelm the others.

"Move, you idiot!" shrieked Tom in a high-pitch, as he began to shove Harry ahead along their corridor, clearly wanting to leave all the rest behind.

Harry began to ran, as they both pelted forwards, side by side, under the Invisibility Cloak, but suddenly they were encompassed by a freezing chill of air, some horrible sensation crawling down his spine as Harry saw two shadowy figures flying and whooshing by their sides and suddenly appearing before them, as all breath left his lungs in utter horror and mindless fear, misery, hopelessness, and mind-crushing despair.

"NO!" roared Tom wretchedly as he clutched his head and his eyes rolled upwards, as he became white as paper as he fell to the floor, as one of the Dementors swooped down on him as Tom began to writhe on the floor, screaming hoarsely.

Harry didn't know what happened next, when he felt his body going limp and crashing to the floor, when his sight suddenly seemed to narrow in a tunnel and everything around him seemed to vanish.

The images came to him as if they were a hazy dream, the sounds and voices as if from far away.

A woman of incredible beauty had him wrapped in her arms, her lips trembling, tears slowly rolling down her oval face, eyes like his, almond-shaped and of a lovely shade of green were gazing down at him, her hair such a glossy, wavy sheet of red-hair that was also so soft, that Harry liked to touch so much, that he was suddenly lifting a tiny, chubby hand, grabbing a lock of hair and pulling down, gurgling a joyful giggle.

"My lovely boy," whispered the woman, her green eyes crinkling, a strained smile stretching over her face, before she flinched at the sounds coming from the distance.

A man roaring, a shout, and then a loud thud.

"James," she sobbed out, her expression crumbling in heart-wrenching sorrow and misery, before she seemed to straighten her shoulders, a look of both utter defeat and yet firm determination settling on her beautiful face as she gently lowered Harry to a cradle.

Yet Harry didn't understand, as he felt wretchedness encompassing him, because Tom wasn't with him and he knew he had shared a cradle with his twin in the orphanage's nursery. He didn't understand either because the woman felt so familiar and yet alien to him. He didn't remember such a woman being a caretaker, a woman that inexplicably resembled him so much, at that. Where was Alice?

And the room looked utterly foreign to him, incomprehensibly so because there were indications of magic all around: in the wallpaper that depicted lion cubs, playing with each other, prancing around roaring, or coiled up, snoring; and an open trunk filled with toys such as he had never seen, a small flying broomstick, a golden snitch with fluttering wings that were wrapping around the ball as if it was going to sleep, a teddy bear that was closing its eyes shut and letting out a yawn, and tin soldiers that were hopping and helping each other jump into the trunk.

Through the bars of the cradle, he saw the woman turning around, just as the room's door was flung open and something came inside.

Harry felt he choked. It was some tall, thin being draped in a black cloak, a spindly hand with wand in hand, the face beneath the hood horrific, as if features had melted and faded away, with no recognizable trace of humanity left behind, a flat nose composed of two slits, a mouth with such thin lips they were almost nonexistent, the skin so thin and pale that small veins could be seen through it, but it was the eyes, with snake-like slits for pupils and blood red, that filled Harry with terror and incomprehension.

Because he knew those eyes, the red eyes of his nightmares.

"Not Harry," the woman was pleading desperately, her voice distraught, as if she had known all along what would happen, as if she had readied herself as best she could and would do anything, as if she wasn't even surprised by the monstrous being that had entered the room. "Not Harry, please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl," said the creature, briskly waving a hand as if highly irritated and impatient, its voice high-pitched. "Stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please!" yelled the woman wretchedly, as she suddenly took a step forward, hiding the cradle, stepping between cradle and monster as she flung her arms at either side of her, the offering clear. "Take ME instead!"

The monstrous creature's shrill voice was laughing.

"Please, have mercy! Have mercy!"

"As you wish," said the hideous thing, as the red eyes flashed, as its spindly hand raised the wand, before its voice spat with annoyance, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry's mind swirled and churned dizzily, because such a familiar beam of bright green light shot from the wand, the exact same he always saw in his nightmares, and it struck the woman.

And for some reason, as she crumbled to the floor, her beautiful dead eyes unseeingly staring up the ceiling with expanding pupils, Harry felt he was screaming in utter horror, devastation and sorrow, and he didn't know why, but he felt as though he had just seen Alice Jones being murdered before his eyes, such wrecking grief encompassing him that for a moment he felt to be sinking into mindlessness.

Then the creature was advancing towards him, its red eyes gleaming with glee and triumph –such familiar gleams because Tom's eyes sometimes sparkled that way- and Harry wanted to scream himself hoarse and roar and shout, but he seemed to be stuck in a small, plump body, sitting on a nappy-covered bum in the cradle, as he found himself peering up with utter puzzlement, curiosity, and incomprehension at the monster that stared down at him.

Indeed, Harry himself felt dizzy with confusion once again, as the wand was aimed at him, as the Killing Curse was cast again, as another beam of green light flashed and this time struck _him_.

He felt he couldn't breathe, that he was drowning in cold; there was a rushing in his ears as though of water, he was being pulled downwards, the roaring growing louder, as he felt as if his body was writhing.

A thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him, freezing him, inside his very heart it seemed, until it parted slowly, until he found himself in some vast, lavish bedroom, as he realized he was indeed convulsing, that his limbs seemed to be bound with tethers of magic in some wide, four-poster canopied bed, that his mouth was parted open, letting out a constant stream of screams that he couldn't hear.

There was a woman seated by his bedside, her fair, beautiful, breathtaking features swamped with deep worry, as she tenderly and soothingly caressed his locks of drenched hair with a shaky hand.

Harry could only stare at her, speechless, even though he knew his body was screaming in silence, in confusion and terror, because he knew her too. The blonde woman of his dreams, who always sang Alice's lullaby to him.

"Where have you been?" she suddenly demanded sharply, turning her face around.

And it was Santi who suddenly appeared there, standing by her side, glowing in golden light, his face deeply grim.

"Why didn't you pay heed to my warning?" said Santi angrily, as Harry had never heard him before, his milky eyes flashing with fury as he glared at the woman. "I told you this would come to happen. I told you you had to-"

"You explained nothing!" the woman hissed, as she fluidly rose to her feet, displaying a lovely gown of silver satin. "Antares' screams woke the whole Manor, I came here instantly and had to send a house-elf to tell Lucius our son was just having a nightmare." She turned to gaze down at Harry with a hint of frantic apprehension showing on her face, as she murmured quietly, "I tried everything, yet I do not know what is happening to him. I had to cast a Silencing Charm since he would not stop screaming, I had to bind him-"

"You should have written to your mother-in-law," interjected Santi, narrowing his eyes at her, "as I told you to do, Mrs. Malfoy."

The beautiful woman, a Malfoy apparently, as mind-boggling and utterly ludicrous as that was, swirled around to stare at Santi, her expression icy as she whispered sharply, "I will never ask Kasimira Von Krauss for aid-"

"Kasimira Malfoy!" bit out Santi impatiently. "She hasn't been a Von Krauss for decades. She married into the Malfoy family just as you did." His lips twisted with anger. "I would have thought you would be able to put aside any petty struggles for power and social position, between you and her, and be able to swallow your pride for the sake of your son!"

"What have you told her?" demanded Mrs. Malfoy, her pale blue eyes flashing.

"Nothing much –yet," retorted Santi crisply. "However, Kasimira has always been quite a perceptive, clever woman. She will put the pieces together. Already she wants to meet her grandson-"

"She forfeited any rights-"

"She's one of the few that can help him!" roared Santi angrily, glowering at her. "That can teach him some of the things he'll need to know-"

"Poisons and Blood Arts," said Mrs. Malfoy, her voice wintry, "is all Kasimira Von Krauss has ever been knowledgeable in."

"Precisely," retorted Santi flatly, "and he'll need those."

"My sister is already-"

"Bellatrix is only useful in teaching him the Dark Arts," interrupted Santi in a hard tone of voice, giving her a disparaging look, "and do you really believe you'll be able to control her for much longer? Already she's trying to break him, in order to shape him after her own image-"

"I am perfectly able of handling my own sister, you unnatural creature," hissed Mrs. Malfoy in a low, incisive tone of voice. "I observe their lessons. She sees the Black in him. She loves him as the son she does not have-"

"As much as someone like Bellatrix Lestrange can love," interjected Santi harshly. "She's deranged, Mrs. Malfoy, the Black insanity slowly wrecking her mind. It's a fate she seems destined for no matter the times-"

"Enough!" said Mrs. Malfoy, her voice a whiplash, her tone chilly. "Tell me what is happening to my son. Tell me why the silly lullaby is no longer working. Tell me why you said I would only need to sing it for the first months of Antares' life, yet it is now over six years later and still-"

"The lullaby served its purpose, he's completely anchored now," interjected Santi crisply, his milky eyes darting to gaze at Harry, his expression crumbling. "This is something different. This is his soul remembering, this is a connection he's experiencing, past with present, this is caused by Dementors affecting his soul-"

"Dementors?" said Mrs. Malfoy snidely. "Do not be ridiculous, Dementors cannot enter Malfoy Manor. The wards-"

"Dementors in the past, you foolish woman!" snapped Santi with exasperation, before he shot her a seething glower. "If you allowed me to tell you about who he was, about the things he experienced, you would understand-"

"He is my son, you abominable creature!" hissed Mrs. Malfoy sharply, her beautiful features remaining composed except her lips which thinned with fury. "No one else!"

"He's a thousand things beyond just your son," spat Santi impatiently, pinning her with intense, piercing milky eyes, "and you will not be able to protect him until you know all about him. He's about to turn seven years of age, he's about to be used for such devastation as you cannot comprehend, and the only way we can prepare him for the aftermath is if you do as I say. You will write to Kasimira Malfoy and take Antares to see her. You will convince Abraxas to teach the boy-"

"I have already tried," interjected Mrs. Malfoy stiffly. "And he refused."

"Of course he did, he cannot bear the sight of him!" bit out Santi with annoyance. "He does not see him as a grandson, he knows what you don't, he knows the past. He knows what he did to the boy, and shies from facing him. But you must convince him, because your son inherited his traits, and it's only a half-Veela who can guide and teach another with the same characteristics – characteristic stronger in Antares than in Abraxas, at that. But it's Abraxas who we have on hand, thus you must convince him to teach the boy!"

"The Dark Lord will not allow it," murmured Mrs. Malfoy quietly, a glint of distress in her eyes.

"Oh, I bet he won't like it one bit," retorted Santi, a chortle escaping from his lips, "to have Abraxas alone with Antares, giving private lessons. Oh no, Lord Slytherin won't like it, but he's no fool. He will see the benefits."

He shot the witch a pointed look. "He knows he cannot keep a constant watch on Antares to protect him from all threats, just as he knows the Grey Wizard is waiting for the merest chance to utterly dispose of Antares after he finishes using the boy. Thus, the Dark Lord can be convinced to allow his 'godson' to be trained by as many people as possible, in as many areas of Magical knowledge as can be offered, even, yes, Veela abilities. It's your duty to make that happen."

"Very well," said Mrs. Malfoy stoically. "It will be done." Her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly, as she then commanded in an imperious tone of voice, "Help my son. Now."

"Of course I will," shot Santi irritably, before he sat at one side of the plush bed, his warm hands taking a hold of Harry's face, his expression softening with tenderness, as he whispered softly, "Antares… Harry, I know you can see me, I know what you have heard and the things you've experienced. I know you must be terrified and confused, but I will make it all stop."

Santi's handsome face turned grim, as he added in a somber whisper, "And someday you'll forgive me for this, someday I'll return all these memories back to you, and you'll be able to understand as I'll be able to finally explain it all. Now, try to hold onto the awareness that you're still in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. You must go back now! OBLIVIATE!"

Something screeched horribly, and Harry was gasping for air, feeling as if he was breaking through the surface of some deep, unfathomable lake he had been drowning in, his head throbbing with a splitting headache.

Yet he felt utterly emptied, utterly confused and disoriented as he found himself splayed on the floor, as Ulysses was letting out frantic hisses at the creature that was floating away from him in some kind of agitated state.

A Dementor!

And suddenly everything rushed back into his mind.

He had been running with Tom into the corridor that led to the depths of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, and two Dementors had swept before them, and they had fallen, the Invisibility Cloak lying there on the floor inches away from him.

He was infused with utter despair that seemed to be pervading all around him, yet it seemed as if, for some reason, the Dementor that had been attacking him had withdrawn as though something had confused and perturbed him.

The cloaked creature screeched again as it flew away, while Harry could hear screams and bellows of cast spells coming from the main hall, as he glimpsed that the battle still raged on fiercely between Order members and Aurors against Grindelwald's followers, that many had fallen but no side was giving any quarter.

But it was the sight of his brother that made his heart thunder wildly and lodge in his throat, swamping him with horror, because the Dementor looming over Tom seemed to be sucking blurs of light from his brother, all positive feelings, Harry knew.

Tom was writhing, his eyes rolled up into his skull, letting out incomprehensible shrieks, as he relived who-knew-what kind of nightmares and fears, his body arched upwards painfully, as the Dementor kept feeding.

What happened a second later made Harry choke in utter terror, as the Dementor swopped closer to Tom, as a wide, gaping hole for a mouth was the only thing that became visible under the shadows of the creature's hood, as the Dementor began to draw in long, slow, rattling breaths and sucking noises, and Harry suddenly understood what was happening.

"NO!" he roared in such anguish and mindless horror as he'd never felt before, as he scrambled on hands and knees and threw himself over Tom's body, to shield him, as the Dementor attempted to give him the Kiss.

"Expect-o," tried Harry frantically as he waved his wand, as he felt the effects of the Dementor's presence, as the creature didn't seem to even halt, as Tom's pale face contorted to unconsciously scream again.

And Harry attempted the charm which incantation he had heard the others using, trying to think of the most joyous experience of his life, as he brandished his wand and he cried out and stuttered and tried again and again, "Expec- Expecto Patro- Expecto Patron-"

But he couldn't! He felt nothing but sheer misery, and something was coming out of Tom's mouth, and he instantly and frenziedly tried to use his hands to cover his brother's lips.

Nevertheless, the so very bright speck of light, looking so pure and beautiful, frail and precious, was floating out of Tom's mouth, as Tom's body arched even further, as Tom seemed to be giving his last shuddering breath, as the speck kept floating, through Harry's desperate hands as if they weren't there, rising in the air, towards the Dementor's sucking hole.

"HELP!" Harry cried out at the top of his lungs, screaming hoarsely, utterly desolated and distraught, feeling as if something was tearing him apart, savagely tearing his heart to pieces with sheer despair, because if his brother died, he'd rather die too, and he cared nothing about being discovered or repercussions.

"SOMEONE PLEASE HELP! HE'S DYING!"

He was sobbing wretchedly as he frantically tried to capture the bright speck, but his hands went through, and something in his scar seemed to be rising and shrieking with agonizing agitation as well.

Just when he thought that everything was lost, just as his sobs turned so distraught that he felt he couldn't breathe, someone bellowed, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The most beautiful song bird flew into the Dementor, a robin made of blazing white light, flapping its wings as it attacked the creature again, making the Dementor finally flee, as Harry watched with wide eyes and his heart in his throat how the speck abruptly began to float back slowly into Tom's opened mouth.

His brother drew a deep intake of breath, as if being resuscitated from the dead, his chest expanding, yet then laid limply and motionless, his eyes fluttering shut.

Harry clutched Tom tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks before he went absolutely still, as he caught sight of the hem of grey robes, their savior advancing towards them.

"Two British boys?" said an astounded voice in fluent English, with a hint of a brisk German accent. "What are you doing here-"

The German accent, the color of the robes he saw, made Harry glance up wildly, instantly aiming his wand as he roared frenziedly, "Don't take another step! Don't move, or I'll kill you!"

The figure in grey cloak halted in its tracks as if thunder-struck, as it breathed out slowly, "_Zwei_."

"What?" spat Harry, viciously glaring at Grindelwald's follower, wand posed and ready to attack if the person even twitched an inch.

The figure suddenly drew back the hood of the grey cloak, and Harry stared at him, becoming utterly speechless.

His green eyes widened as he recognized the face revealed, from the pictures in the Daily Prophet and the image he had seen in the Mirror of Desires, the face of a boyishly handsome young wizard with short, wavy auburn hair and sky blue eyes, a face he often saw in his sleep as he dreamed about the wizard he constantly thought about, the wizard he so admired, the wizard Tom had nastily accused him of being obsessed with, and had been right.

"Julian Erlichmann," breathed out Harry, his heart hammering loudly in his chest, his pulse beating thunderously, feeling as if he was about to faint from the impression, for the fact of finally seeing the wizard in the flesh, before his very eyes.

"_Zwei_," repeated the young wizard numbly, suddenly losing all color in his face, suddenly looking as if he was seeing a ghost or standing before Death itself, his expression slowly crumbling with despondency, anguish, utter defeat and despair.

Yet Julian Erlichmann's expression slowly morphed, into one of fascination, as his gaze slowly roved over Harry's features with such longing, as he stretched out a trembling hand as if wanting to touch Harry's face, to feel if he was real, yet not quite daring to do so.

"Harry," murmured Julian Erlichmann quietly, as he pulled his hand away, limply dropping it.

Harry's eyes went impossibly wide, thoroughly disconcerted as he gasped out, "How do you know my name?"

Julian Erlichmann's lips hitched upwards at that, looking amused, before he frowned. "What are you doing here? Are you mad?"

Abruptly, the young wizard swirled around, as if sensing something, just as a figure glowing in golden light appeared from thin air.

"_You knew!_" spat Julian Erlichmann in a German Harry understood, his tone sharp, seething, and accusing. _"You knew beforehand, and told me nothing!"_

"Santi?" stuttered Harry incredulously, blinking, his gaze wildly darting from one to the other, thinking he must have taken leave of his senses because it seemed utterly impossible to him, so bizarre that he understood nothing, because Julian was seeing Santi, was speaking to him as if they knew each other.

Santi shot him a grim look, before he began to speak quickly to Julian Erlichman, gesturing with his hands in an urgent manner, both beginning to speak in such a fast, hurried, arguing German that Harry was not able to follow the brief conversation.

It was Julian who finally nodded jerkily, his expression somber, as he took something long, thin, and shiny from a pocket, as he tapped it with his wand and murmured an incantation, as he tossed it at Harry, saying sharply, "Take it, and leave!"

Harry deftly caught it in midair, and then stared at it, at a long, beautiful silver flute, gorgeously engraved with small depictions of magical creatures: he saw a siren's tail wrapped around the flute, along with a phoenix's feathers, the long flowing tresses of a merman, and such.

And he suddenly knew what charm Julian must have cast on the flute, as it began to slowly glow in blue magic, as he suddenly felt such agitation, such sheer, overwhelming horror and need and urgency and desperation, that he stared at Julian Erlichmann and cried out frenziedly, "Come with me!"

Julian stared at him, before he chuckled wryly and mirthlessly. "I wish I could." He suddenly grabbed one of Harry's wrists tightly, as he whispered urgently, "Listen to me, say nothing to Dumbledore, but use him. You understand? Use him!"

Harry stared at him, utterly gobsmacked, as the flute began to vibrate in his hand, as everything seemed to suddenly darken, as loud cracks echoed all around, as Julian suddenly stiffened, as Harry's flesh abruptly became covered with goosembumps, the small hairs of his arms and back of his neck standing on end, as if his body was being struck by a bolt of static electricity, because he suddenly felt sheer waves and tides of magic that seemed to be spreading all around, because he suddenly saw Gellert Grindelwald appearing in the middle of the carnage and corpses in the main hall, flanked by thirteen wizards – the man's Haupte Kommandanten, clearly.

"Grindelwald," said a hoarse, fascinated voice, and Harry suddenly realized Tom had jerked awake into consciousness, perhaps due to the overwhelming dark magic rolling off the Dark Lord, spreading and pervading throughout.

And the wizard was such a sight as Harry had never seen before or even imagined. He had seen pictures, but he hardly gave credence to his eyes, to the fact that Gellert Grindelwald, despite how old he had to be, looked nothing but awfully handsome, an air of utter self-confidence, nonchalance, and even charming airs and wicked sense of humor making him seem so appealing, despite what Harry knew of him, despite the hatred he also felt.

The wizard glowed and shimmered with power, but there was something else which turned Harry utterly mesmerized, as much as it mind-boggled him, because the wand in Grindelwald's hand was glowing too –yet it was still not being used, but nevertheless seemed to blaze with silver light in and of itself, so potently, so powerfully that Harry felt it in his bones, something rattling him, some inexplicable, strange sort of fascination taking hold of him as he kept staring at the wand and its baffling inherent magic.

Nevertheless, he noticed Julian Erlichmann again just then, as the young wizard jumped in, blocking his view, precisely obstructing Grindelwald's line of sight from detecting Harry and Tom as well.

And it was the young wizard's expression, so conflicted, so troubled and tormented, and miserable, a wild look of apprehension in sky blue eyes that seemed suddenly haunted, that it made Harry cry out frantically again, his plea heart-wrenching, profound and agonizing, "Come with me, PLEASE!"

But Julian Erlichmann didn't seem to hear him, as the young wizard suddenly dashed towards the Dark Lord, still hiding them from sight as he moved forward, and Harry felt he would never see him again, because he felt he had suddenly found him, at long last, and that he would just as swiftly lose him.

He felt he was going mad, as the flute in his hand blazed in blue light, as he could do nothing except take a tight hold of his brother and the Invisibility Cloak, as everything began to swirl around him, as he began to sob wretchedly because everything was going so wrong, as someone had caught sight of a hoodless Julian, as someone yelled achingly, "Julién!"

And the member of the Order of the Phoenix who had spoken in a French accent revealed himself, dispelling his glamour, a handsome face of a tall, hazel-eyed, blonde man appearing as he stared at Julian Erlichmann, who had frozen, going absolutely still, his face paper white as he mumbled faintly, "Laurent?"

"_Your old acquaintance?_" crowed Grindelwald loudly in German, with a chortle, as he advanced towards them through the mounds of corpses in the main hall, his hawk-like eyes intensely fixed on both wizards and seeing nothing else, flashing with rage as he then bellowed, "_Kill him_, mein Edelstein!"

And the last Harry saw was both young wizards aiming their wands at each other at the same time, Julian looking horror-struck and distraught, yet still aiming, the French wizard's wand hand trembling, yet flashes and beams of spells erupted, just as Harry and Tom were swept away by the portkey.


	50. Part I: Chapter 49

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for all the reviews of last chapter! Nothing to clarify this time ^^ So I hope you enjoy this chappie too. Things will hopefully be picking up in pace after this!

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**Part I: Chapter 49**

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Harry and Tom painfully landed on a mound of grass, groaning, as the flute Harry held tightly in his hand slowly settled, its blue glow dimming until it disappeared.

"What- where-" wheezed out Tom, sounding very winded as he struggled into an upright position on the ground, before he frowned at Harry, and snapped, "What's the matter with you?"

Harry was heaving choked sobs, tears streaming down his face, as he kept crying, as he felt he couldn't stop, because everything seemed to be suddenly catching up with him, the horrors.

Finding Robert Hutchins nearly dead in that accumulation of waste and feces, knowing what the muggle had resorted to feeding from to keep alive, Tilly Toke exploding into bits because of a landmine, because he had been helping Harry, seeing the Comet 180 being destroyed to bits before their eyes, their only hope of getting back home at the time…

Those countless hours of spine-chilling silence, his terrifying deafness, the ruins of Namsos with all the corpses Harry had desperately looted again and again, the icy waters of Namsos' fjord as he felt its waters sloshing through his shattered eardrums and the inner channels of his ears, the wrecking pain, and then the agony of seeing the British ship sailing away without them…

The desperation of setting out with barely any supplies, into forests they knew not, of then being captured by the Norwegian deserters, the hellish nightmare of all that had happened in the cottage, the constant stress and fear of the possibility that their wands would be burned in the fireplace, that the Invisibility Cloak would be found, that Ulysses would be butchered, of seeing that poor, ravaged, violated and brutalized woman, of having to dance when they knew the muggles would kill them and feed from them as they had done with the woman's husband, of then realizing the Leader's horrible intentions towards him, and then seeing his brother turn into such a mindless killer, of he himself frantically shooting with no remorse, killing three, of having to use that kitchen knife to carve into the Leader's legs, slicing pieces of raw flesh after flesh, of leaving the woman behind without being able to do much else for her except make her drink the potion, of cooking the human flesh and frenziedly feeding from it, glorifying in its gruesomely delicious taste…

The distress of their journey in trucks, and then all that had happened in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, the Inferi feasting and so many falling, seeing what Nettie Prewett had become, killing her with fire, the Dementors attacking, the bright speck of precious light floating out of Tom's mouth, not being able to help, not being strong, knowledgeable or powerful enough to stop it, when he'd been certain he was losing Tom, that his brother was being Kissed, was losing his soul and would die, and all because of him.

But above all, he was being wrecked apart, his anguish, sorrow and grief so profound and shattering because of what had happened with Julian Erlichmann.

"Harry?" said Tom disconcerted when Harry launched himself at him, hugging him tightly, clutching him frenziedly, as he kept weeping, now against his brother's torn and bloodied jersey, as he kept heaving deep, struggling pants of air and sobs, because his brother was alive, yet he had left Julian Erlichman behind, and it felt as if something had been brutally torn away from him, because he had finally met the wizard but had lost him just as quickly, and he couldn't forget all of Julian's distraught expressions either, the haunted sky blue eyes.

"Little brother," murmured Tom quietly, a hand soothing caressing Harry's locks of hair, "all is well now. We're safe." Harry distantly felt Tom turning his head around, perusing. "We're in… the outskirts of Hogsmeade, I think."

And Harry had left Julian Erlichmann behind, the brave spy, the wizard who had saved Tom from the Dementor's Kiss, who had saved them both when creating the portkey, and he couldn't forgive himself, because he had seen that Julian had wanted to escape it all too, to flee from there and from things Harry could not even begin to understand, he was sure, and he had cried out and pleaded, but Julian hadn't taken the portkey with them, but had been left there to battle a friend, it seemed, in the midst of the carnage, under Grindelwald's watchful eyes, in a Ministry that was lost.

He felt such profound, devastating loss that he was choking on emotions and tears.

"Harry!" snapped Tom impatiently and with annoyance, when Harry wailed and wept miserably on his brother's chest. "Get a hold on yourself! It's over, you dimwit!"

The horrors kept swirling in his mind, until Harry took one last, wretched gasp of air, pulling slightly away from his brother, as he bellowed, as he'd never bellowed before, with such ire, savagery, rage and hatred, since it was all because of the war, all because of one man, and he roared fiercely as if being torn to pieces, "I WANT HIM DEAD!"

Tom brusquely pulled him away to stare at him with piercing dark blue eyes, a frown on his face, which was replaced by a look of gauging calculation.

"Very well," then said Tom coolly, taking hold of Harry's chin to wipe the tears off Harry's face with a grimy sleeve, his voice turning low, the look in his skewering gaze intense, as he added sharply, "but first we take everything from him."

Harry stared at that, hiccupping, and blinked, a mite astonished by his brother's unexpected understanding and consent.

"First," continued Tom in a quiet, intense whisper, not letting go of Harry's chin, "we squeeze him for all he's worth, and learn everything he knows. Then, we dispose of him, when we're ready to do so."

Harry gawked and sniffled, before he chocked out thoroughly astounded, "You don't mind? You want Grindelwald dead too?"

"After his usefulness has expired, certainly," retorted Tom calmly. "Why not? I will wish for no rival, after all."

"Rival?" Harry gaped, taken aback, let out his last hiccup, and went mute, not quite knowing what to say, or even if he was understanding his brother correctly.

Tom's grasp on Harry's chin tightened, as he hissed out, "I will help you with that, if you want to get rid of Grindelwald, as long as you understand what it will entail."

"What do you mean?" croaked Harry hoarsely, his gaze locking with his brother's.

Tom pinned him with his eyes, his grip on Harry's face turning harsh, as he whispered sharply, "Remember what I said? That there's no Good or Evil, just Power and those too weak to seek it."

"Yes," murmured Harry, blinking. "But what-"

"Did you like what happened in Norway?" said Tom smoothly, arching an eyebrow at him before his voice turned demanding, "Did you like feeling so impotent, so weak, to have been made a victim by those worthless Norwegian muggles, by the Inferi, by the Dementors-"

"Of course not!" interjected Harry wildly. "I don't ever want to be so unprepared as I was in Norway, but-"

"Then attaining power is the only way, you imbecile!" spat Tom impatiently. "So we're never anyone's victims again, so we're never prey to others, so that we can face any threats and triumph over all enemies! Do you understand now, what I meant about Power?"

Harry stared at him with wide green eyes, before he breathed out slowly, "Yes."

"And do you agree?" demanded Tom harshly, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Yes," whispered Harry, his chest constricting, his throat turning dry.

"Then we'll help each other, won't we, little brother?" intoned Tom softly, a smirk tilting his lips as he released Harry's face. "And when we're prepared, when the time comes, we'll take action."

Harry nodded jerkily, feeling a bit woozy and dizzy, since he felt this was something momentous, yet couldn't fully wrap his mind around all that he was agreeing to, couldn't quite fathom the extent of what Tom was proposing or inkling at, wasn't quite sure if he actually wanted to know, either.

"Now let's get back home," said Tom curtly, as he grabbed Harry's hand and pulled them up to their feet, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over them.

It was only then when Harry finally took notice of their surroundings, while he quickly pocketed the flute.

The sun was high up in the sky, certainly indicating that it was the same day, now Tuesday afternoon. And apparently, Julian Erlichmann's flute-turned-portkey had indeed taken them to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

Through the patched cottages and charming stone houses, he could glimpse the villagers placidly walking around on the main street, chatting, window shopping, or entering pubs and stores.

Far away, in the distance, Hogwarts seemed to glow beautifully under the sunlight. Tom was staring at it, with a frown on his face.

"I know how to get there, undetected," whispered Harry, feeling himself wincing since he knew what would be coming.

Tom snapped his head around to frown at him, as he demanded sharply, "How?"

"You'll see," said Harry sighing heavily, preparing himself for what was to come. Yet he had no other choice but to finally reveal it to his brother, he knew. There was no other way into the school.

"Follow me," he said, as he pulled Tom along by the hand, using his other to soothingly pat Ulysses through the material of his jersey, since he felt his Scorcrup shifting underneath, letting soft meows and yips of pain.

"I will fix you soon," whispered Harry, his promise to his familiar, as they left the village behind and began to climb a small hill, Tom casting him puzzled or suspicious looks now and then as he followed Harry in silence.

"What's this?" demanded Tom when they finally stood on top of the hill, before a series of cave openings at all sides, cluttered one on top of the other amidst rocks and boulders.

"Caves," replied Harry, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I can see that!" snapped Tom irritably. "But why are we-"

"You'll see," said Harry miserably, as he trudged ahead, towards one of the openings.

He knew it all by memory, by now, and faced no hardships as he easily walked through the dark cave's twisting interior until he halted before a large boulder.

Cringing, not wanting to see the look on Tom's face, he hissed, "_Open._"

The boulder obeyed as it always did, rippling, looking as if it was falling apart, to finally reveal the metallic insides of an enormous pipe.

"What's this!" snarled Tom, instantly rounding on Harry like a seething rattlesnake mid-strike.

Harry said nothing as he entered the pipe, Tom fast on his heels, glancing all around, his brother's expression darkening, turning more furious with every step they took.

"You backstabbing little traitor!" finally spat Tom irately, shooting him a murderous glower. "You never breathed a word to me about this!"

"I was going to tell you, eventually," said Harry defensively, huffing. "I was just waiting for the right time –" he pointed an accusing finger at his brother "- when you wouldn't react like this!"

Wholly ignoring that last bit, Tom thundered enraged, "You've been keeping secrets from me-"

"And so have you, I'm sure!" snapped Harry hotly, lifting his chin up as he crossed his arms over his chest, before he gave him a jaundiced look. "Why do you always go around with your stupid diary in hand, for starters? What are you writing in it, eh?"

Tom stiffened, before he shot him a withering glower and bit out churlishly, "None of your business." His eyes narrowed to slits as he then snarled, "Tell me everything!"

Alas, Harry had no other choice but to do precisely that, and told him much: the fact that he had finished creating his map of Hogwarts ages ago, with the help of Professor Tilly Toke; that at present he had concluded searching the seventh and sixth floors of the castle for an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets; what Nagini had once discovered in the dungeons, the small pipe she had traveled through until encountering a slumbering creature; all the indications Harry had found that made him believe that Slytherin's monster was a Basilisk; the fact that he hadn't been alone when exploring the castle but with Alphard Black-

"You told Black WHAT?" boomed Tom, looking half demented by the end of it.

"I had to," retorted Harry loftily as he dismissively flapped a hand. "He's my best friend, so he deserved to know-"

"Nothing!" snarled Tom furiously, his dark blue eyes flashing. "You twerp! You should have never told him anything at all-"

"He's been helping me to find an entrance to the Chamber," snapped Harry impatiently, shooting him a dirty look, "while you didn't! So yeah, I told him that we're truly Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants, just like I told him about Grindelwald's letter and the Durmstrang books." He gave him a firm look. "And I don't regret it one bit."

Tom visibly seethed, before he hissed out in a very low, ominous tone of voice, "You'll pay for that."

Utterly unfazed, since Harry had been threatened by his brother a zillion times in the course of their lives, he continued walking calmly.

"What about these?" demanded Tom as he gestured at the nearest torch holder decorated with snake figures.

"I've tried them all, already," replied Harry coolly, "and they revealed nothing."

"Something must have escaped your notice," gritted out Tom, before he eyed the torch holders with a musing expression on his face.

"Maybe," said Harry with a shrug of his shoulders. "You're welcome to try yourself, if you want."

"Oh, I will," snapped Tom shortly, before he went silent as they advanced forward in the gloom of the pipe.

It was nearly half an hour later when Harry finally detected they were inside the castle itself, since he saw its shimmering layers of magic imbuing the pipe.

He then wasted no time in taking Ulysses out of his jersey, as gently as possible, to lay him on the floor.

Without any further ado, Harry whipped out his wand and cast the most powerful Healing spell he knew. Ulysses whined in pain, but as Harry crouched on his knees and carefully prodded his familiar, he detected that the Scorcrup's broken paw had been mended, as well as one of his small ribs that seemed to have been previously cracked.

He cast another spell for full measure before ascertaining that his familiar had regained full health, and tenderly picked Ulysses in his arms.

Giving him a lick of gratitude on a cheek, the Scorcrup then fell asleep, out of sheer exhaustion, by the time Harry and Tom reached the end of the pipe.

"And this?" said Tom quizzically, staring at what stood before them.

Harry didn't bother replying, as he hissed urgently, "_Open!_"

The back of the Mirror sprung forward as if it were a door, and they both climbed out, Tom glancing around with a gobsmacked expression on his face as he realized he was in the middle of a corridor in Hogwarts.

"_Close_," hissed Harry quietly, facing the Mirror yet careful of not even giving it a peek.

Tom swirled around at that, just as the Mirror of Desires shifted back into place noiselessly.

"Wait, brother, don't!" cried out Harry, but was too late.

Tom was already standing in front of it, staring at its surface with an entranced expression on his face.

"They are hailing me," breathed out Tom, his dark blue eyes wide, gleaming with triumph, pleasure, and feverish satisfaction. "They are hundred upon hundreds… my followers… my worshipers…"

Harry shot him a bewildered look. "What?"

"I am undefeatable," whispered Tom fervently, his expression both mesmerized and gleeful, "unmatched, and cannot be touched by Death. And you're standing by my side, unflinching, steadfast in your loyalty towards me, you understand what is needed for me to rule the world, and they keep chanting my name, calling me their Lord-"

"Tom!" yelled Harry desperately as he leaped at his brother and forcefully yanked him away from the Mirror, feeling so deeply alarmed and wary that his face had lost all its color.

"What?" snapped Tom irritably, as he turned around to scowl darkly at him.

"What?" echoed Harry incredulously, breathing hard, his heart thundering in his chest as he gestured wildly. "Didn't you hear what you were saying?"

"It shows the future, doesn't it?" said Tom, shooting the Mirror a brief, hungry look.

"No," croaked Harry faintly, as he gestured at the phrase inscribed on the upper frame of the Mirror. "It shows your innermost desires, brother. And you…"

He trailed off, his throat suddenly turning dry, before he heaved a deep, bracing intake of air, locking gazes with Tom, as he said frenziedly, "You were talking about being a Dark Lord!"

"Was I?" said Tom coolly, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Yes!" breathed out Harry haggardly, searchingly gazing at his brother. "You cannot possibly mean it! You cannot possibly want that!" He gestured frantically. "After everything we saw in Norway, all the horrid things Grindelwald has caused, how can you…"

He shook his head violently, a terrible suspicion dawning on him, and he stared at his brother as if he had never seen him before, as he whispered tremulously, "It's what you've been plotting all along, isn't it? With that 'multi-stage plan' of yours that you refused to explain, since first year. With wanting to find the Chamber of Secrets too, to prove that we're Slytherin's heirs. And it's what you meant when you said you wanted power-"

"Of course it is," snapped Tom impatiently, his tone matter-of-fact. "It surprises me that it has taken you so long to finally realize it."

"You've gone mental!" said Harry, his eyes wide and horrified as he took a step backwards. "How can you possibly want to become a Dark Lord – what Grindelwald is, what I despise!"

"I want what he is, and so much more, because I'll be so much greater than he," retorted Tom placidly, a smirk gracing his lips as his eyes flashed, before they skewered Harry intently, his expression turning grave as he added, "You despise him, but you wouldn't despise me, would you, little brother?"

Harry gaped at him. "Tom, you're going bonkers - listen to what you're saying!"

"Or are you suggesting that I don't have what it takes to become a Dark Lord?" spat Tom demandingly, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits, before he thundered, "I am Slytherin's Heir! What is Grindelwald compared to that? Nothing! And as Slytherin's Heir, it's my birthright to become a Dark Lord if so I wish!"

"I'm Slytherin's Heir too, in case you've forgotten," said Harry heatedly, his voice tinged with fearful desperation, "but you don't see me wishing to become something so ghastly, do you?"

"Good then," retorted Tom coolly, "since I won't want any rivals for the position." He shot him a wide smirk, as he conceded in a magnanimous tone of voice, "But you can be my right-hand man, all Dark Lords have one."

Harry gawked at him before he yelled frantically, "I don't want to be your-"

"You promised!" hissed out Tom as he advanced forward to loom over him, intimidatingly. "You said you understood, that there was no Good or Evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. And you agreed!"

"But I didn't know what you were actually speaking about!" said Harry wildly. "I didn't have the foggiest idea that you were referring to becoming a Dark Lor-"

"We both want power, don't you see?" snapped Tom impatiently, glowering at him. "Our reasons might be different, but not our need!"

"Yes, that's true, but-"

"Do you want Grindelwald dead or not?" demanded Tom in harsh tone of voice, pinning Harry against the opposite wall.

"Yes, of course," said Harry hoarsely, glancing up at his brother with wide, wary eyes, "if I _could_ kill him, I would want to-"

"If you could?" spat Tom viciously. "Who are you depending on to carry your wishes? Dumbledore?" He scoffed contemptuously. "Who sent his minions to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic but didn't dare go himself?" He speared Harry with his gaze, as he bit out sharply, "Don't you see? When you want something to happen, you have to do it yourself –depending on others is being feeble, weak-willed, pathetic!"

"True, but-"

"You promised you would help me," hissed out Tom, harshly grabbing Harry's face to pierce him with a demanding gaze, "to seek power. That's the pact between us and you cannot take it back now. You'll help me to become powerful, and then I'll help you to dispose of Grindelwald. That's our deal." His eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat, "You wouldn't abandon me, would you? I, your own brother."

"No, of course not!" said Harry haggardly, his eyes entreating as he lowered his voice. "But what you want is-"

"Did you promise or not?" snapped Tom irritably, clearly waiting for a swift and firm response.

"Yes," whispered Harry miserably.

"Then say it," bit out Tom unmercifully, pinning him with his gaze.

"Fine," muttered Harry quietly, his shoulder slumping. "We'll seek power, and I'll help you with..."

He trailed off, wincing, but it seemed to be enough for Tom, who smirked at him, looking thoroughly smug and satisfied.

Later, Harry would know that that precise moment was the instant when everything changed. Just as Norway changed them, that second when he agreed, wary, afraid, confused, dismayed, yet so certain he would be able to convince his brother to seek some other path, to discourage him and control him so Tom would never do anything horrible or unforgivable, it was then when it all began, when their lives irredeemably changed and he didn't yet envision how it would all end terribly for them, what his brother would actually become.

At the moment, he felt deeply alarmed and wary, yet still hopeful he could somehow fix it all, that he would be able to make Tom see reason. So he agreed, as one agrees with a loon, just to calm the madness. Because it wasn't that bad -he reassured himself- to become powerful didn't mean to become something as horrible as Grindelwald was. He would never let his brother turn into such a thing, he was then hopeful and confident in that, because he would always be there to steer Tom into the right track. And to have Tom's help in finding a way to dispose of Grindelwald was worth playing along to help his brother with his mad ambitions for a while.

"Someone's coming!" suddenly whispered Tom urgently, as he swirled around. "Cloak, quick!"

Harry heard it too, the sound of hurried footfalls coming from the end of the corridor, as he struggled to find the Invisibility Cloak in his satchel while still holding a sleeping Ulysses cradled on his other arm.

However, he didn't manage it in time. Just as he was about to yank out the Invisibility Cloak, a professor came rushing towards them, wand aimed.

They both froze, still in motion, as they stared at Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to have been sprinting, given the way the wizard was panting loudly. Not to mention that the man looked both frazzled and pained, sorrow clear on his face, for a moment.

Of course, Harry remembered, that the battle in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic had to be over by then, and Dumbledore had apparently been directing his forces from afar, from Hogwarts somehow, perhaps through his phoenix, given the things Grindelwald's voice had said.

Nevertheless, Dumbledore was now staring at them with a look of surprise on his face, which became a frown. For a second, Harry even thought the wizard was suspicious, as the man cast a glance at the Mirror of Desires.

Harry's heart pounded loudly in his chest at that, in sheer agitation, as he wondered how much Dumbledore knew or suspected. About the existence of the tunnel created by Salazar Slytherin behind the Mirror of Desires, about the fact that he and Tom had been away for days in Norway and even present during the battle in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic.

It was impossible to know how much Dumbledore actually knew, and he could only wait, with his heart lodged in his throat, his face pale and feeling utterly dismayed, as the wizard's bespectacled gaze roved over them, eyebrows climbing upwards.

It would come soon, he knew. He and Tom would be expelled.

They both displayed clear indications of having been in a fight, wearing the torn, grimy muggle clothes Harry had looted from the corpses in Namsos, with cuts and bruises on their dirty faces, their hair unwashed and oily, their appearance utterly beaten and disheveled, not to mention the stains of blood and who-knew-what else on their clothes.

"I see you're both fairing better," said Dumbledore, giving them a gentle smile as he pocketed his wand.

Harry nearly gawked at that, utterly astounded and taken aback.

"Finally recovering from your illness, I see," continued Dumbledore calmly.

"What?" croaked Harry, thoroughly flabbergasted. "Illness-"

"Yes, at long last," interjected Tom swiftly, smiling at their Transfiguration Professor.

Harry instantly clamped his mouth shut at that, feeling as if he was standing in quicksand. Though he gladly played along with whatever was happening, as Tom was certainly doing even though they didn't have the slightest idea of what Dumbledore was speaking about - and what the wizard was evidently allowing to admit as the truth.

No one in their right mind, seeing how they looked, would think they were just ill. And yet, for some reason, Dumbledore was clearly willing to allow them to shield themselves behind such silly excuse.

"My brother and I," continued Tom in his most solicitous, polite tone of voice, "thought it would be good for a us to take a walk around the castle, for some fresh air that would aid our recovery."

"Of course," said Albus Dumbledore amicably, as if they were chatting over tea and scones. "I always find that a stroll about the school always does me much good when I'm feeling a mite peaky."

Tom nodded, as he shot the wizard a warm, placid smile. "We'll take our leave now, sir, as it seems we expended our energy in our walk. We should best return to bed -"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore genially, taking a step to allow them a clear path through the corridor, before he peered at them from above the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm sure you'll be up to your feet by tomorrow in what will be a miraculous recovery. Indeed, I would like to have a word with you then." His gaze pinned Harry at this, as he added gently, "After breakfast, if you would, Mr. Riddle. In my office."

Tom paused in mid-step, as he turned to face the wizard. "We'll both be there, Professor."

"Oh no, one of you will suffice," interjected Dumbledore, beaming at them, as he patted Harry on the shoulder. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience both. Just Harry will do."

Harry saw a muscle in Tom's jaw clenching, before his brother returned Dumbledore's innocent smile with one of his own, as he said deferentially, his expression nothing but courteous, "Of course, sir. He'll be there."

"Splendid!" said Dumbledore, clapping his hands together before he shooed them away, like a doting grandfather concerned for their well-being.

The moment they were in some other corridor, far away, making their way to the dungeons, Tom shot Harry a dark look as he hissed viciously, "You better have your wits about you when you meet the old coot. You better not tell him a thing!"

"I won't," muttered Harry under his breath, though his mind was still swirling in utter confusion, trying to make head and tails of what had just happened. He gave his brother a puzzled look. "What do you suppose he was talking about? Our 'illness'?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," said Tom unconcernedly.

They met no one as they made their way. Evidently, given the hour, all students were still partaking of lunch in the Great Hall, and it was thus, with no hindrances or obstacles, that they finally entered their dormitory.

Neither of them wasted any time in going straight to the bathroom, to bathe away all the grime stuck to their skin and hair. Each in their own tub, the warm, bubbly water felt invigorating as they scrubbed themselves clean, after days of being outright filthy.

Even Ulysses was subjected to it, with many hisses of complain and horror, but Harry was determined as he thoroughly soaped up his familiar, washed him, and finally rubbed him dry with a towel, leaving little Ulysses looking like a ball of puffy fur, with only his green eyes visible in the midst of black fluffiness.

Sighing with pleasure, Harry at long last donned his comfortable pajamas before he emptied the contents of his satchel into his trunk, then leaving the dirty satchel on the floor for the house-elves to find and wash.

Wishing for nothing but to take a long sleep, he yanked the curtains of his bed open.

He jumped in the air and yelped in horror, at what greeted him.

"What's this?" he heard Tom exclaiming at the same time.

Harry wildly glanced at his brother's bed, seeing something much alike to what was in his own bed too.

Tucked under the sheets of their beds, there was one boy in each. If the things could be called persons, at that. They had mops of disarrayed black hair, faces so swollen that the features were hardly recognizable as human, with pustules all over, oozing yellow pus that smelled horribly, and they were snoring loudly, wearing pajamas much like their own.

As he took another step away, Harry gawked in incomprehension, realizing that both their beds seemed to have a shimmering sphere of magic encompassing the things sleeping inside.

"…I'm a free agent, I am not?" suddenly came a voice from outside, along with the sound of several falling footsteps. "I don't see why 'Burga has to screech at me every time I glance at someone else-"

"Cousin, it's because you go around trifling with-"

"I'm nearly fourteen, Alphie, I will damn well flirt if it pleases me, before I'm shackled into a marriage I don't want, just because our parents wish to join the two Black lines-"

"Do cease your lamentations, Orion," drawled an icy voice, "it's getting tedious-"

"You're one to talk, Abraxas! You're not too thrilled about your engagement with the German chit either! You complain often enough that the Von Krauss girl is two years your elder and-"

Jus then, the door of their dormitory was flung open, as Harry could do nothing but stand there in the middle of the room, too confused to do anything else, as their roommates waltzed inside: Abraxas Malfoy looking irked beyond measure, Alphard exasperated, Neron Lestrange bored, Thaddeus Avery munching on some sugary pastry for dessert, and Orion Black looking indignant and deeply offended.

Harry stared at them, just as the boys halted in their tracks and stared back at him and Tom, such a mesh of expressions on their faces that it was impossible to discern them all.

"You're back!" breathed out Alphard, the first to come out of his astonishment as he rushed towards Harry.

The boy looked outright perturbed and worried as his grey eyes roved over Harry, inspecting him closely, before he said highly distressed, "You look awful! What happened to you?"

Harry blinked at him. "Er…" Not quite knowing what to say, he resolved to first get some answers, and he wildly gestured at the thing in his bed. "What's that!"

"Oh!" said Alphard, perking up as he widely grinned at him. "That's you, of course! And the other is your brother, as well."

Harry stared in utter puzzlement. "What?"

"You told me to cover for you, for your absence, remember?" said Alphard quickly. "And I did!"

"Now, now, Alphard, not trying to get all the credit, are you?" drawled Abraxas Malfoy as he coolly sauntered towards them.

Soon, Harry found himself standing in the middle of the room with Tom, with Alphard by his side and the other boys circling them, their expressions both demanding and incredulous.

"I'm not!" snapped Alphard defensively, rounding on Malfoy. "But you had no business sticking your nose in-"

"If it wasn't for me," interjected Abraxas sharply, his silvery eyes narrowing, "you wouldn't have known what to do."

"That's not true," bit out Alphard incensed, huffing. "Dorea would have-"

"Will someone explain matters, now!" hissed out Tom, his voice a whiplash.

Abraxas Malfoy turned around to face him, a wide smirk on his face. "Why, it's very simple, Riddle. We saved you from expulsion. You owe me much."

"Owe _you_?" said Tom coolly, arching an eyebrow as if calmly waiting to be enlightened.

"He eavesdropped!" piped in Alphard angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Abraxas as he shot Harry an entreating look. "I was frantic, because by Sunday you still hadn't returned and I didn't know what to do. I had told people that you and your brother had gotten sick, but Monday was coming and with it our lessons, and you still hadn't appeared, and the teachers would realize that you were missing!"

"Alright," said Harry slowly, trying to figure things out. "So you…"

"I went to Dorea!" continued Alphard hurriedly, looking frazzled. "I had to, Harry, I could think of no one else that could help and keep their mouths shut. And you've always said that you trust her, so-"

"I do," said Harry firmly, before he tilted his head to a side in sheer wonder. "But what-"

"What happened is that Abraxas-" Alphard turned to glare at Malfoy "-was spying on me." He huffed irritably as he shot Harry a pointed look. "You know how he's been, always following us around, trying to see what we were up to, always spying on you-"

"Indeed?" said Tom sharply, his dark blue eyes narrowed to slits as his gaze darted from Malfoy to Harry and back.

Harry swallowed thickly at that. "Er, Tom, I forgot to tell you something-"

"Don't tell me you've been keeping such secrets from your dear twin?" Abraxas chuckled nastily as he widely smirked at Tom, his expression superior and rejoicing. "Tut, tut, very bad brother, Harry. You haven't told him about all the times we've spoken? All the things you revealed to me-"

"I beg your pardon?" snarled Tom, his eyes flashing, such fury in them that Harry's scar throbbed and felt as if it was about to split open.

"He's lying!" yelled Harry desperately. "I told him nothing-"

"You dare claim that we haven't spoken on several occasions?" drawled Abraxas silkily, looking as if he was vastly enjoying pitting brother against brother and further rising Tom's hackles.

"_He_ approached _me_," clarified Harry instantly, shooting Tom a look pleading for understanding and belief. "And I told him nothing!" He scowled with annoyance. "He figured everything out for himself!"

"Figured what out?" demanded Tom harshly, his voice low and very ominous.

"We'll get there," said Abraxas placidly, widely smirking at them all. "The point is, Riddle, that I overheard Alphard here-" he indolently gestured at the aforementioned boy who looked outright agitated "-babbling with Dorea, asking for her help, and I, of course, offered the solution."

"He didn't overhear!" snapped Alphard hotly. "He was spying, and suddenly came into the room where I was speaking in confidence to my aunt." He shot Harry a wild glance. "He offered the solution because the prat had been keeping your blood!"

"My what?" croaked Harry faintly, feeling very dismayed as he suddenly began to realize what must have happened.

"Yes, from when he made you cut the palm of your hand to prove you weren't a golem," said Alphard swiftly. "You told me about that, remember?" He shot Abraxas a glare. "Well, the git kept the blood of the dagger you returned to him!"

"Honestly, Riddle," drawled Abraxas in a taunting tone of voice as he smirked at Harry, "you really should know better than to give someone else your blood. So many injurious things can be done against a wizard with their blood."

Harry went completely pale, as Tom murderously glared at him given all the revelations, while Malfoy's smirk widened, before the boy clucked his tongue mockingly. "There's no reason to fear now, since I decided to employ the blood to aid you and your brother. Indeed, it will prove to be much more useful to have you both indebted to me."

"Indebted, are we?" then said Tom calmly, apparently having instantly recovered his cool composure.

"I fear you are," murmured Alphard sorrowfully. "Abraxas was the one of the idea to use Harry's blood to make golems." He heaved a deep breath, as if to gain courage, before he added in a more cheerful tone of voice, "And Dorea knew the spell to make them! It's a very complicated one, but she knows stuff like that." He rolled his eyes with exasperation as the muttered under his breath, "Read nearly all the books in our family's library she has-"

"Get to the point, Black," snapped Tom commandingly, his tone of voice very brisk and vicious.

Harry shot him an annoyed glare at that, for the sake of his best friend, though Alphard looked utterly undaunted as the boy continued hastily, "Well, Dorea made a golem for Harry." He then blinked at them, cocking his head to a side. "She thought she would also be able to make one of you, Tom, with Harry's blood since you're twins, but it didn't work for some reason-"

"Because we're not identical twins," bit out Tom irritably. "Obviously that was the cause, you fool."

Alphard stared at him, before he shrugged his shoulders as he mumbled, "I suppose that could be it." He abruptly grinned at them devilishly. "Well, the point is that she ended up making another golem of Harry and just cast some spells at it to make it look more like you, Tom – glamours and such, you know."

The boy took several steps to reach their beds, as he gestured demonstratively at the things lying under the sheets, with pulsing, oozing pustules. "And then she cast a Dark Curse on them – a very nasty one that makes the victim experience the symptoms of Spattergroit."

"Spatter-what?" Harry stared at him in utter bewilderment.

"Your ignorance never ceases to astonish, Riddle," intoned Abraxas Malfoy scathingly, his tone superior as he carried on to clarify. "Spattergroit is a magical illness-"

"That causes muteness and the eruption of pustules, that comes as unexpectedly as it goes, and can be lethal," interjected Tom in a sharp tone of voice, a musing frown on his face. "Which is highly infectious, but has no cure. It can only be waited out until it vanishes by itself."

"Precisely, Riddle," drawled Abraxas pleasantly. "Which is why-"

"You thought it would be the perfect excuse," interrupted Tom coolly. "Yes, I see."

And Harry finally understood too, that Spattergroit must have been the 'illness' Dumbledore had mentioned. Though he was still a mite perplexed by the whole affair.

"And it was believed?" he said, glancing at his best friend hopefully.

Alphard winked at him, looking mightily proud of himself. "Yes, it was. I told Slughorn that you and Tom were bedridden with it, and that was why you couldn't come to class." He chortled happily under his breath. "Old Sluggie wouldn't even come into our bedroom, so scared he was of catching it himself! He sent Miss Nightingale instead."

Harry blanched, his eyes widening with wariness, as he said both incredulous and afraid, "And she didn't suspect?"

"I thought she would," said Alphard, looking uneasy as if recalling the emotions he had experienced at the time, "being a Mediwitch and all-"

"Nightingale noticed nothing," said Neron Lestrange suddenly, his deep voice snide and harsh. "The stupid halfblood has been bawling her eyes out and barely paid attention to the golems." With meaty hand, he gestured at their beds. "She just cast wards to keep the infection contained, so that we wouldn't suffer contagion."

Harry nearly gawked at the boy. For Neron Lestrange to be giving him and Tom explanations was the epitome of being nice for someone like Lestrange, who had bullied him, pranked him cruelly, always shown his clear loathing of him for being a 'filthy mudblood', and even tried to attack him on several occasions in the past.

And now, Harry noticed, that it was not only Lestrange, but Thaddeus Avery and Orion Black too, who were simply observing them as if reserving judgment, who were letting Malfoy and Alphard do all the explanations, without hurling out insults.

"Yes, it worked," piped in Alphard, "because Miss Nightingale was very preoccupied with other things." He heaved a deep breath as he gazed at Harry with a sorrowful expression on his face. "So many things have happened while you were gone. Miss Nightingale is a mess because Professor Toke has gone missing, Harry!"

"He has?" said Harry, his throat suddenly turning dry, yet he spoke in the best stunned tone of voice he could muster, especially since Tom had shot him a very harsh look of warning.

"Yes," mumbled Alphard, looking highly distressed, as if he expected Harry to crumble with the news of the disappearance of his favorite teacher. "No one really knows what happened to him, Harry. Aurors even came to the school to interrogate students and the staff-"

"Aurors?" snapped Tom, his body abruptly stiffening.

However, no one seemed to realize it but Harry, since Alphard continued in just a mournful tone of voice, "Yes, they came here on Monday, asking all sorts of questions about Tilly Toke – what we had seen him doing, if he had said anything about any intentions of leaving Hogwarts, and the like."

"And yesterday," interjected Orion Black, looking excited as if wanting to unravel some intriguing mystery, "an article in the Daily Prophet said that one of their sources in the Ministry had found records of Toke buying a portkey to some muggle town in Norway, called Binge or something of the sort."

"It's rumored," said Thaddeus Avery in his gruff voice, chuckling contemptuously, "that the idiot went to Norway to help some filthy muggle friends of his."

Neron Lestrange guffawed at that. "Probably with his sights on getting another Order of Merlin, the fool."

"Indeed, he disappeared on Saturday, apparently," intoned Abraxas Malfoy smoothly, yet he was pinning Tom and Harry with his gaze, as his pale blond eyebrows quirked upwards. "Precisely on the same day you left Hogwarts. Such a coincidence, is it not?"

Tom executed an excellent performance of chuckling mockingly at the boy. "Do you believe Toke came to ask for our assistance in saving some Norwegian muggle friends?"

"Mayhap, not for that," said Abraxas loftily, yet his gaze became all the more intense with suspicions. "Perchance, it was the other way around - you asking him for aid."

"For what purpose would that have been?" said Tom chortling, looking as if he was vastly enjoying the entertainment provided by Malfoy's ridiculous ideas.

"You tell us, Riddle," said Abraxas sharply, his silvery eyes narrowing to slits. "Where were you for the past three days?"

"Apparently you have no problems in tricking my brother into giving information," said Tom calmly, though there was a vicious hint of threat in his tone. "You will not find me such an easy target. You should learn to mind your own business, Malfoy."

"I didn't give him any information!" snapped Harry hotly, bristling in his need to defend himself.

"You obviously let some things slip," snarled Tom at him, furiously yet also quietly, so that they couldn't be overheard since they were still standing next to each other.

Orion Black was gazing at them with wide grey eyes, as he breathed out eagerly, "Is it true, then, what Abraxas says?"

"What does he say?" Tom swirled around to face the boy, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"That you're both Parselmouths," said Neron Lestrange sharply, his own eyes narrowing, his lips twisting. "That you're actually Salazar Slytherin's descendants. That you don't have muggle parents, but that you're orphans instead, halfbloods."

Only Harry detected how his brother stilled for a brief second, before relaxing his body. Only he noticed that Tom shot him a seething look that promised dire revenge, before his brother seemed to be doing some quick thinking and heavy plotting, weighing his options, trying to decide what reaction would suit his purposes best.

"That you," said Thaddeus Avery, blinking dumbly at Harry, "have been looking for the Chamber of Secrets, with Alphie's help. But it's just a legend, isn't it? So I don't understand…"

"I didn't tell them a word!" whispered Alphard urgently by Harry's side, cringing. "After we made the golems, Abraxas went around the whole House, telling every Slytherin the things he knew about you and your brother. I didn't realize it until later or I would've stopped him. You must believe me!"

"I do, don't worry," mumbled Harry distractedly, utterly thrown off balance and shocked by the unexpected turn in things.

He didn't understand why Malfoy could have done something like that. Not because the boy had promised to keep his mouth shut if Harry himself didn't tell Tom about their conversations. He knew better than to trust Malfoy's promises. It was simply because he didn't see what Malfoy would gain by telling everyone in Slytherin House the secrets he knew about them.

"The point is not if it's true," drawled Abraxas, his gaze locked with Tom's in what seemed to be a battle of undercurrents and silent negotiations. "The point is if they can prove it." He then smirked at Harry and Tom, his expression challenging and hard. "You have no choice now, the whole House will be waiting for you to validate the claims. You either prove that you're Slytherin's Heirs by finding the Chamber of Secrets and bringing me there as a witness-" his smirk widened in Tom's direction "-as I know you were plotting on doing anyway. Or you fail, and you'll be forever despised and mocked for being nothing but lying mudbloods who dared pretend to be Parselmouths and Slytherin by blood."

"Is that all that I will gain when I succeed?" said Tom placidly, quirking an eyebrow.

Abraxas chuckled wryly. "Why, Riddle, you and I understand each other perfectly well, I believe. You must know that I will demand a substantial favor in repayment for having thought of a way of excusing your absence from classes, as well as for bearing witness to the fact if you're indeed Slytherin's Heirs, if and when you do find the Chamber of Secrets. Just as I believe you fully know what will come to happen if you do prove it. You must know how our housemates will react to the presence of verified descendants of Salazar Slytherin."

The smirk Tom shot at Abraxas was a nasty, vicious thing, filled with satisfaction, smugness, and lingering menace.

And Harry thought that either Malfoy was too much of a fool not to see it, or was so stupidly self-assured and knew Tom so little and underestimated him so much that the boy didn't feel threatened or perturbed by it.

"Very well," said Tom pleasantly, before he waved a hand as if dismissing peasants from his sight. "Now leave, I would like a word in private with my brother."

"We'll talk further on another occasion, then," interjected Abraxas in a drawling, indolent tone of voice, as if wanting to emphasize that he would be leaving out of his own accord and not because he was obeying any orders given by those inferior to him. "I have my own business to attend to now."

And with that, the boy swept out of the room, his friends, Orion Black, Thaddeus Avery and Neron Lestrange, at his heels, yet giving Harry and Tom parting glances filled with challenging disbelief, fury at the presumption of their claims, and yet also a sort of breathless expectation for the possibility that it might all be true.

Only Alphard lingered behind, looking sheepish and awkward, shifting from one foot to the other.

"You too, Black. Out!" spat Tom, all pretense of coolness or faked placid amiability vanishing now that only Harry's best friend was left.

Alphard, seeming to infuse himself with valor, glowered at Tom, before he stepped forward to stand in front of Harry.

"There're other things I have to tell you," said the boy with a hint of apprehension.

"First," said Harry, warmly smiling at Alphard before he hugged him tightly, ignoring how his scar suddenly flared with pain, as he whispered into his friend's ear, "Thanks for everything. When I asked you to cover for us, I didn't imagine that it would have to be for days or all what you would have to do."

Alphard beamed at him as they pulled away, before he shrugged it off, displaying a very characteristic, carefree sort of humbleness, though he was still grinning with pleasure. "No gratitude required, it wasn't that hard." He suddenly looked uneasy, as he added, "In fact, Dorea did most of it. And, um, that's what I have to tell you. She…" He trailed off, before he took a deep breath of air and rushed out quickly, "She said to tell you, when you came back, that you owe her too and that she knows exactly what she's going to ask of you to repay the favor, and that the moment you're back, you must go talk to her."

Harry blanched, knowing Dorea was a girl to be feared and taken very seriously.

"Do you know what she wants in return?" he asked very warily.

"I think I do," chirped Alphard, for some reason grinning toothily and looking extremely joyful. "And I hope you'll agree!"

Harry gave him a mystified look at that, but Alphard was already upon another subject, the boy whispering under his breath, "By the way, I was intercepted by Charlus Potter and he asked me if we're done with his Invisibility Cloak."

Alphard was staring at him with a puzzled and curious expression on his face.

"Bloody hell," breathed out Harry, startled. "I had forgotten about that!" He shot his friend a frenzied look. "You didn't tell him that-"

"Oh, I figured out rather quickly that you must have lied to him," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively, "and used me as an excuse. I just told him that you were sick with Spattergroit and thus couldn't speak, so you couldn't tell me where you had stuck the Cloak when we were done with it." He gave him a worried look. "But I did promise that you would return it to him when you were feeling better. You do have it, don't you?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, before fondness for his friend surged in him with full, blazing power.

For a second, he had thought Alphard would be angry for having been used, but of course that his friend understood. Alphard was a Black and had been sorted in Slytherin, after all. The boy knew how useful lies could be to get what one wanted, he wasn't clueless regarding manipulations and evidently didn't feel offense.

Harry beamed at him, as he nodded. "Yeah, I got it. I will give it to him tomorrow."

"Perfect," said Alphard, looking vastly relieved as he grinned. Then he frowned concernedly, as he added in a decisive tone of voice, "I'll tell Dorea you'll speak to her tomorrow too, because you sure look as if you need some rest." He patted Harry on the back. "Get some sleep, you'll need it in these days. You've missed a lot in class and in homework!"

And with a cheery wave of his hand, Alphard trotted out of the room, clearly very quickly in order to be spared any of Tom's anger.

"You have much to explain regarding Malfoy," hissed out Tom instantly the moment they were finally alone. "But first, show me your map of Hogwarts. And then, we'll make plans."


	51. Part I: Chapter 50

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

I'm sorry it's been over a month since I updated, I've been so busy I didn't have the chance. But finally, here it is, and to make it up to you it's a very long chapter! I hope you enjoy ^_^

_Italics_ – all foreign languages. German in this chapter.

**Note:** I've created several new POLLS in my Yahoo Group. Check them out!

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**Part I: Chapter 50**

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Julian Erlichmann had broken communications with Dumbledore a month ago. He realized later that having destroyed his dove glass figurine had been a stupid move, an act of both desperation and despair, of futilely trying to mend matters, too late.

It had come to happen that the letters he received from Laurent through the set of dove figurines each of them possessed had began to contain pleas for explanations.

Julian had known it would reach that point sooner or latter. Of course Laurent would hear rumors about the nature of Julian's relationship with Gellert Grindelwald, of course Laurent would begin to write demanding the truth, of course that Julian wouldn't feel able to outright lie to him, no matter how in subsequent letters Laurent had achingly promised that he only wanted the truth, that if Julian had been forced into intimacy with the Dark Lord that Laurent wouldn't hold it against him, that he only wanted him back.

It had been many years since they had last seen each other after all. Laurent had already finished his apprenticeship under the renowned wizarding painter Migliani and was making a name for himself, taking commissions to paint the portraits of rich, fat pureblood ladies and their pets or spawns, of creating artistic moving mosaics for the lavish homes of the indolent and wealthy, and such.

It had come the time for them to begin their lives together, as had been the promise and deal between them when Julian had left France for Germany.

That was all Laurent wanted, the French wizard had desperately reiterated in his letters, for Julian to be done with his role as Dumbledore's spy – 'you've done more than enough already, Julién'- for him to flee far away from Grindelwald –'before the Dark Lord learns of our plans, mon cher'- to finally go to Hogwarts so they could meet each other and commence a new life together – 'as Dumbledore promised we would, in repayment to your service to him. He vouched he would protect us from any repercussions'.

Laurent's words had become so heart-wrenchingly painful to him that Julian had finally cast a spell at his glass dove, blasting it to pieces, so that he would never receive another letter again.

He thought it would do no harm since he had already used it to convey Grindelwald's plans for Norway to Dumbledore, had even told about the night Grindelwald had stood at the top of Nurmengard Tower, with arms spread and wand in hand, the magic flowing out of him creating a storm of haze and violent winds and swirling black clouds, the Dark Lord's voice loud and ecstatic as he chanted in an ancient, obscure language.

Julian and the Haupte Kommandaten had witnessed it with wide, fascinated eyes, as Grindelwald's voice rose and fused with the storm, to be carried throughout the land in the winds and thunders that wrecked the continent in the days to come.

The Dark Lord had spoken in the tongue of Necromancers, Julian's father had whispered to him in awed breathlessness, the language that could be understood by one type of magical creatures.

Indeed, in the following days, Dementors had slowly appeared in the forests surrounding Nurmengard Tower, like legions of black phantoms awaiting the feast of souls that Grindelwald's voice had promised to them in exchange for their allegiance.

The creatures had trickled in from all corners of Europe, except those of England, who seemed happy enough with their arrangement with the British Ministry of Magic which allowed them to feed from the prisoners of Azkaban.

Thus, Julian had done his duty and informed Dumbledore that there were not only Inferi living in Nurmengard's forest but also innumerable Dementors, to be used in the conquest of Norway and all the raids to come thereafter.

"_You shouldn't have done that_," Santi had remarked dourly when he had seen the remains of the destroyed glass dove.

"_I have nothing more to report to Dumbledore_," Julian interjected sharply, turning around to face his old friend, as he then gestured at a heavily warded drawer of his desk. "_And he has nothing more he can give me._"

Indeed, by then, he already had in his possession a pouch of galleons that had been sent through the doves by Albus Dumbledore, safely locked in his desk until the time he would need to use them.

Finally, Dumbledore had been true to his word and had created the portkeys that would allow Julian to free the Jewish prisoners of Nurmengard.

It had taken years, for Julian to fully describe the intricate layers of powerful wards of the Tower and for Dumbledore to come up with the spells and incantations that would allow him to create portkeys that would work, temporarily disabling the magic of Nurmengard's wards, so that the Jews would be swept away when Julian handed the activated galleons to them.

One of the galleons was meant for Julian.

That was what Dumbledore intended. Most importantly, what Laurent Didier was counting on.

Yet, Laurent didn't know about The Globe in Grindelwald's office. Yet, Dumbledore had found no way of destroying such artifact from afar, or of coming up with a way in which Julian could do it himself.

Hence, Julian had preferred to leave his beloved wholly ignorant of the fact that there would be no 'life together' for them, that wherever they went, they would be found. That Dumbledore had lied when promising freedom after a few years of Julian's spying activities.

Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to inform Laurent of his inability to truly help them, Julian hadn't seen fit to tell his lover that their plans for their future life together were a pipe dream.

"_It's not Dumbledore's reaction which worries me when he realizes you have broken ties with him,"_ Santi said sharply, shooting him a pointed look. _"It's Laurent's. He will do something foolish."_ His gaze became hard and reprimanding. _"You should have ended it with him ages ago-"_

"_You know why I didn't,"_ interrupted Julian somberly, his chest aching, because he had purposely strung Laurent along, because the wizard's letters had sustained him with their delusions of a happy life, because he had needed to fool himself several times since becoming Gellert's follower and bed warmer, and because he was too cowardly to crush Laurent's hopes and dreams as well.

He had reassured himself that Laurent would understand what it meant when he realized he could no longer reach Julian through their set of glass doves. That Laurent would be able to understand its significance – that Julian had no wish of hearing from him and the matter should not be pressed.

"_You've done him more harm than good,"_ Santi had declared as he shook his head at Julian.

Furthermore, it had been just a week ago when Grindelwald had revealed his true plans. Julian didn't think he would ever forget, for it had also been the day he had severed all ties with his father.

That day had already commenced with many misgivings for Julian. He had attended a meeting in the Reichstag, as always masquerading as Grindelwald's private secretary before the top echelon of Nazi hierarchy.

Konrad Von Krauss' presence among them hadn't surprised him either. Since the wizard's return from England nearly three years ago, the man had swiftly risen in the Nazi ranks, as a budding leader winning much trust among his 'peers'.

Indeed, it had been Grindelwald's plan all along to make Von Krauss pose as a dutiful true Aryan in order to have the wizard directly influencing matters from within the Nazi ranks.

Konrad Von Krauss hadn't even required a different name or identity given that his name alone was German-sounding enough and his looks were decidedly the epitome of pure Aryan blood. Only a few forged papers displaying a purely muggle German ancestry, and some minds nudged so that several muggle Nazi officers 'remembered' Konrad Von Krauss having been an SS officer during such and such years or a soldier in that and that time, and it was done.

Certainly, Julian knew that not one of them would ever remember having seen or heard of Konrad and Gellert the moment the Dark Lord was done with his puppets, but it had been impressive nonetheless, how easily Konrad Von Krauss had become one of the bunch.

Not that Konrad Von Krauss was at all pleased that he had spent the last few years amongst muggles, pretending to be one himself, but as always, the wizard obeyed Grindelwald's wishes without complaint and with perfect efficiency.

Thus, Julian had seen Konrad Von Krauss seated between the Reich Minister of Propaganda Goebbels and Hitler's right hand man Himmler, chatting and joking amicably with them as if they were all long lost friends.

Indeed, the usual attendees for such meetings were all present, although the Führer himself was conspicuously absent as he had been as of lately.

"_Our dearest Führer is with the lovely Eva Braun in a charming Bavarian castle_," whispered Grindelwald to him, his hawk-like eyes gleaming with playful wickedness. "_I might have 'suggested' that he was in dire need of some holidays_."

Julian frowned at that, as he replied in an undertone, "_His minions will still inform him of what's decided in this meeting_."

"_They will, once we have made all the decisions for him_," interjected Grindelwald with a soft chortle, as he patted Julian on one knee under the table. "_There is no need for his input. It's best for cooler heads to prevail and for those wiser than him to decide such matters._"

Julian had began thinking that perhaps Grindelwald's tinkering with the muggle's mind with the use of Legilimency might have already caused some irreparable injuries, or at least addled the muggle's brain.

Indeed, Herr Hitler seemed more disposed of spending all his time ensconced in his office with his pet architect Albert Speer, going through plans of how to reconstruct Berlin on a grand scale, with magnificent monuments, grand, imposing buildings, and wide boulevards and promenades, all to reflect the glory of the Reich's superior culture, than in actually governing his empire or plotting battles.

"_He's still an artist at heart,"_ Grindelwald had once remarked with a crooked smirk, "_like in the day when I found him peddling water-colored postcards in the streets of Vienna in exchange for coins. Never did he get over the fact that the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts rejected his application._" The wizard's eyes had gleamed as he added with a hint of amusement, "_But I did see the potential in him when I bought a charming watercolor from him, did I not? Only he can match me in oratory skills, even though our methods vastly differ._"

Julian had wisely kept his mouth shut at that, knowing that Grindelwald took great pride in his ability to easily sway the masses with his charms and boyishly mischievous airs, while Hitler seemed to have just the same success in rousing the masses with speeches filled with rage and impassioned anger and violent self-righteousness regarding the German people's right to reclaim what they had lost after the Great War.

It wasn't until Eichmann was giving a lengthy report, that Julian began to pay true attention to the meeting, his unease rising with every word uttered.

It was Eichmann, after all, who had been tasked with the duty of organizing the deportation of Jews to the ghettos of the various cities of the countries that had been conquered. It had been Eichmann who had once posed the problem of overcrowding, of the expense of feeding the Jews with the scant potatoes and the dry loafs of bread they were being given.

"_We barely have the resources to feed our own troops_," the muggle had griped sourly, "_much less the filthy Jews that keep procreating like rats."_

And that had been the chance that Grindelwald had been waiting for, as he magnanimously offered a simple solution.

"_Concentration camps?"_ Himmler had echoed, giving Grindelwald a pensive, considering look.

"_It could be feasible,"_ muttered Goebbels, the Reich's Minister of Propaganda quick to always see the positive and logical spin that could be given to any decision taken. "_Like the concentration camps the British used in the Anglo-Boer War_."

"_Like the Dachau camp for political dissidents,"_ someone else had pipped in.

"_Indeed, like all of those!"_ Grindelwald had gushed in a cheery tone of voice as he clapped his hands together, looking at his puppets with an expression of admiration for their brilliancy. _"Like Joseph Stalin is doing in his own country, like countless nations have done all throughout history. Certainly, none will fault us if we Germans do the same. Will they?"_

And so the preparations had begun, with Eichmann appointed to see to the logistics required to set innumerable camps all throughout the conquered territories and the matter of the transportation of the 'undesirable' components of society: the Jews, the homosexuals, the prisoners of war, the physically disabled or mentally challenged, the gypsies, and the priests and political dissidents who had been openly opposing the Reich's measures.

Which then led to the idea of establishing camps near factories, to count with forced labor, slaves in truth, who would build the weapons and machinery required in the war with no expense for the government.

Julian had been composed all throughout those meetings, since he had known about Grindelwald's intentions beforehand. Indeed, he still remembered the day in which the Dark Lord had had his inspiration, and the 'ironic' source of it.

Yet nothing had prepared him for the meeting of a week ago when Himmler had opened the discussion with, "_Doctors Mengele and Wirths, among several others, are interested in carrying on several scientific experiments in some of the camps…"_

"_It's not medical experimentation,"_ Julian had whispered to Grindelwald the moment they had stepped out of the Reichstag, his stomach churning so sickly he had been about to hurl several times during the presentation of the ideas. _"It's inhumane torture!"_

Experiments on twin children, which was planned to entail the injection of different dyes into the eyes of twins to see whether it would change their colors, to sewing twins together in attempts to create conjoined twins.

Grisly tests to study the bone, muscle, and nerve regeneration, and bone transplantation from one person to another.

The study of head injuries by inducing them through blunt trauma such as having a mechanized hammer that every few seconds would come down upon a prisoner's head, to see if it induced insanity or whatever other consequences.

Freezing experiments, inducing hypothermia by sinking the test subject in a tank of icy water for several hours, to discover a means to prevent and treat it.

Infection of malaria by mosquitoes, to test which drugs could be used to counter the disease in the prisoners.

Exposure to mustard gas to discover which treatment could heal the terrible chemical burns.

Sulfonamide experiments, infecting the test subjects with several types of bacteria or causing wounds by cutting off circulation, by employing wood shavings or shards of glass, to see if such battle-like injuries could be treated with the sulfonamide drug. Or experiments with poisons and incendiary bombs.

Tests giving parched prisoners nothing to drink but salt water in an attempt to find a way to make seawater drinkable.

Sterilization experiments for the purpose of developing a method that could sterilize millions of people with a minimum of time and effort, conducted by the means of radiation and X-rays, surgery, and intravenous injections of drugs.

Along with high altitude experiments that consisted of sticking a person in low-pressure chambers to simulate conditions as that of German pilots who had to eject from their airplanes at high altitudes.

And so the list went…

Many muggle terms had flown over his head, but Julian had still comprehended the gist of every type of 'experiment' and he was still reeling. He had never heard of anything so wholly horrifying, that could have only been concocted in the most twisted, perverted, crazed, and sadistic minds.

"_Indeed it is,"_ said Grindelwald nonchalantly. _"Never fear, I have my own reasons for convincing Himmler to allow Konrad to have a hand in it."_

That was precisely what had left Julian inwardly gaping when the Dark Lord had suggested for Konrad Von Krauss to work alongside Himmler, and the physicians in the Nazi ranks, on the matter of establishing 'hospital wings' in some of the camps.

"_We'll discuss it in Nurmengard,"_ the Dark Lord had added gently, _"now go see your father. He has some news and he's awaiting you in your chambers."_

Thoroughly confused, Julian had done so, apparating directly to his bedroom to be confronted by his father.

As always, Egon Erlichmann had presented an imposing figure in his impeccable, rich wizarding robes and stern expression on his face.

Without any further ado, and wasting no time in greetings or polite conversation, the wizard had stated sharply, _"I'll be gone for some time to carry on a mission for the Dark Lord. In my absence, you'll be the Head of family. Take care of your mother and do not let me down, boy."_

Julian dutifully nodded, before he was quick to ask, _"What mission?"_

"_I have to spy on a muggle scientist,"_ Egon Erlichmann spat contemptuously, his distaste for the assignment clear in his voice as his expression soured. "_Some Jew expatriate who fled Europe some years ago and is now residing in America. Stein or something of the sort."_

A laugh coming from one corner of the room made Julian turn his head to see Santi glowing in all his magnificence, looking vastly amused as he kept chuckling under his breath.

Obviously not being able to see or hear him, Egon continued in his harsh tone of voice, _"Several of the Dark Lord's followers are also being sent to spy on other scientists and some muggle generals of the Americans' army."_

Julian stared at him with baffled curiosity. _"Whatever for?"_

"_To gain knowledge regarding a muggle project of some sort,"_ snapped his father with annoyance. _"Do not ask me more. The Dark Lord will inform you of the details if he sees fit."_

Egon Erlichmann approached the desk as he continued, his voice turning harsher and sterner, as he plucked out a phial from his robes, _"I want you to drink this before I leave."_

Julian stared at the flask that his father set on the table, instantly recognizing the contents, its color and consistency unmistakable.

All color left his face as he stared at his father with an expression on immense disbelief.

"_A Breeder Potion,"_ said Julian at last, his voice hoarse and his throat painfully dry. _"No."_

"_You will do as you're told."_ Egon Erlichmann narrowed his eyes at him. _"You know the consequences if you do not."_

"_I did as you wished,"_ whispered Julian, staring at his father with a wounded, incredulous look of betrayal on his face. _"I became the Dark Lord's boytoy. Against all expectations, I even managed to remain his lover for years, and I still retain his interest in me."_ He pointed a finger at the vial. _"This, I will not do."_

"_Lovers come and go,"_ interjected Egon in a steely tone of voice. _"Heirs do not. Provide the Dark Lord with one and-"_

"_No,"_ said Julian quietly, his throat constricting as he pierced his father with his eyes. _"Get out."_

"_You will rue this,"_ stated Egon softly, before he turned heel and briskly left the chambers.

The moment the wizard was gone, Julian felt his shaking knees giving way and he precariously landed on a chair, his eyes wide with the enormity of what had happened.

"_Julian?"_ murmured Santi concernedly as he crouched on the floor before him, peering up to watch his face as though wanting to ascertain his state of mind. _"Are you well?"_

"_You realize what it means?"_ croaked out Julian hoarsely, staring down into his friend's milky eyes.

"_I do,"_ muttered Santi grimly. _"I've known you since you were a toddler. I understand the nuisances of your interaction with your family."_

Julian nodded distractedly. That confrontation was as violent as it could get between his father and him. Egon was not a wizard who yelled or raged. Erlichmans did not resort to passionate displays of anger, nor theatrics or dramatics with each other. Julian's open and direct refusal was as good as if he had spat on his father's face.

"_He will strike me from the family's records,"_ mumbled Julian numbly, _"from the treeline, from his will. And my mother will side with him. I will be a stranger to her. And I will be an enemy to him."_

"_He will not dare to openly disown you,"_ interjected Santi in a soft, soothing tone of voice.

"_He won't, because I'm still Grindelwald's favorite. My father still has much to gain through the connection,"_ breathed out Julian, before he shook his head. _"But you don't understand. I feel no sorrow."_

He heaved a deep breath, and before he realized it, he was laughing loudly, so incessantly and hard, that tears sprung from his eyes and he didn't seem able to stop.

Santi eyed him with great apprehension at that, until Julian was able to explain between choked, miserable chortles, _"It has taken me twenty-four years to understand how he saw me. To realize that he doesn't really care for me, just what he can obtain through me. Twenty-four years to be able to finally say NO!"_

"_Most heirs of dark pureblood families like yourself,"_ intoned Santi gently, as he pated him on a knee, _"are never brave enough, nor dare, to oppose their parents-"_

"_Yes, I know!"_ choked out Julian in between half-crazed sniggers. _"I always thought it would devastate me if I ever disappointed Father. But I feel free."_ His sky blue eyes shone as he locked gazes with Santi. _"Finally free from the yoke of familial duty, but I should have done it ages ago, Santiago – when it mattered, when I was in Beauxbatons and had Laurent, when it would have meant that I could have the life I desired. Now, it only means that I'm free in my isolation. I have no one left except you."_

Santi shot an encouraging, gorgeous smile at him. _"Not only me. You will soon have-"_

"_That mysterious witch who will love me deeply,"_ parroted Julian in a tedious monotone as he rolled his eyes, _"and who will give me great solace."_

"_A comfort of sorts, yes,"_ said Santi grinning as he pulled Julian to his feet. _"You should get going. Grindelwald and Von Krauss are waiting for you in the Dark Lord's study."_

Julian was nearly passing through the threshold before he turned around, and inquired with curiosity, _"Why did you laugh? Who is Stein?"_

Santi snorted disparagingly. _"Your father had it wrong. It's not 'Stein' but Einstein."_

"_Who?"_ Julian blinked at him.

"_A muggle who has become famous in the scientific community,"_ said Santi, grinning as if vastly amused by it all._ "Indeed, he will be the most renowned in muggle history, as famous as his hairdo."_

Julian gawked at him in utter incomprehension. _"Hairdo? What does a muggle's hairstyle have to do-"_

"_It will be iconic,"_ piped in Santi jovially, before his expression turned serious and somber, as he added in a murmur, _"Indeed, he possesses such brilliance that I've been tempted on several occasions to reveal myself to him the times I've observed him working."_

"_You have?"_ said Julian, utterly taken aback, knowing how significant that was. Santi had only ever showed himself to him and Harry, after all, and his reasons for that were insurmountable, he knew well. _"Why? Why is this Einstein muggle so important?"_

"_To me,"_ replied Santi with a deep sigh_, "because before his death he will develop his Unified Field Theory, his life's greatest pursuit to unify all the fundamental forces, general relativity and gravitation, electromagnetism and quantum mechanics, and all the other laws of physics, as aspects of a single entity. Yet, he will die knowing he failed because the one component that eludes him, that he cannot understand or fathom and has no way of knowing, the one factor missing from his theory, is Magic."_ He shot him a pained, wry look. _"He will know there's something there, that explains it all, yet in defeat he will call it 'nature' or the touch of 'God', as muggles often resort to when beholding the explainable and unknown."_

Julian gaped at him, not having understood a single word, yet he was thunderstruck by what it revealed. It had never crossed his mind that Santi could have been searching for answers in the Muggle World, but it was evident that he had, extensively, as he seemed to utterly understand the concepts he had spoken about.

"_So…"_ began Julian tentatively, _"you believe that this Unified Field Theory could aid you in some way?"_

"_Certainly,"_ said Santi calmly. _"If he was able to fully develop it successfully, he would discover that his theoretical possibility of time-travel through a singularity in the space-time continuum is very much a reality."_

Julian's eyes widened in vague understanding, as he breathed out, _"Time-travel. You think he could give you the answers you've been looking for? Of what happened to you, of what you are, and-"_

"_If anyone can, he does,"_ muttered Santi dully. _"Why, I would only need to give him a sample of the Sands of Times for him to study. And with my assistance and input, I believe that in some years he could come up with the explanation and the solution."_

"_Then do it,"_ exclaimed Julian vehemently. _"Reveal yourself to this muggle!"_

Santi chuckled mirthlessly under his breath. _"To tell him about me is to tell him about the Magical World."_

"_So what?"_ snapped Julian in a hard tone of voice. _"You're willing to let escape your only chance just to protect the secrecy of our kind – for the 'Greater Good' of the Wizarding World?"_ He violently shook his head. _"If there's one thing I've come to learn is that the Greater Good does not matter."_

Indeed, after years of having been subjected to the measures that both Dumbledore and Grindelwald were willing to take to pursue their own differing views of what the 'Greater Good' consisted of, he had concluded that in fact neither of them had the right to decide such. Their magical prowess and powers didn't entitle them to judge what the rest of the world needed.

Oh, he knew from personal experience that Santi could be just as ruthless in using people to reach his own aims, yet Santi didn't do it out of self-righteous, high-handed thoughts of how the world should be.

He did it out of longing, desire, need for companionship, and love, for Harry. And Julian could understand that, could relate and sympathize, because he had done the same, for Laurent.

"_Only individuals matter,"_ said Julian sharply, _"and you're a fool if you don't use this muggle."_ His sky blue eyes narrowed at him. "_If it was Harry who wanted it to happen, you would do it no matter the consequences."_

"_Perhaps,"_ said Santi with a chuckle. _"But by the time that Harry will wish for such explanations, Einstein will be long dead and of no use."_

Taking a deep intake of air, deciding to let the issue rest for the time being, Julian broached the most pertinent matter-at-hand, as he frowned with puzzlement. _"And Grindelwald is interested in the muggle's research? In some kind of 'project', as Father said?"_

"_Yes,"_ replied Santi coolly. _"Einstein's discoveries in nuclear fission are being used in what's being called the Manhattan Project by those who are in the secret."_

"_Secret?"_ muttered Julian, his frown deepening. _"Why is it a secret? What's nuclear fission?"_

"_You'll soon understand,"_ said Santi shortly, waving him off so that he would make haste.

Julian did, though after the meeting with Grindelwald and Von Krauss he wished he had not.

"_If the muggles are using the opportunity to carry on several useful experiments, so should we,"_ Konrad Von Krauss had begun, and Julian had soon realized that the wizard, with Grindelwald's approval and consent, had been working on the matter for some time.

Indeed, Konrad Von Krauss had a long list compiled from the Healers and Magical Theorists and such in the Dark Lord's ranks that were salivating at the chance of testing their ideas on human subjects.

There were of all sorts, from wanting to continue several aspects of Salazar Slytherin's unconcluded research –needing mudbloods, halfbloods, and purebloods as test subjects- to see what was the cause of loss of magical powers in the breedings between the different types, to tests to discover the cause for infertility or the birth of squibs in pureblooded lines, to modifying the Cruciatus Curse so that it wouldn't snap the mind of the victim in minutes but rather be sustained for hours, thus making it more efficient for torture, to creating an Avada Kedavra variant that would not kill instantly but prologue the moment of death for a period of time that would feel like a limbo of maddening utter sensory loss, to an Imperius Curse that could be cast not at one individual but at a mass of people, to finding a way of stealing a mudbloods' magic and a method so that it could be used in squibs of pureblooded families to make them magical, as well as creating spells that could make wizards permanently posses useful traits of magical creatures, like the petrifying eyes of Gorgons, a skin that sprouted dragon scales that would shield the wizard from most curses and spells, wings of hippogriffs as limbs in the back that could tuck themselves inside the body when not being used, and ever more bizarre ideas of the kind.

It didn't involve vivisecting living brains, sewing people together and the sort, like in the Nazi's experimentations, but it was certain that all the ideas entailed immense agony for the 'test subjects' if not outright death or unnatural body modifications.

"_It's too late now to change my plans for the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, but there will be plenty of raids after it,"_ said Grindelwald pensively. _"We will take prisoners from the subsequent Ministries we'll conquer. They will serve as test subjects."_ He shot Julian a pointed look. _"As will some of the Jews in my dungeons. Maybe witnessing what their muggle counterparts are suffering at the hands of the Nazis will loosen their tongues." _

"_My Lord,"_ said Julian quietly, careful of not displaying any of the immense alarm and horror he was truly feeling, _"I believe I'm making progress in my torture of them. I believe some are about to break and will tell me anything they know regarding the Guardians of the Vessel."_

"_You've had your chance, Erlichmann,"_ interjected Konrad Von Krauss sharply, his tone as piercing as shards of ice, as his pale blue eyes narrowed with contempt and despise at him.

"_Now, now,"_ chided Grindelwald gently as he let out a chortle, _"no need for verbal aggression."_ He smiled indulgently at Julian. "_Do continue your work with them if it entertains you, mein Edelstein, but some will be taken and carted off to the concentration camps as soon as Konrad isolates sections of the camps with magical wards." _He addressed Von Krauss, as he added in a commanding tone of voice, _"Muggle and wizarding experimentation will be carried on in different buildings in the camps. I do not need to tell you that the Statute of Secrecy must prevail in the concentration camps as well."_

Feeling as if he was grasping at straws, Julian interjected swiftly, _"The camps will be dismantled the moment the Nazis lose the war, will they not, My Lord? No proof will be left behind." _

"_Lose?"_ bit out Konrad Von Krauss virulently. _"The muggle Germans will not fail-"_

"_They will,"_ interrupted Julian, purposely widening his sky blue eyes as he shot Grindelwald a glance. "_It is your plan, is it not, My Lord?"_

"_Indeed it is,"_ said Gellert, casting him a proud, affectionate look before he scowled at Von Krauss with annoyance. _"Truly, Konrad, how many times have you heard me say that the Wizarding War is a sideshow, and the Muggle War a sideshow of a sideshow? If Julian has been able to fathom my underlying plans, surely you can as well."_

"_I'm well aware that finding the Vessel is your true quest, My Lord,"_ muttered Von Krauss deferentially, before the corner of his pale eyes crinkled. _"Yet I had not envisioned that you would allow your Nazis to be defeated, for our country to be invaded by foreign powers, as will surely come to happen if-"_

"_As Julian seems to understand and you not,"_ interjected Grindelwald in an incisive and impatient tone of voice, _"I have no wish to deal with a muggle empire of any sort."_ He waved his hand dismissively. _"Muggles will be best controlled and conquered when they inhabit their own independent and divided nations as they continue to squabble with each other."_

"_Surely,"_ said Konrad Von Krauss, his voice becoming firm, _"a muggle empire, if German, would be a positive outcome, easily controlled indeed."_

"_No,"_ retorted Grindelwald harshly, narrowing his hawk-like eyes at his Right Hand. _"Do not let your patriotism and pride in our German breeding cloud your judgment, Konrad."_

Julian made a show of nodding at that, as he remarked in the most innocent tone of voice he could muster, _"Precisely. Thus, perhaps the camps should not be dismantled after all?" _He shot Grindelwald a pensive look. _"Perhaps plenty of proof should be left behind regarding their experimentation on prisoners?"_

"_Quite."_ The crooked smirk Grindelwald graced him with was filled with satisfaction, appreciation, yet also a hint of tenderness. And Julian smiled back at him.

Long gone were the days in which his chest ached at every show of true affection Gellert gave him, of the conflicting, warring emotions, when he basked in the enjoyment and glory of knowing that the man he had come to love was able to return such feelings, yet also suffering the crushing weight of the guilt and remorse and self-flagellation that came with those thoughts: not only that he was capable of having deep feelings for someone like Gellert, but that all the while he was doing his best to thwart him, that he would ultimately betray him in the most hurtful, unforgivable way.

Julian was well aware that his name would be spat and reviled in the lips of every dark pureblood in the world. And that he would hurt Grindelwald immensely, and for it, the wizard would be brutal and merciless in his revenge.

Indeed, his bouts of deep depression, or of wondering if his love for Gellert was a natural, sincere emotion or the twisted, hideous love that a broken prisoner held for his jailer, did not haunt him anymore.

Julian had come to simply enjoy what he could get, of living in the moment without allowing himself to feel torment. Of accepting the feelings of love for Gellert when he felt them, of inwardly hating him without remorse on other occasions. Of steadfastly loving Laurent all the while, with no thoughts that he was being disloyal to one or the other.

He had taken to heart what Santi had told him long ago, and grasped the chances for joy without any other considerations, for his life was soon to end.

"_If proof is left for others to find,"_ interjected Konrad Von Krauss in clipped tones, _"German honor will be forever besmirched."_

Julian rejoiced at that, as his improvised plot finally gave fruit. Indeed, he had counted on Von Krauss' disproportionate pureblood German pride to find offense with Gellert's intentions, in the hopes that perhaps the wizard would finally oppose the Dark Lord's plans of shipping captured wizards, and most importantly, the Jews in the dungeons, to the camps.

"_Muggle German honor," _bit out Grindelwald harshly. _"I have no intention of letting anyone know about the wizarding experimentations."_

"_Muggle or not, it is German honor nonetheless,"_ pressed Von Krauss obstinately, his pale eyes narrowing.

Grindelwald gave him a look of immense exasperation, before he crookedly smirked at them smugly. _"Do you not realize, my dear Konrad, the effect that such revelations will have on the Wizarding World?"_

At that, Julian glanced at him, his frown deep and musing, while Konrad's expression cleared with sudden understanding.

"_I see,"_ muttered the wizard, to then remain silent.

Not liking the unexpected turn, Julian was quick to intone politely, _"My Lord?"_

Grindelwald chuckled softly under his breath. _"Why, mein Edelstein, I would have thought it was obvious. The whole Wizarding World will see the atrocities muggles are able to commit against those of their own kind who are different, who are envied, or feared, or feel threatened by. Those they blame for their failures, weaknesses, and inadequacies. Thus, they will know just how brutally muggles would retaliate against us if they ever discovered our existence."_

"_It will be an effective lesson, My Lord," _muttered Konrad Von Krauss, his tone becoming admiring with approval. _"Well worth the loss of the muggle German honor and the defeat and invasion of the muggle cities of our country, if wizarding kind comes to finally comprehend the need to utterly subjugate muggles to our rule and squash all muggle threat."_

"_Exactly,"_ said Grindelwald looking vastly self-satisfied. _"I knew you would come to understand my reasoning, Konrad." _

"_I do, My Lord,"_ said Von Krauss, bowing his head low. _"Forgive my previous doubts and impertinent questioning."_

Grindelwald chuckled as he fondly patted the wizard on a shoulder. _"No harm done."_

Julian's pulse quickened with frantic apprehension, yet he didn't have the chance to attempt any subtle dissuasion.

"_And you do as well, I trust,"_ said Grindelwald, arching an eyebrow at him. _"Your father must have apprised you of what I've sent him and several others to do."_

Julian frowned, though he was careful to voice his words with nothing but deferential curiosity. _"He would not fully disclose the details of his mission, My Lord."_

"_As tight-lipped with you as always, I see,"_ intoned Gellert looking tickled by the forever tense relationship between father and son. _"It's simple enough."_ His lips stretched into a wide, self-satisfied smirk. _"The American muggles are developing a weapon that will be capable of incinerating countless in the blink of an eye. 'Mass destruction' I believe they call such things." _

"_A weapon?"_ Julian stared at him in utter befuddlement, realizing that Konrad Von Krauss didn't look at all surprised. The wizard had certainly known about the matter beforehand.

"_A bomb,"_ clarified Grindelwald, his hawk-like eyes gleaming. _"It will be called 'atomic bomb'."_

Julian stupidly blinked at him. _"A what?"_

"_It disintegrates matter, or makes matter split itself, or some along those lines,"_ said Grindelwald dismissively. _"I do not know the particulars as of yet."_ His handsome face became suddenly suffused with a feverish gleam of appreciation and satisfaction. _"I do know that the detonation caused can devastate an entire city with a blast, like a split-second of an uncontrolled fiendfyre burning everything in its path to cinders. The white glow it emits as powerful and beautiful as a bursting sun!"_

By mere chance, Julian noticed from the corner of his eyes the quick darting look that Konrad Von Krauss gave to the Dark Lord's pensive, several feet away from them, innocently set on a table.

As horrifyingly entranced as he was by Grindelwald's description, he then realized that Gellert had actually seen it – in Sybilla Spyros' memories of her visions of a future.

From Santi, he knew that Von Krauss knew about the memories but had never seen them himself. Yet, Julian was not supposed to know at all, so he was swift to focus back on Grindelwald, as the wizard continued.

"_And the smoke!"_ Gellert crowed with jovial laughter as he shot his hands to the air. _"Like billowing black clouds that rise to the heavens and can be seen from a country away." _His smirk became impossibly wide as he gazed at them, his voice an exultant, low whisper, as he added,_"And yet, the muggles will never know the most grisly effect of their invention. It does not only kill life and body, it annihilates the soul of its victims."_

"_Monstrous,"_ croaked out Konrad Von Krauss, his face paper white, his hands suddenly shaking, as he kept staring at the Dark Lord with pale, wide eyes.

Julian had never seen such reaction in the usually coldly expressionless Von Krauss, though he wasn't doing much better himself.

If there was one thing that any rational wizard valued as much as their magic, it was their soul, because they knew of their existence. Because, unlike muggles, they could see ghosts, they knew of them and what they meant, they knew there was some sort of afterlife. And many even believed in a cycle of some sort, of rebirth, or at least passing to some beyond.

Furthermore, plenty dark purebloods believed that muggle souls were of an inferior nature, that there was no afterlife for them, that their souls vanished into nonexistence with death, since they lacked magic. And many laughed at and derided muggle notions of gods and heavens and such. Granted, mostly due because muggles' beliefs in the existence of souls was a matter of faith in some religion or other instead of fact and proof, and wizards had always viewed such notions with much contempt, since muggles throughout history had used their religious ideas for things that were actually magical in nature, and not the actions of a god or a nemesis of one.

"_My Lord,"_ said Konrad Von Krauss haggardly, a plea in his voice, _"will it be used against us?"_

"_Against Germany?"_ Grindelwald chuckled under his breath. _"Certainly not, Konrad. It's the Americans who will use it, and they fear Stalin and the spread of Communism much more than they are bothered by Hitler and his Nazis."_ He arched an eyebrow at them, as he added pointedly, _"And they are wisely self-interested to the point that they will not engage in war if they are not being directly affected by it. Expect no brave altruism on their behalf. They will help no one but themselves."_

Julian's mind whirled with possibilities, realizing what the Dark Lord was inkling at.

Grindelwald had been careful of funneling Hitler's ambitions to the practical and useful, namely, the conquest of Europe, the North of Africa and the Middle East for control of routes like the Suez Canal and of the vast natural resources to be found in those lands, all highly important and necessary to fuel and be used in the muggle war effort.

And of course, included as Grindelwald's personal crown jewel, Egypt, to be pried away from both wizarding and muggle British control. It wasn't the ancient magical knowledge of the Egyptians' wizarding civilization that Grindelwald hungered for, but because, as the birthplace of the Vessel, the Dark Lord hoped it could still contain clues.

Indeed, the one zone the Dark Lord had made certain his Nazi puppets would not meddle in was the Asia-Pacific.

Julian recounted in his mind what he knew of it. Most predominantly, there was Indochina under the yoke of French rule, with its Communist inhabitants desperately trying to gain back their own country, and with the imperialist Japanese with their sights set on it. And China, which for the last eight years had been involved in a war between three sides, the government, the Communists led by Mao Tse-Tung with Soviet support, and the Japanese who had already invaded most of it.

"_The common factor,"_ muttered Julian under his breath, his face paling as he then gazed up at Grindelwald, his voice rising, _"the Japanese. The Americans will feel threatened by their expansion in the Pacific."_

"_Precisely,"_ intoned Gellert placidly, his eyes ablaze with contentment Julian couldn't understand.

"_They are our allies,"_ said Julian pressingly, feeling greatly distressed.

"_We have a pact of non-aggression with them,"_ corrected Konrad Von Krauss frostily, _"no more."_

"_If we don't warn their wizarding authorities,"_ interjected Julian in deep agitation, _"they will retaliate against us."_

Surely he didn't require to explain matters further. Grindelwald himself, a Dark Lord in the apex of his power and influence, had been wary and wise enough to not mess with neither wizarding China nor Japan. And there was a good reason for it, both countries having the most ancient magical cultures in the planet, with wholly differing traditions and magical knowledge than that of Europe.

All the rest of ancient magical civilizations had fallen to some degree or other. The Egyptians after being pillaged by Goblins and wizarding Britain, the few secrets and magical artifacts left were those ensconced in undiscovered nooks and crannies in their pyramids, with much of their knowledge, like the Animagus Transformation, a matter of general knowledge in the Wizarding World.

The ancient Mayan and Aztec cultures whose treasures had been plundered centuries ago when the European muggles 'discovered' the American continent and the wizards went along for the ride to take the opportunity of doing much looting themselves.

And India, which had opened its borders ages ago, allowing foreign wizards to come and go, to freely learn, such as Levitation Charms and whatnot, and, most importantly, allowing interbreeding, resulting in such abilities as Parseltongue to be infused in foreign wizarding bloodlines.

Wizarding Japan and China, which even had strange, native magical creatures to be found nowhere else, didn't allow foreign wizards entrance unless it was for academic purposes, with the caveat that the sharing of knowledge had to go both ways. And even then, Julian was certain, they weren't revealing their most powerful kinds of magic. And after a maximum stay of three months, a portkey was shoved down the throats of foreign wizards if necessary, to taken them back to their country of origin.

Indeed, wizarding Europe was a newborn babe in comparison, and wizarding China and Japan had always been profoundly isolationist and hermetic, hoarding their ancient knowledge like a matriarch dragon looming over her eggs.

"_Why would they have reason to suspect I knew anything about the atomic bomb beforehand, mein Edelstein?"_

Julian glanced up at Grindelwald, his forehead crinkling with suspicion.

"_If this bomb does what you've said,"_ Julian began as he tentatively tested the waters, _"the Americans will not dare employ it-"_

"_They will,"_ interjected Grindelwald with a chortle as if vastly amused by Julian's hopeful naiveté. He made a whooshing motion with a hand, as he crookedly grinned at him. _"In an instant and one fell swoop, the Americans will kill more people than my Nazi puppets and wizarding followers combined have in all these years."_ His hawk-like eyes sparkled with satisfaction. _"They will use the bomb in two Japanese cities, brimming with innocent civilians."_

Julian shook his head as he said insistently, _"The repercussions for the Americans-"_

"_Will be none,"_ said Grindelwald matter-of-factly. _"They will be one of the victors, and the victors are never held accountable for the war crimes they commit, mein Edelstein."_

Julian stared at him, as he finally understood why Grindelwald was so pleased instead of deeply troubled and horrified.

Grindelwald was seeing the 'atomic bomb' as an opportunity, like the camps and the experiments the Dark Lord fully intended to make the general public aware of, once he allowed his Nazi puppets to be defeated, to impart a lesson on the Wizard World through the shock-value of it all.

"_My Lord,"_ said Julian, purposely infusing his voice with breathless hope, _"is this why you are looking for the Vessel? Do you intend to use it as a weapon against this atomic bomb-"_

"_You've read my father's research,"_ interrupted Konrad Von Krauss scathingly, casting him a snide, hateful look, which made clear that the wizard was still not at all pleased that the Dark Lord had shared such important knowledge with someone so lowly and untrustworthy as him. _"The Vessel cannot be used in that manner."_ He glanced at Grindelwald, before his pale blue eyes hardened. _"It can be used as a preemptive strike, so that no muggles are able to ever use any kind of weapons against us."_

Julian nodded, his suspicions having been unwittingly confirmed by the two wizards. The wars were a smokescreen as Grindelwald chased after his true purpose, the Vessel, yet the Dark Lord was taking the opportunity to use what the war generated -the camps, the experiments, the atomic bombs- to sway the Wizard World.

Indeed, in the future, when Grindelwald could finally use the Vessel, the Dark Lord would only need to remind wizards of the horrors committed by the muggles, and in terrified fear, wizarding kind would support the use of any 'preemptive strike' available, no matter the utter catastrophic devastation a fully-powered Vessel could unleash, if Ulrich Von Krauss had been right.

Such ruthless brilliance. Plots within plots, all feeding each other, all aiding Grindelwald's aims no matter the turn they took.

Much against his will, Julian gazed at his lover with immense respect and admiration for a cunningness that was certainly unmatched.

Grindelwald's response to it was jaunty wink and a rather salacious, crooked grin that promised the pleasures to come at nightfall.

Yet, as Julian finally left the room once the meeting concluded, there were several things he realized.

Neither Grindelwald nor Von Krauss knew what he did: that Sybilla Spyros had allowed herself to be captured on purpose, that no matter the torture Grindelwald had subjected her to, the memories she had let him rip from her mind were those she had chosen, carefully, for a plot of revenge intended to unfold after her death, for Grindelwald to unwittingly execute.

In his pensive, the Dark Lord had only seen and learned what the Seer had wanted him to act upon.

Furthermore, Julian knew what Grindelwald had not wanted to disclose.

* * *

As expected, he found Santi waiting for him in his rooms, indolently sprawled on an armchair.

"_How did it go?"_ said Santi placidly as soon as Julian stepped inside.

Julian shot him a dour look. _"You know how it went. I'm sure you're well aware of everything that was discussed."_

"_I am,"_ intoned Santi cheerfully.

Julian eyed him closely, having learned that such brimming joy in his lifelong companion could only mean one thing.

"_Have you just returned from spending time with the Harry in the future?"_ said Julian arching an eyebrow at him.

Santi widely grinned at him. _"I have."_

Julian rolled his eyes as he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. _"How old was he this time?"_

"_Seventeen,"_ replied Santi, a beaming, gorgeous smile spreading on his face.

"_At least he was more age-appropriate for you in this occasion."_

Santi chuckled under his breath. _"There's no such thing for me. My age is boundless, as you well know."_

"_Quite,"_ quipped Julian, his lips hitching upwards in amusement, _"but I'm sure Harry will be mightily glad if you restrain yourself from molesting him when he still hasn't got any hairs on his chest."_

"_He does not-"_

"_Spare me,"_ interrupted Julian swiftly as he raised a hand, his lips twisting, _"I really don't want to know."_

"_-because he's a part-Veela."_

"_He is?"_ Julian's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.

Santi widely grinned at him, before he frowned darkly. _"I have not bedded him. I have no intention of doing so until he wishes it."_

"_How very chivalrous of you," _bit out Julian tartly.

Santi's frown deepened, yet it was now an expression of concern rather than of having taken offense. _"Was is the matter with you?"_

Julian sighed deeply as he briskly pulled an armchair to plop down on it. _"Grindelwald is doing it for many reasons." _He pierced him with his eyes as he added in a low mutter, _"But I'm certain he's mostly doing it because of Tom Riddle."_

"_How so?"_ prompted Santi, quirking an ethereal eyebrow at him.

"_You know what I mean!"_ snapped Julian irritably. _"The concentration camps, the experiments, that blasted bomb! Yes, he wants to instill fear for muggles in the wizarding community, but it's Tom Riddle he's mainly thinking about."_ He leaned forward to be inches away from Santi's face, as he gripped sourly, _"You said Tom Riddle already hates and despises muggles, but he does not fear them. With all these things-"_

"_Tom Riddle will not care two straws,"_ interjected Santi with a disparaging snort, _"about what the Nazis will do to their prisoners in the camps."_

"_That might be so,"_ retorted Julian harshly, his eyes narrowing, _"but he will care about the atomic bomb, won't he?"_ He frantically threw a hand into the air. _"It annihilates souls!"_

Santi guffawed loudly, before he choked out between chuckles, _"Riddle hasn't yet learned to value souls, Julian. He values nothing but power."_

Julian's jaw muscle ticked with exasperation, as he groused acidly, _"It fills me with misgivings. You said Grindelwald knows Riddle will become a Dark Lord, and thus prefers to have him as a pupil he can control rather than a rival. You made it sound as if Riddle is a monster by nature, and now Grindelwald is planning on giving Tom Riddle more reasons to fear muggles."_ His eyes narrowed to slits. _"And from what you've said of him, Riddle destroys what he fears."_ He shot him a scornful look as he added sarcastically, _"Can you now fathom a guess as to why I'm concerned?"_

Santi's expression turned grave as he said firmly, _"You should not worry about Tom Riddle-"_

"_I'm not worried about him!"_ snapped Julian impatiently. _"He means nothing to me. I worry about Harry, you fool! Harry, who thinks they're brothers. Harry, who will stick by his side, no matter what, according to you-"_

"_I will protect him,"_ interjected Santi releasing a heavy sigh, _"as best I can-"_

"_And I do not understand,"_ continued Julian, glaring at him, _"why you are so blithely flippant regarding what will soon come to happen in the war!"_ He shook his head, as he added in an appalled mutter, _"They've all gone mad."_

"_I've found that war tends to have that effect on people,"_ remarked Santi with a shrug of his shoulders. _"Given all the things I've seen and experienced, it has ceased to amaze me. I'm inured to the self-destructive stupidity of humankind."_

Julian shot him a jaundiced look, before he kicked him out of the room. _"I need to sleep."_

Yet in the following week preceding the attack on the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, he didn't succeed much in that regard.

Julian had thought he had successfully reached the point in which all outside troubles would roll off him, in which he would only enjoy with utter carefree the bit left of his life.

However, his nights were plagued with feelings of apprehension, for the Dark Lord's plans for the Vessel, for what Tom Riddle would become and how it would affect Harry, for the very same reason that the one time he had seen Harry, the boy had looked so young and small and vulnerable and innocent and untarnished, that he felt a sudden urge to protect him at all costs.

All that, added to the many times he had glanced at the shards of the glass dove he had destroyed, which had made him curse his foolishness, because he missed Laurent's letters, felt he needed them as much as the air he breathed. And the fact that Santi had said Laurent could do something stupid in reaction, made Julian cringe worriedly at the possibilities.

If he wasn't haunted by those thoughts, Grindelwald's passion in bed had become such after every subsequent conquest of countries, that even though Julian was left fully satiated, he was also left utterly exhausted, barely able to lift a finger.

Worst of all, he was involved in all aspects of the preparations for the raid of the Norwegian Ministry, with Gellert always by his side, and thus didn't have one single opportunity to do what he wanted the most – to covertly dash to the dungeons and finally free the Jews.

By the time the day of the attack arrived, Julian felt so groggy from lack of rest and sleep that he dearly hoped, for the first time, that the raid would go without a hitch and that Grindelwald's armies would triumph easily.

* * *

The moment Julian Erlichmann apparated to his chambers in Nurmengard Tower, he gripped his desk with shaking hands, feeling as if he was about to topple over with the sheer anxiety he was feeling.

The final step in the conquest of Norway had been a victory for the Dark Lord, though it certainly didn't feel as such to him.

So many horrifyingly unexpected things had occurred during the attack on the Norwegian Ministry of Magic that Julian was barely able to think straight, his agitation and fear was so profound.

Now, barely five minutes since he had apparated away from the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, Julian understood how right Santi had been. The last thing he had expected was for Laurent to have become a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

Julian was still trembling after the experience, the shocking confrontation, because he knew that it had been Laurent's last desperate attempt to see him and gain him back. Yet it could have so easily ended in Laurent's death that Julian's heart was still thundering loudly in his chest. One wrong move, a second too late, and it would have been an utter disaster.

Indeed, under Grindelwald's watchful eyes he had dueled Laurent, his horror mounting, his frenzy and panic spiraling, since he had to fight as if he meant it and at the same time be careful of not truly injuring his beloved.

It had been an impossible situation: if he didn't kill Laurent, his cover might as well be blown, whilst if he did kill him, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself. After all, every decision he had taken since the day that Aurora Bones and Albus Dumbledore had approached him had been with the sole intention of keeping Laurent safe.

So he had resorted to the only being he truly trusted and counted on.

"_Save him_," he had whispered frantically in between two dark curses cast, "_and make him forget._"

And Santi, who had known him since he was a toddler, had easily understood what Julian was requesting.

Only Julian had been able to see Santi, as he always did, becoming a blur of golden light as Santi dashed towards Laurent, as Santi's arms tightly wrapped around Laurent's chest from behind, Laurent's hazel eyes widening for a moment of speechless surprise and incomprehension at the invisible force that was suddenly restraining him, and in the next bat of an eyelash, they had vanished.

Just in time, as Julian heard Aurora Bones' voice shrieking urgently, "THE MINISTRY HAS FALLEN – RETREAT TO FRANCE!"

By mere chance, it had all looked as if Laurent had fled of his own accord instead of being whisked away by an invisible Santi, as every member of the Order of the Phoenix and every French Auror and Norwegian witch and wizard left standing apparated away through the ravaged wards of the building.

Only the Dementors remained, along with the surviving Inferi who were being rounded up, as Grindelwald's followers roared the chant of victory that had become as much as a tradition among the Dark Lord's ranks as in those of Grindelwald's Nazi puppets.

"_Victory is ours!_ Sieg ist unser! - Sieg heil! Sieg heil! Sieg heil!"

In the midst of all the cries of triumph and heady, proud celebration, Julian had taken the opportunity to disapparate as inconspicuously as possible.

Nevertheless, in that second, he knew he had to take full advantage of the opportunity. Gellert was occupied in wrapping up matters in what was left of the Norwegian Ministry, while Santi was dealing with Laurent.

Indeed, it was Santi whom Julian didn't want to know about what he had decided to do after having seen Harry, of all people, in the midst of the carnage in the Ministry.

He still couldn't fathom what the boy had been doing there, but he knew what needed to be done.

Now that he was alone in Nurmengard Tower, before the rest returned, was the perfect opportunity, Julian knew as he grabbed the pouch of galleons from his desk and left his chambers in a mad dash.

He ran with all his might and strength until he was in the dungeons. He didn't want Santi to witness his last moments, he could spare his lifelong friend such experience.

Furthermore, Julian felt prepared. He had known all along that the time was coming. He was twenty-four years of age, and long ago Santi had told him he would never live to see his 25th birthday.

Once more, he assured himself that he felt ready as he sprinted into the dungeons. Thankfully, there were no guards to deal with. Grindelwald had known that the French were sending most of their Aurors to Norway, and had also expected the Order of the Phoenix to arrive, and had thus ordered for even the guards of the dungeons to participate in the attack.

When Julian reached the intended cell, he crouched on the floor before the bars and cast a soft Lumos spell on his wand.

"_Aaron! Wake up. Aaron!"_ he whispered sharply.

The light dimly bathing the interior of the cell allowed him to see Aaron Boschkowitz's eyes slowing parting open as the muggle arose from his sleep. His two little children, skeletal girl and boy with bellies swollen from starvation, shifted but neither awoke while the man's grandfather, the ancient-looking, tongueless Leader of the Guardians, Abel, was piercing him with black, heavily crinkled eyes.

"_Take this!"_ said Julian urgently as he grabbed a handful of galleons and shoved his arm in between the bars.

Julian watched as Aaron slowly lifted a hand, shaking so badly and evidently costing the muggle such effort, that Julian blanched. All seven floors of the dungeons were filled with imprisoned Jews and he would have to go one by one, and if they were all as weak as Aaron, it would be impossible to hand out all the galleons to free them all, at that rate.

"_Be quick, please!"_ urged Julian. _"Take the portkeys!"_

"_Portkeys? No,"_ Aaron rasped out, letting his hand fall to his lap.

Julian stared at him, before he said frantically, _"I'm Dumbledore's spy, remember? I'm freeing you now. The portkeys will take you to-"_

"_No,"_ Aaron croaked out, his voice gaining a modicum of strength, as he added slowly, _"Not the time."_

"_What?"_ Julian insistently shook his handful of galleons_. "It is the time, this is your chance, before Grindelwald and his followers return from Norway!"_

When Aaron did nothing but tiredly peer at him, Julian bit out flatly, "_Listen, the Dark Lord will soon start sending you to concentration camps, you understand? And you have no idea of the things they're planning on doing to you there-"_

"_Extermination camps,"_ rasped out Aaron Boschkowitz. _"They will be called extermination camps."_

Julian stared at him in utter bafflement. _"Extermination? What extermination?"_ He shook his head before he gripped the bars of the cell, as he snapped in frustration, _"Listen! You must take the portkeys and leave-"_

"_No,"_ interrupted Aaron, his eyes hardening with determination. _"You must only free us on the day the first of us are taken to the camps. She was very clear on the matter."_

"_She?"_ said Julian perplexed. _"What she?"_

The expression on Aaron's shrunken face went blank, clearly indicating that the muggle regretted having said that much. But it was then when old Abel Boschkowitz began to make slow moving motions with his age-spotted and frail-looking hands.

Aaron watched his grandfather's hand signs and released a resigned sigh, before nodding and turning to face Julian. _"The one who told us about you. That there would be a young wizard who would sing to us with the voices of sirens and thrills of phoenixes."_ The muggle's gaze darted to Julian's empty hands and raised an eyebrow at the absence of the magical flute. _"That you would give us freedom. That you would be the Helper."_

'The Helper' echoed and reverberated in Julian's mind, his sky blue eyes widening as he remembered hearing those same words so long ago when he had been fifteen. Abruptly, all air left his lungs.

"_Sybilla Spyros talked to you?"_ breathed out Julian in utter confusion. _"How? When? The Dark Lord killed her before you were even captured and brought here-" _

"_She found us many years ago,"_ replied Aaron tiredly, as he wrapped an arm around his children who were sleeping against his side. _"She told us that a Dark Lord would rise and create a war for the sole purpose of finding us, the Guardians. To attempt to pry from us the location of our greatest treasure."_

"_The Vessel,"_ murmured Julian quietly, intently catching the muggle's gaze.

Aaron slowly nodded. _"She told us what she had seen in her visions, the persecution that my people were going to be subjected to, the great suffering that would come, the camps…"_ He trailed off, before glancing to the sides, as he added in a mutter_, "Some of us wanted to warn our communities."_

It was then when Julian realized that many others in subjacent cells had woken up and were now intently listening to the conversation, their eyes sharp and bright as they focused on Aaron and Julian.

"_Warn them so that all Jews, whether they knew of us Guardians or not, could flee Europe before it all began,"_ continued Aaron, now staring at Julian, his voice lowering.

Julian deeply frowned at him. _"I do not understand. Sybilla Spyros told you what was going to be done to you in the future and you decided to stay put? To do nothing? To not even spare your own kind the horrors-"_

"_We decided,"_ interjected Aaron in a firm tone of voice, _"that the price was worth paying. She said that by the end of the war, we would gain what we've been longing for since the beginning of times-"_

"_The Promised Land,"_ came a fervent whisper.

Julian glanced at a side, seeing one of the prisoners by the next cell with a zealous, feverish expression on his face, while many of the others who had been listening to the conversation now seemed to be enlivened with intense hope and longing.

"_The land that was promised by God to the prophet Abraham, which was promised again to Abraham's son, Isaac, and to Isaac's son, Jacob,"_ said Aaron, making Julian gaze back at him with a befuddled expression on his face.

"_What land?"_ muttered Julian, his eyebrows rising.

"_Our own country, at long last,"_ replied Aaron fervently, his black eyes keen and glowing avidly. _"She said we would name it Israel." _The muggle pierced Julian with his eyes, his expression hardening. _"We will suffer, but as I said, the price is worth paying. It was decided."_

"Look," said Julian sharply, his agitation increasing with each word spoken, _"I don't know what sorts of things Sybilla Spyros promised you, but she was not to be trusted. She had plans of her own that you know nothing about, she was using you-"_

"_She did not lie,"_ interjected Aaron curtly. _"She could not. She was a true Soothsayer, descendant of Cassandra, bearing her Curse. She could only speak the Truth."_

Julian shook his head in frustration before he bit out, _"Be that as it may, she could still lie by omission, couldn't she? If she's the one who convinced you that you had to wait until the first of you are taken to the camps-"_

"_Did she lie when she told us about you?"_ interrupted Aaron vehemently, boring his gaze into Julian's. _"She did not. You are exactly as she said. Who has brought us hope with music, who is the spy of the Companion of the Phoenix, who will free us - but not until the appropriate day. She was most adamant about that, Helper."_

_"Helper,"_ whispered Julian under his breath, all color once again vanishing from his face, as it finally and fully came to him with punishing force: all those words spoken by Sybilla Spyros and Santi, that day nine years ago when he had met her for the one and only time.

And the more he finally unraveled and understood, and the more the horrible suspicion grew in his mind, the more frantic he became.

He shot Aaron a wild look as he demanded forcefully, _"Did she speak of the Finder?"_

"_Yes,"_ replied Aaron, intently eyeing him back with a look of both surprise and curiosity on his gaunt face. _"Only to him we will reveal our secret. We will tell him all, we will teach him much. He will be worthy, she said. He will protect it and become one with it-"_

"_Did she give you a name?"_ snapped Julian, highly distressed and perturbed.

"_No names."_ Aaron shook his head. _"We will know him by a mark. We are still waiting for his arrival-"_

"_What mark?"_ urged Julian instantly, with his heart lodged in his throat.

"_The mark of lightning."_ Aaron frowned as he stared at him. _"Why do you ask? Do you know who-"_

Julian was up to his feet in a second, so agitated and horrified that he could barely think straight.

"_You will come to us, yes?"_ called out Aaron as Julian violently thrust the pouch of galleons in a pocket of his robes as he ran towards the exit. _"You will free us on the day that-"_

"_Yes!"_ yelled Julian over his shoulder before he ran out of the dungeons, his heart pounding frenziedly in his chest.

Midway as he dashed up the eternal, spiraling stone stairway of Nurmengard Tower, Julian nearly toppled down the stairs when Santi popped into existence right before him.

Panting hard as he grabbed the rails, Julian wheezed out furiously, _"You should have told me that Sybilla was referring to Harry!"_

Santi's eyebrows quirked upwards, but before he could speak, Julian was swept with apprehension, about a much more urgent matter in that moment.

"_Laurent?"_ Julian murmured faintly, his sky blue eyes filled with anxiety as he stared at him.

"_I apparated him to his flat in Florence," _said Santi quietly, eyeing him closely, gauging. _"And I obliviated every memory he had of you. I hope that is what you intended me to do-"_

"_It is,"_ muttered Julian through a throat suddenly dry and constricted.

"_I can always reverse it,"_ offered Santi, his tone gentle and his expression one of concern.

Julian jerkily shook his head. _"No. It's what had to happen. He's truly and completely safe now."_ He cast Santi a glance as he added in a pained whisper, _"That's all I've ever wanted since the beginning."_

Santi gazed at him with pity and compassion before he heaved a deep, long sigh. _"I know."_

"_You said Laurent would have a long life, marry, have children, and be content," _said Julian softly, boring his gaze into Santi's. _"Does that still hold true?"_

"_Now more than ever," _Santi assured quietly.

Julian nodded, his face pale and his hands trembling, even though he knew that it was all for the best.

"_Aurora Bones,"_ intoned Santi carefully, _"will notice that her nephew has been obliviated-"_

"_She'll believe I did it,"_ interrupted Julian, waving a hand dismissively before his fingers curled into tight fists. He was suffused with rage as he spat, _"What was Dumbledore thinking by letting Laurent become part of the Order?"_

Santi scoffed at that. _"Dumbledore wanted to bring you back into the fold. Ever since you broke communications with him-"_ he shot Julian a pointed look _"- he's been concerned that perhaps you've allowed your feelings for Grindelwald to sway you. He thought that if you saw Laurent-"_

"_Dumbledore shouldn't have used Laurent, regardless,"_ snapped Julian, bristling with fury. _"He should have known better."_

He then shook his head as he unclenched his fists, before he narrowed his sky blue eyes at Santi. _"Sybilla Spyros couldn't have been right. Harry cannot possibly be the 'Finder' she spoke of."_ His eyes narrowed to slits, as he skewered Santi with his gaze. _"I remember clearly now. She said 'the Finder and the Key'. And I know what the Key means."_ He gestured furiously with his hands. _"The Key, that ignites, that fuels, that feeds! Gellert cannot be planning on using Harry for that-"_

Santi snorted disparagingly. _"Do not delude yourself, Grindelwald is more than capable of using a young boy to-"_

"_Of course he is – he has no scruples!" _snapped Julian impatiently. _"That's not what I meant." _He pierced Santi with his eyes, as he bit out, _"Harry cannot be the sacrifice! Ulrich Von Krauss was very clear on the subject. According to his research and discoveries, to have a fully powered Vessel, the three sacrifices have to come from one single wizard – a wizard with levels of magical power as that of a Lord! Harry doesn't! He's just a-" _

"_Ah,"_ murmured Santi, _"so that's what it is."_ He shot him a determined glance. _"Come with me-"_

"_I'm going nowhere,"_ bit out Julian angrily as he took one step down and away. _"I demand that you tell me-"_

"_Then I'll show you, and you'll understand."_

Santi moved so quickly that Julian barely understood what happened. One moment he was standing in the middle of the stairs, in the next he was grabbed and then suddenly found himself in the Dark Lord's study, being pulled along by the sleeve by Santi.

"_I cannot be here,"_ hissed out Julian, greatly unnerved. _"If Gellert finds me in here when he-"_

"_We still have a few minutes before he returns from Norway,"_ interjected Santi curtly, as he finally halted and released him.

Julian immediately stiffened. They had stopped before the immense sphere that occupied a whole corner of Grindelwald's study, floating between floor and ceiling, its surface watery-like, displaying the countless small flames that represented every witch and wizard, and every other magical being in the world, distributed in their own towns and cities, and countries, or seas and oceans when it came to certain types of magical creatures.

Immediately, Julian turned his face away so that he wouldn't be subjected to the sight of The Globe.

"_Look at it,"_ said Santi sternly.

"_I won't,"_ snarled Julian angrily._ "You know what it means for me-"_

"_Forget that for a moment,"_ pressed Santi impatiently. _"This is important. Look at it."_

Releasing a wary exhalation of breath, Julian tiredly rubbed his face before he turned to gaze at The Globe with much resignation, as he muttered in a surly monotone, _"What should I be looking at?"_

He watched as Santi maneuvered The Globe with sweeps of his hands, as he had seen Grindelwald often do, making it rotate and then enlarge a section of the world globe.

Then, he realized that Santi had made the artifact zoom in on Norway. As it became larger and larger, Julian knew he was seeing the many flames that represented Grindelwald's followers, evidently still wrapping up matters in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic.

But there was one flame among all the rest that was most visible, many times much larger than all the rest, glowing beautifully and with great intensity, of the color of tarnished silver.

"_Gellert,"_ whispered Julian, mesmerized and awe-struck.

"_Indeed,"_ said Santi dryly, before he began maneuvering The Globe again.

When he was done, Julian found himself looking at what was unmistakably Hogwarts, filled with tiny flames. Santi made the artifact display an enlarged section, and he pointed a finger at a precise flame.

Julian's eyes grew wide. If he had ever held any doubts that only Albus Dumbledore could be a match for the Dark Lord when it came to magical power, they were dispelled in that very second. For that flame had to be that of Dumbledore, as large and potent as Gellert's.

There were two other flames in close quarters with it.

"_And those?"_ asked Julian, as he gestured at them.

"_Faustus Prewett and Aurora Bones," _replied Santi shortly. _"They're reporting back to Dumbledore, after having left the French and Norwegian Aurors and other survivors of the battle in France."_

"_Alright,"_ Julian said slowly, frowning. _"So what is so important about this?"_

"_I wanted you to have several points of reference - measures of comparison, if you will,"_ interjected Santi calmly, _"before I show you."_

Julian's frown deepened as Santi made The Globe shrink that section until Hogwarts was nothing more than a cluster of undistinguishable small flames. Until, Julian realized, he was seeing below it another concentration of small flames – Hogsmeade, it had to be.

But then… Julian forced his eyes to see better. Apparently, there were two flames midway between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, moving in a straight line.

Julian shot Santi a confused glance. _"What-"_

As Santi made The Globe zero in on the two flames, expanding that area, he said coolly, _"They're in a secret passageway that leads into the school. Those flames, Julian, are Tom Riddle and Harry. What do you notice?"_

Julian stared at them, one flame of a midnight blue, the other the color of fire, and his pulse began to race, his mind swirling chaotically, as he felt utterly bewildered and shocked and thoroughly astonished. He was speechless.

"_Their flames are abnormally large, aren't they?"_ said Santi placidly. _"Indeed, too large given their age. Too bright, too potent." _He cast Julian a pointed glance. _"Tell me, what do you think Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's flames would have looked like when they were thirteen years old?"_

The implication was obvious, and Julian shot him a stupefied look. He could understand why Tom Riddle could be so powerful at such a young age, given that the boy was Salazar Slytherin's Heir and would become a Dark Lord. But Harry-

"_Because of the Sands of Time,"_ he whispered as the realization struck him. He pierced Santi with an intense, searching gaze. _"That's why, isn't it? You said Grindelwald doused him with the Sands of Time in the future, in the day of origin, when Harry is a baby and he is made to time-travel back into this past. You said the Sands affect the soul, giving way to alterations in the magical core, like happened to you. Because it was the Sands that made you what you are, what gave you these boundless powers you have-"_

"_Exactly,"_ interrupted Santi calmly. _"As you can see, the process in Harry has already begun."_

All the air in his lungs was released in a pained swoosh, as Julian became frantic. _"We cannot let it happen! We cannot let Grindelwald use Harry as the sacrifice for the Vessel."_ He gave Santi a pleading, frenzied look. _"The ritual for it is barbaric, atrocious, monstrous. He'll be ripped to pieces!"_ He brought up a hand as he ticked off his fingers frenziedly. _"The sacrifice is threefold, according to Ulrich Von Krauss – magic, life, and body-"_

"_But not soul,"_ interjected Santi, his face ablaze with satisfaction. _"The most important, Harry's soul, will be preserved-"_

"_IN A LOCKET!"_ yelled Julian furiously. _"I remember what you said about the locket issue, I haven't forgotten. Little consolation that is! A soul is pure awareness, a soul is-"_

He slammed his mouth shut before he skewered Santi with his gaze, as he demanded forcefully, _"When! When is Harry born?"_

"_1980,"_ replied Santi coolly_, "and in 1982 once more, when his soul is released from the locket and into the body of a baby in a witch's womb."_

Julian felt as if the world had tilted off its axis, his eyes growing large. The dates seemed so fantastical to him, so far away in the future, so impossible and startling.

"_Fifty years,"_ he then muttured, as he shot Santi a wild look. _"For the Vessel to be at its full power, the sacrifices of magic, life, and body have to be left inside the artifact for at least fifty years, growing and compounding with each other."_

"_Harry, or better said, the person he'll be in his life in the future,"_ said Santi quietly, _"will be twelve when Grindelwald makes use of the powered Vessel."_

Julian frantically shook his head, as he snapped furiously, _"It still means that Harry's soul will be stuck inside a locket for decades! Decades in which his soul will feel each and every single second like an eternity! He'll be born a madman!"_

"_That issue has already been solved,"_ retorted Santi curtly, his eyes narrowing. _"Do not think that I do not have Harry's best interest at heart."_

"_Then tell me why,"_ hissed out Julian angrily, his hands curling into fists, _"you're willing to allow for Harry to be used as the sacrifice."_

"_Because that will be Grindelwald's mistake," _said Santi with exasperation, before he let out a sharp laugh. _"Ulrich Von Krauss didn't discover all of the Vessel's secrets, Julian! There's not a person alive who could – not even I understand it in full."_

"_I don't care what you say,"_ snapped Julian ill-temperedly, _"what will be done to him is monstrous. And don't think I haven't noticed."_ He pointed a finger at the two flames in The Globe. _"That tendril that is flowing between the two, that connects them – I realize what it means."_ His eyes narrowed to slits. _"You failed to mention that the horcrux Lord Voldemort made by mistake in the original timeline, and which Lord Slytherin will make on purpose, is actually Harry – a human horcrux! It's heinous-"_

"_I like it as little as you do,"_ bit out Santi crisply, a dark expression on his handsome face.

Julian's nostrils flared, before a recollection suddenly struck him, and he breathed out hopefully, _"That day when I said that I could hand Dumbledore over to Grindelwald to be used as the sacrifice for the Vessel, you said there were others with Lord-level powers. Who are they?"_

He immediately glanced back at The Globe, his sky blue eyes shinning with eagerness as he began to maneuver the artifact as he had seen Santi do.

"_Don't waste your efforts,"_ said Santi calmly. _"The two I spoke about will not be shown there."_

"What?" Julian snapped his head around to stare at him. _"What do you mean? The Globe shows every magical being alive."_

"_Not these two,"_ remarked Santi shortly.

"_Why not?"_ Julian frowned at him before he desperately shook his head. _"Don't you see? Santiago, if I can provide Gellert with an alternative, then I can convince him to not use Harry as the sacrifice. I know I could!"_

"_I don't doubt your skills of persuasion,"_ retorted Santi with a deep sigh, _"but believe me, those two are best left alone. Indeed, I'm mightily glad that Grindelwald is not aware of them. No one is, thankfully."_

Julian deeply frowned at him but didn't get the chance to prod into the matter any further when Santi abruptly grabbed him by the arm. After a moment of dizzying disorientation, Julian found himself in his chambers.

"_Grindelwald is about to arrive,"_ said Santi as he released him. He paused, before he added, _"And since you've been the one handling Grindelwald's spy at Hogwarts, you should know that Tilly Toke is dead."_

"_What?"_ choked out Julian, horrified and dumbfounded. _"How? What happened?"_

"_It was an accident,"_ said Santi shortly, _"but you'll be able to find his remains in the outskirts of what's left of a muggle town in Norway. Namsos."_

"_Norway?"_ said Julian utterly astonished, before his eyes grew with sudden understanding. _"Toke was with Harry and Tom Riddle, wasn't he? That's why I found the boys in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic."_ He stared at Santi in bewildered incomprehension. _"What in Mordred's name were they doing there?"_

"_I'll tell you later,"_ said Santi hurriedly, before he shot him a wide smile, _"but perhaps you will like to know that Harry has Tilly Toke's pendant – the match of the one you have in your desk."_

Julian eyebrows shot upwards. _"You've always said I would only meet Harry twice."_

"_That's right,"_ said Santi quietly. _"You will never see him again, but you can speak to him, if you wish. I leave the decision up to you."_

Julian swallowed thickly at that, feeling great temptation of doing just so. But it would be foolish, he knew, to speak to the boy through the devices. He would be dying soon, thus it would do neither of them any good to form an even deeper attachment.

And he grieved for Toke's death as well. It had been Konrad Von Krauss who had recruited the wizard as a spy, at some point during the years Von Krauss had been in England carrying on several missions for the Dark Lord.

It wasn't until Grindelwald had sent Konrad to masquerade as a new rising star in Hitler's ranks that the task of handling the spy had been given to Julian. Through the set of pendants, they frequently spoke with each other, as Toke gave his reports regarding the boys.

Julian had come to increasingly like the wizard, as Toke showed that he was truly fond of Harry, as he constantly praised the boy's natural talents in Charms and intuitive, inventive mind.

Furthermore, it had been a year ago when Julian had discovered that Tilly Toke wasn't a willing spy.

They had had the man's sister in the dungeons of Nurmengard, and when she had died like many others, due to torture, starvation, and the awful conditions in the cells, Julian had been forced to lie to Tilly Toke when the man constantly asked about his sister's wellbeing.

When Konrad Von Krauss had kidnapped the girl from the Tokes' home in England, it seemed he had promised Tilly Toke that she would be treated well. Indeed, Toke had believed that she was being kept under lock in some bedchamber of Nurmengard Tower instead than in the dungeons.

Tilly Toke had been an admirable wizard, and Julian knew that if the man had gone to Norway it had been to protect the boys from Grindelwald, due to the chance that they could have been detected.

Indeed, Julian was now vastly glad that they had all been extremely busy during the week preceding the attack on the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. Clearly, the Dark Lord had not been keeping an eye on The Globe. If Grindelwald had seen those two flames anywhere near Norway, the wizard would have snatched the boys immediately.

Julian sighed heavily, before he turned to Santi and urged swiftly, _"Injure me. Make it serious."_

Santi understood the reason immediately, though his expression was grim as he waved a hand.

Julian hissed in pain under his breath as he felt a slash cutting him open, in the middle of his stomach.

Santi vanished in the next instant, as blood poured from Julian's wound, sopping his robes, as the sounds of hurried and angered footfalls could be heard coming from the corridor outside.

Despite the gravity of the injury, Julian clenched his jaw, and was swift to employ his wand.

With a flick, he flung open the window of his room, with another, he cast one of the many spells Albus Dumbledore had taught him so long ago, that day when Julian had been spending the last of his hours with Laurent in the Didiers' cottage in Nice.

A beautiful robin made of slivery white light erupted from the tip of his wand, and as his patronus batted its wings, Julian was quick to speak in English, "The Inferius that was Nettie Prewett is dead."

At least, he could give Faustus Prewett some closure. Before disapparating from the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, while Grindelwald's followers began to round up the Dementors and remaining Inferi, Julian had noticed her absence. Even as an Inferius, Nettie Prewett had been very distinguishable, still having some clumps of red hair left on her rotting scalp. She must have been killed by some Auror.

And he knew that Faustus Prewett had gone to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic with the rest of the Order in the hopes of finally finding his sister. The wizard had known that she had been turned into an Inferius, and it had made Julian wonder just what the man thought he could possibly do for her.

Nevertheless, he hesitated for a moment at the next part. He had never said a word to Dumbledore about Harry. None at all. Not Grindelwald's interest in the boy, even less the Dark Lord's plans regarding Tom Riddle and Harry, not even that Julian himself knew of the existence of any boys at all.

Julian clenched his jaw harder. But no, in this, he would not obey Santi. Given all the things he had discovered that day, he was determined to at least do the one thing that would give Harry a fighting chance.

Thus, he stared at his patronus, as he added in a low voice, "Protect Harry Riddle."

And with another flick of his wand, his patronus was gone, flying like the wind, bound for Scotland. In Julian's estimation, Dumbledore would be receiving it by the time the boys reached Hogwarts.

He knew very well just how his words would impact Dumbledore, setting off all sorts of alarm bells in the wizard's mind.

If Dumbledore hadn't suspected Grindelwald's interest in the boys by now, he would then. If Dumbledore had not seen the presence of the boys in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic through the eyes of his phoenix, he would suspect it. Probably, the wizard might even rush out of his office in search of them.

As the door of his room was furiously blasted open, Julian wondered if he had done the right thing: whether Dumbledore would become an aid or an obstacle for Harry, an ally and protector or one more powerful wizard with the intentions of using Harry for the 'Greater Good'.

Nevertheless, manipulator or not, Dumbledore was a wizard with true good intentions at heart, and Julian ultimately pinned his hopes on that.

"_Where have you been?"_ snarled Gellert Grindelwald as he stormed into Julian's chamber, his expression thunderous and filled with suspicion.

The Dark Lord halted in his tracks, his hawk-like eyes zeroing in on Julian's blood-drenched robes and the large slash cutting them open.

"_The Frenchman injured you?"_ Gellert's expression softened, deep worry briefly crossing his handsome face as he hastily approached Julian.

And Julian allowed himself to be tended to by the Dark Lord. As Grindelwald took the time to heal him with great care and gentle tenderness, Julian closed his eyes and hoped it would all truly end soon for him.

Little did he know that during that night's gathering for the celebration of the conquest of yet another country, he would finally meet her.

Julian would never exactly know what it was about her – her derailed madness, her dangerous passion, her twisted, jaded, and absolute selfishness, or her destructive personality- but somehow, as much as she became his tormentor, she became his haven as well, and for that last, he loved her.


	52. Part I: Chapter 51

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for all the reviews! I'll be answering some questions posed in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy this one, and Happy Christmas to you all! :D :D

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**Part I: Chapter 51**

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Harry was dully stirring a spoon in his bowl of porridge, as all his housemates were chattering around him during breakfast in the Great Hall. Nevertheless, he felt he couldn't eat a bite ever since he had caught sight of Miss Nightingale at the Staff Table.

The Mediwitch's once gorgeous hair now looked like limp weeds drooping from her head, her face blotchy and her eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying.

With his heart aching, Harry had finally stopped looking at her because he knew there was no comfort he could afford to give, as much as it pained him.

He knew she had been close to Professor Tilly Toke. He had even once overheard Priscilla Pucey and some other Slytherin girls of his year saying that Toke had been courting the Mediwitch, and it seemed to be true, given the witch's state.

Harry longed to tell her the truth, that Toke was dead and not just mysteriously missing, and that the wizard had died wanting to save muggles, that the wizard had died helping him, because no matter what Tom said about the subject, no matter the evidence indicating that Toke had been Grindelwald's spy, Harry still firmly believed that the wizard had been a good man who had gone to Norway with them to help, and not due to any heinous ulterior motives as Tom believed.

Furthermore, the constant glances that their housemates kept shooting at Tom and him, and the way they would start whispering about them among themselves, were beginning to fray his nerves.

Harry scowled darkly and damned Abraxas Malfoy under his breath as he slammed his spoon on the table. He didn't know how Tom could look so coolly indifferent and composed.

His brother was merely seated by his side, placidly eating his breakfast as if things in their House had not radically shifted, as if he didn't detect the tension in the air, the mix of loathing and wonder and awe and disbelief and anger in their housemates' faces when they glanced at them with narrowed eyes, to then turn their heads away to begin whispering and gossiping.

Yet, Harry felt it, the pressure of proving that 'their claims' were true, that the entirety of Slytherin House was waiting for them to fail so that they could be branded as deceitful liars, uppity 'mudbloods' who wanted to pass themselves off as Slytherin's long lost heirs.

He sighed as he finally stopped playing with his food, his apprehension and unease mounting, since he saw no way out of his commitment. Dumbledore hadn't appeared during breakfast, but the wizard was surely expecting him in his office nonetheless.

Preferring to get over it as soon as possible, he rose from the table. He caught the look of warning that Tom gave him, and merely nodded before he left the Great Hall.

He had already discussed with his brother what he would and would not tell Dumbledore, though there was much that Harry had kept to himself, much that made him doubt about how he should deal with the meeting with Dumbledore.

Julian had told him to say nothing to Dumbledore, but 'use him'.

Now, Harry could not stop thinking about what that meant. It sounded as if Julian didn't trust Dumbledore. But then, how could Julian be the spy of a wizard he didn't trust? It made no sense – it was as if Julian had been forced into his spying role against his will, and Harry had always believed that Julian was helping Dumbledore out of conviction that it was the right thing to do, to help defeat the Dark Lord.

It thoroughly confused him, added to his own knowledge that Dumbledore was one of the 'Titans' that Salazar Slytherin's judgment in the Sorting Hat had been referring to – one of the Titans that wanted to use Harry as their tool.

Tool for what, at that?

Harry frowned as he halted before the door of Albus Dumbledore's office, his mind a disorganized mesh of befuddled thoughts and alarmed wariness.

As he knocked, though, he remembered that both he and Tom knew that Grindelwald wanted to use them for something in particular. They didn't know what, yet, but it could be relevant that both Grindelwald and Dumbledore had their sights on using him to their advantage, as Salazar Slytherin's judgement had implied.

Perhaps that's what Julian Erlichmann had meant, for if Grindelwald had any plans for Harry and Tom, Julian could know of them. Perhaps, that was why Julian had told him to use Dumbledore: to pit one against the other. To use Dumbledore to dispose of Grindlelwald, in short. And that was indeed something that could be advantageous for Harry, given his deep-rooted wish to snuff the Dark Lord's life from existence.

"You may come in!" came the muffled voice through the door.

With an expression of utter determination, Harry yanked it open and calmly stepped inside.

He had seen the wizard's office, once, when he had been in one of the paintings. Indeed, now he could see the portrait of the astronomer Paracelsus hanging in a wall next to Dumbledore's desk, along with the large shelf containing a whole personal library and countless silver trinkets which puffed and whirled and did who-knew-what.

His Transfiguration Professor was seated behind a grand desk cluttered with rolls of parchments, yet the wizard seemed utterly composed as he kept stirring a cup of tea.

Harry noticed that there was another one set on the desk right before a chair that was clearly intended for him.

"I'm glad to see you completely recovered from your Spattergroit, Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore cheerfully as he gestured at Harry to take a seat.

Harry did so, though he hesitated when taking the proffered cup of tea. It could be spiked with some Truth Serum, or perhaps with some other type of potion intended to make him-

"Surely there's no cause for distrust between us," intoned Dumbledore as he gazed at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his expression one of sadness.

"It's not that," said Harry, fidgeting uncomfortably on his seat, until he gripped his hands and forced them to remain still on his lap. "It's just that I'm not thirsty."

Dumbledore quirked his eyebrows before he gently smiled at him, pushing a bowl of sweets towards him. "A Lemon Drop, then? They're quite tasty."

Harry stared at the candies, before he shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

He was doing his best not to look the wizard in the eye. Tom had said that Dumbledore was a Master Occlumens and Legilimens. His brother had never revealed why he suspected such, but Harry took his word for it. And he was sufficiently advanced in his studies on both disciplines to know that eye contact was a must. The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to see his thoughts, to see about Santi, and Grindelwald's letter and books, and above all, about Norway.

It was so, that his gaze darted all over, seeing the breathtakingly beautiful view displayed by the window behind Dumbledore's back, with the early morning sun bathing the Quidditch Pitch and one shore of the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest in the distance looking as if all the tree leaves were glowing with the vibrant green of springtime.

Though he was more interested in what he saw in the wizard's office. He first caught sight of Fawkes perched in one corner of the room. The phoenix was definitely not in one of his burning days, his plumage beautiful, of bright crimson and golden hues, as if made of fluffy flames.

It chirped and let out a short thrill that sounded welcoming when it's small black eyes locked with Harry's gaze.

Harry could only stare at the bird, frowning, as he remembered that Santi had wanted him to discover that it had been Fawkes who had witnessed the last moments of Sherisse Slytherin's life and Morgon Gaunt's escape with their newborn son.

Furthermore, he owed the phoenix a debt of gratitude as well, for when Fawkes had helped him when he had been stuck in the portraits of Hogwarts, being chased by Phineas Nigellus Black.

"It seems he likes you," said Dumbledore with a soft chuckle.

Startled, Harry peeled his gaze away from the phoenix and gazed at him, before he remembered the risk involved in doing that and quickly glanced away, his sight resting on a small glass sphere being used as a paperweight on top of a bunch of parchments on the desk.

He recognized it instantly. The same small glass ball in which he had seen the head of Aurora Bones, when Dumbledore had been walking in a corridor of the school at night after curfew, using the artifact to talk with her, when Harry had accidentally crossed paths with him and had heard about Julian Erlichmann for the first time in his life.

"Ah, yes," murmured Dumbledore, making Harry lift his head to look at him briefly, seeing that the wizard was now also looking at the small sphere with a contemplative expression on his face.

"I trust," continued the wizard as he gazed back at Harry, "that you kept certain delicate information to yourself."

"I told no one about Erlichmann," said Harry hastily, because it was important to him for Dumbledore to know at least that much. "I didn't tell he is your spy, except to my brother-"

"You told Tom?" interrupted Dumbledore, an expression of alarm momentarily crossing his features.

"He'll keep the secret," said Harry firmly. Though seeing that the wizard didn't look all that reassured, he added swiftly, "I made sure Tom wouldn't tell." He sighed as he waved a hand dismissively. "I have a deal with him."

"A deal?" muttered Dumbledore, piercing him with his bespectacled gaze, his voice tinged with wariness and concern.

Utterly ignoring that, since he had no intention to enlighten his professor, Harry began to rush out, "Is he still al-"

But then, he clamped his mouth shut. The one thing he wanted to know was if Julian Erlichmann had made it out the Norwegian Ministry of Magic alive. But asking such would be revealing that he had cause for concern, that he had been there and had seen in just what a precarious situation he had left Julian Erlichmann behind.

"Yes?" prompted Dumbledore gently.

Harry cleared his throat, before he mumbled, "Nuthin'."

He knew he had to quickly change subjects, but the whole meeting with the wizard felt painstakingly hard, as if any misstep or slip of the tongue from his part would result in Dumbledore knowing everything, or at least having many suspicions confirmed since Harry was certain that someone like Albus Dumbledore must have already pieced some bits together.

"The things your brother said to you in Hogsmeade," said Harry instantly, though he asked out of true curiosity and wonder as well, "it sounded as if you knew Gellert Grindelwald, sir, when you were younger. As if your sister had died and it had been because-"

"My conversation with my brother," interjected Dumbledore, his expression grave and closed off, "was a private one, Mr. Riddle. Certainly not intended for your ears."

The Professor's look was one of harsh chastisement, but undaunted, Harry pressed on, because the things that Grindelwald's voice had said in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, the offer he made to Dumbledore, seemed to be directly linked with what Alphard and he had overheard in Hogsmeade as well.

"It also sounded as if there was a way you could bring your sister back to life," insisted Harry, gazing intently at the wizard, "and your brother didn't want you to do it-"

"I did not invite you into my office," interrupted Dumbledore sternly, "to discuss my private affairs." He chuckled abruptly, any measure of stiffness vanishing, as he added genially, "You will understand if I'm reluctant to discuss such matters with one of my students, surely."

"Right," grumbled Harry, though he gave him a mutinous look. "It's none of my business, I suppose."

"Quite," said Dumbledore amicably. "Now, if we could get to the issue-at-hand-"

"Why did you let us overhear your conversation with Charlemagne McLaggen, sir?" asked Harry hurriedly, fearing that the 'issue' that the wizard wanted to discuss was the truth about his and Tom's whereabouts for the last three days.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, relaxing as he rested against his chair's back, "I've been meaning to discuss such matter with you for some time."

The look the wizard gave Harry then was one of chiding rebuke, since it was true that Harry had been avoiding the professor ever since he and Alphard had slipped into Hogsmeade under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

"You and Alphard Black have formed an attachment, I presume," continued Dumbledore, steepling his fingers on top of the desk as he eyed Harry calmly. "A friendship?"

Harry stared at him, a mite befuddled. Dumbledore certainly already knew about that since the wizard had seen them together. Moreover, it seemed to him that the wizard was pleased by it.

"We are friends," replied Harry carefully, "though few know about it."

"I understand," said Albus Dumbledore, as he nodded. "It could be risky for Alphard Black if his parents were aware of his friendship with you, given his family's political inclinations."

A spark of sudden realization blazed in his mind, and Harry gazed at him, astonished, as he breathed out, "That's why you let us hear about the Order of the Phoenix? Because of Alphard's-"

"I believed it was in Alphard Black's best interest to know that there are options left open for him," said Dumbledore, his expression grave as he intently gazed at him, "if it ever comes the time in which he finds he can no longer follow the path his family has taken." He peered at Harry over the rim of his half-moon glasses, as he added, "Just as I thought you might feel reassured as well, in knowing such."

Harry stared at him before he quickly glanced down at his hands fidgeting on his lap.

The implication was obvious, that if either Alphard or he ever found themselves in the position of having to follow the Dark Lord, they could turn to the Order of the Phoenix instead, for safety and protection or even to become a member themselves if old enough.

"If there is any reason for which you might think you're in danger, Mr. Riddle," continued Dumbledore's voice, sounding as if it was coming from far away as Harry's mind spun chaotically, "you should know that aid will always be given to those who ask for it."

Harry swallowed thickly at that. This was his chance, wasn't it? To come clean and tell Dumbledore everything. To have Dumbledore on his side, so that he and Tom would never fall into Grindelwald's clutches.

"I, as well as the Order of the Phoenix, are prepared to offer protection."

Harry glanced up at him. Dumbledore knew. He was certain. He could see it in the wizard's bespectacled sky blue eyes, added to way that the professor was now intently staring at him, waiting.

Nevertheless, Harry was extremely wary. He did want to 'use' Dumbledore, as Julian had urged him to do, but not to the point of having Dumbledore interfering with their plans. He didn't even want to imagine the measures Tom would be capable of taking to dispose of someone who became an obstacle in his path. Tom despised Dumbledore enough as it was.

He gave Dumbledore nothing but his silence, and though the wizard seemed saddened and disappointed, the man appeared to regroup rather quickly.

"My door will always be open to you," said Dumbledore softly, as he then peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. "May I now ask how you have been faring with your housemates? Have Tom and you adapted well? I know it is sometimes difficult for muggleborns, especially ones in Slytherin House, to-"

Harry snorted loudly at that, as he quickly shot the wizard a dirty look. "Muggleborns? You know we're not that, sir." His expression hardened, as he bit out, "You should have told us that we were Parselmouths when you heard us speaking to our snake. You should have told us what it meant, how important it is-"

"Important?" Dumbledore's eyebrows climbed upwards, before his expression turned musing. "I see…" He trailed off, his stare becoming piercing as he kept looking at Harry. "Is your Parselmouth trait a matter of common knowledge in Slytherin House?"

At first caught off guard and alarmed by the question, Harry then quickly lied smoothly, "No. We don't wish anyone to know."

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore, pinning him with his gaze. "I am aware that Tom spends much of his time in the library." His expression turned somber and grave. "In the Restricted Section, in fact. Professor Slughorn seems to believe that it is only natural that such a highly intelligent boy as Tom would feel curious about the darker aspects of magic, and sees no harm in it."

"And there is no harm," pointed out Harry staunchly, though inside he was quivering with misgivings.

The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to know about their quest to find the Chamber of Secrets. He knew that was Tom's first step in attaining absolute leadership of Slytherin House, which in turn, he now knew, was Tom's first step in becoming a Dark Lord in the future.

Harry was determined to help his brother with the first matter, hoping he would be able to convince Tom that that was enough. That becoming the undisputed leader of Slytherin House would permit Tom to obtain all his ambitions without needing to become a Dark Lord. After all, Tom could enter the Ministry of Magic and climb the ranks. Surely he could convince his brother that that was enough.

So if Dumbledore knew about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was certain the wizard would do anything to stop them from finding it, and that, in turn, would dash all of Tom's plans. And Tom needed to at least succeed in something to be satisfied for the time being.

Later, Harry would only need to find more things to distract his brother from wanting to become something so horrid as Grindelwald was.

"There is harm, Mr. Riddle," interjected Dumbledore curtly, "if certain books in the Restricted Section have led Tom to believe that your Parselmouth trait has unwarranted significance. If he has given it more importance than it deserves." The wizard sighed deeply, as he wearily rubbed his long beard. "The Parselmouth characteristic if often associated to dark magic, Mr. Riddle, as it is highly linked, in the minds of every British wizard, to one of the Founders of Hogwarts, as you might have discovered by now-"

"Salazar Slytherin," cut in Harry, giving him a hard look until he suddenly realized where Dumbledore was going with it. He chortled loudly, as if vastly amused, while he shook his head. "Tom did think that we could be Slytherin's descendants!"

"He did?" Dumbledore's look could cut through glass, so probing it was, as Harry kept laughing.

"Yes!" Harry guffawed as he slapped a hand on his knee. "Stupid, isn't it? He was convinced, because we are Parselmouths too, just like Slytherin." He gave Dumbledore a roll of the eyes. "Tom stuffed himself in the library trying to find some book that would give us proof of our ancestry. But he didn't find anything." He huffed with exasperation, as he added, "So he knows now that we're not his descendants. He was angry and disappointed, but he's over it now."

"I see," muttered Dumbledore, though given the wizard's expression, Harry was certain that he hadn't managed to dupe him one bit. "If you're interested in the matter, I could assist you in finding an explanation for how you came to have the Parselmouth trait."

"It's from our father," said Harry shortly, as he then lied with utter composed ease, "but we're no longer interested in it. Whoever our father was, he's either dead or wants nothing to do with us."

Dumbledore nodded, a look of understanding, sympathy and compassion on his face, while Harry decided that the soonest he could leave the office the better it would be for him.

"Is there anything else, sir?" said Harry in a monotone, giving the door an obvious, lingering look for the professor's benefit.

"Before you leave," interjected Dumbledore pleasantly, peering at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, "can you tell me where have you been for the past three days, Mr. Riddle?"

Pulling the dumbest look he could manage, Harry turned his face around to blink at him. "Bedridden with Spattergroit, sir, as you already know."

"Indeed."

The professor said nothing as he waved him away, and Harry left the office, as disappointed as Dumbledore surely felt.

He had won nothing with the meeting. It had served no purpose he could see. He hadn't been able to find a way of 'using' Dumbledore without first having to disclose too much. And he hadn't been able to see a way to get Dumbledore on his side, to help him prevent Tom from wanting to become a Dark Lord, without making Dumbledore become an obstacle and an enemy in the process.

Furthermore, he still didn't know what Grindelwald had been tempting Dumbledore with.

His two other encounters in that day had gone much different: one for the better, the other for the worse.

He had waited for Charlus Potter outside the Potions classroom where the Sixth Year Gryffindors were having their last lesson of the day. As soon as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain had come chuckling out of the classroom, joking with his best mate, James, Harry had been quickly to approach them.

"I have something for you."

"Another naughty letter from Dorea, eh?" said James, waggling his eyebrows as he playfully jabbed an elbow into Charlus' ribs.

"Is it really?" Charlus said hopefully, staring at Harry with hazel eyes aglow with giddy expectation.

"No," gripped Harry sourly. Really, as if his only mission in life was to be Dorea Black's messenger boy. Besides, he had managed to avoid her for the entire day, and was vastly satisfied with himself due to that.

A look of realization crossed Charlus Potter's face and the older boy was swift to urge his best mate ahead as he then pulled Harry to an empty classroom nearby.

Once alone, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel, handing it over to Charlus along with his gratitude for the lending, as he took full advantage of the opportunity.

"You've often said that it's a Potter heirloom," said Harry as tactfully as he could, as he watched how Charlus carefully folded the Invisibility Cloak before slipping it into his schoolbag, "but do you know its exact origins?"

"Origins?" Charlus quirked an eyebrow at him as he paused.

Harry cleared his throat, thinking hard and fast as to how he could pose his suspicions. Saying 'you must have a Grindelwald ancestor in your line' wouldn't go over too well, he was sure. Telling the older boy about the symbol he saw in the Cloak, the same as the Dark Lord's mark, was as good as directly insulting all Potters as well.

"Er… yes," said Harry, attempting with all his might to be delicate – which he was pants at. "You know, who it came from and stuff."

Charlus frowned at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it's a weird Invisibility Cloak," huffed out Harry impatiently. "When I was in Nor- er, I mean, when Alphard and I were using it, it did some strange things. We were cold and it-"

"You were cold?" Charlus's eyebrows flew upwards, before a spark of mischievous interest twinkled in his hazel eyes as he chortled. "What have Alphie and you been up to?"

"We were outside, in the... um, Forbidden Forest," lied Harry wildly, "so, yeah, we got a bit cold, and the Cloak turned warm for us! And then," he added in a flummoxed tone of voice, "we were, er... practicing the Summoning Charm, and when Al cast his Accio at me – I had the Invisibility Cloak on, you see- well, the charm didn't work-"

"Why in Merlin's name would you be using the Cloak to practice spells?" interjected Charlus incredulously. He shook his head, as he muttered under his breath in a suffering tone of voice, "Complete waste of such a useful prank tool-"

"The point is," gritted out Harry, feeling frazzled, "that the Cloak stayed put! It didn't budge an inch."

Charlus stared at him with a deep frown on his face, looking quite disconcerted. "You say Alphie cast a Summoning Charm at the Invisibility Cloak when you were wearing it, and the spell didn't work on it?"

"Exactly!" said Harry, both relieved and joyful that at last he was being understood. He continued, as he stared at the older boy and cocked his head to a side, "You see, it's strange, isn't it? Because at break I went to the library to read a bit about Invisibility Cloaks and the books didn't say anything about-"

"_You_ were wearing it?" pressed Charlus, who was now eyeing him very weirdly.

"Yes," snapped Harry impatiently. "But the point is-"

"Curious," murmured Charlus under his breath, staring up and down at Harry with a look of deep interest on his face.

Harry paused as he frowned at him. "What is?"

"Well," said Charlus who seemed to come out from some musing and deeply pondering trance, "the Cloak only does such things for me. Getting warm when I'm chilled, not responding to some spells that mean me harm, becoming very light weighted when I'm tired, and such."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling mightily relieved at hearing that all is crazy suspicions were unfounded. "So it's normal?" He chuckled, perking up and adding sheepishly, "I thought it wasn't, because the books didn't say anything about Invisibility Cloaks having traits like those-"

"Normal?" Charlus guffawed good-naturedly. "No – you misunderstand me. My Invisibility Cloak is not normal at all! If you only heard my father speak about it-" he rolled his eyes, as if he had been subjected to the lecture for endless times during his whole childhood "-it would sound as if my family's Invisibility Cloak was the most unique and precious heirloom that could be had." He chortled under his breath. "Father has always insisted that it's centuries old, but I know it can't be. Invisibility Cloaks don't last that long, because-"

"They are made of Demiguise hair which turns opaque and frail after a few decades," mumbled Harry, as he recalled what he had read, after surmounting much efforts of having to be stuck in the gloomy, dusty library researching about the matter. But then, what Potter was saying didn't make any sense.

"Exactly," said Charlus, as he waved a hand dismissively, "so I've always known my father must have been exaggerating. But the Cloak _is_ a Potter heirloom, you know? In that, I know he hasn't lied-"

"I didn't say your father has," interjected Harry quickly, whilst his head pounded with wild, apprehensive thoughts.

Charlus chuckled. "No, you still don't understand. It only fully works for Potters. All those things it did for you, it would only do for me or my father." He gave Harry a considering look. "Funny, my father never mentioned that we were related to Riddles, nor any muggleborns of any kind, at that."

"Huh?" Harry stared dumbly at him. "Related?"

"Yes! Who could have guessed, eh?" said Charlus jovially as he patted him on the head, and winked at him. "That I'm related to a little urchin like you! Perhaps you have a squib in your line and not just all muggles? You must have."

"Oh," Harry breathed out, his green eyes wide, as he suddenly remembered. They were in fact related by blood – he had been so happy when he had discovered that, the day Tom had showed him Salazar Slytherin's tree line of descendants. Then again, according to Tom, the relation was too distant to be significant. But it would explain why the Cloak had behaved that way with them in Norway, when he wasn't actually a Potter.

"My father explained that the Invisibility Cloak was made to have certain characteristics that would keep Potters away from harm," said Charlus in a bored monotone as he then rolled his eyes. "That's why my Father has always insisted it's so special and unique."

"Was made?" instantly repeated Harry, frowning with puzzlement. "By who?"

"Some old chap, ancestor of mine," said Charlus with a disinterested shrug of his shoulder, "called Ignus Peverell or something of the sort." He sighed deeply, as one who had suffered too many retellings of family history. "He's buried in Godric's Hollow's cemetery, as all other Potter ancestors. I've seen his grave often enough."

Ignoring Charlus' martyrized and put upon expression, Harry felt his head was spinning, as the name rang a distant bell, and he muttered, "Peverell?"

"Yup," said Charlus, flinging his schoolbag to his back as he made his way to the door of the classroom.

"Wait!" called Harry hurriedly as he ran after the Gryffindor.

"Yes, I will lend it to you again, don't get your knickers in a twist," shot Charlus over his shoulder, along with a crossed look, as he added, "but not if you're just going to use it to practice spells. It's meant to be used for something much more important, like pranking Slytherins and make Head Boys and Prefects rue the day they ban items from Hogsmeade's jokeshop-"

"I wasn't going to ask…" Harry trailed off as he shook his head, before he quickly conjured parchment and inked quill and swiftly scribbled on it.

"This," he then said as he held the drawing up to Charlus' face, his tone urgent, pressing, and hopeful. "Is this the Potter crest then?"

"No," scoffed Charlus, glancing once at it before he lifted one hand. "This is."

Harry stared at the signet ring on one of the boy's fingers, displaying what looked like an ornate 'P' with two small lion figures at it sides, in a background of dark crimson.

"But then," mumbled Harry dispirited, as it became apparent that the crest must truly be Grindelwald's mark, as unexplainable as that was, "this is-"

"Let me see again," said Charlus with a sigh, as he took the drawing from Harry's hand. "Oh. That's the Peverell coat of arms."

"The what?" said Harry thoroughly befuddled and gobsmacked as Charlus returned the parchment to him.

"The Peverell crest," said Charlus impatiently.

Harry stared at him, before he frowned and urged dubiously, "Are you sure?"

"Course I am," retorted Charlus flatly, "I've seen it ad nauseam on my ancestor's grave, haven't I? The one I told you about." He sighed deeply, as he added, "Look, runt, if you're so interested about Potter history and wizarding coats of arms, you can write to my father. I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige. But be warned, you'll wish to have never done so. My father can go on and on."

"That won't be necessary," said Harry quickly as he then went back to stare at his drawing of the symbol with a deep frown on his face.

"By the way," said Charlus, his voice tinged with breathless hope, "are you certain you don't have a note for me from Dorea?"

"No," huffed out Harry crisply, glancing up from his parchment to scowl at the Gryffindor. "I'm not her errand boy, you know?"

Though it didn't seem as if Charlus Potter was paying any attention to him, his expression becoming downcast and worried as he mumbled under his breath, "Shouldn't have called her a saucy minx, I suppose." He then glanced at Harry entreatingly. "But it's hard to know how to treat Dorea sometimes – I meant it as a compliment, honest! I thought she would get that. She's so different from any other pureblood girl, you see. That's what I love about her. But then, sometimes she turns all proper and haughty with that Black attitude of hers… and now she won't answer my notes…" He sighed, before he added distressed, "You go tell her all that."

"Tell her yourself!" snapped Harry hotly, who had been scrunching his nose all the while, wishing he could be struck deaf to be spared from knowing about Charlus' romantic entanglements with Dorea Black, of all people the one he didn't want to be told to see.

"Oh, but thanks for the rest anyway!" he then added hurriedly as he turned heel and dashed away before Charlus could attempt to insist.

Harry was about to go to the library, once more during that day to his great suffering, before he thought twice and headed for the Slytherin dormitories instead. After all, he was quite certain that he had seen the name Peverell somewhere before, and if he was bound to do a bit of research, he might as well employ the diary Tom had given him.

His brother took his everywhere he went, writing down who-knew-what, but Harry hadn't found any use for his yet. He wasn't the type to write his day-to-day going-ons on a journal. Seemed quite tedious to do so, in fact. But he could use it to write about all the stuff he had been discovering. After all, some of it might even prove to be important.

Thus, not wanting to attract attention, since his housemates' varied-type of interest in him and Tom seemed to have only escalated during the day, Harry darted through the common room with his head ducked down, hoping that no one would notice him.

It had already happened that a bunch of Slytherin upperclassmen had ambushed him on his way to the loo after lunch, wanting to interrogate him or rather beat the truth out of him, regarding all the stuff Abraxas Malfoy had been spreading around about Tom and him.

Though, Harry wasn't small, lithe, and agile for nothing, and thankfully, had been able to turn tail and make a hasty escape. That didn't mean that it wouldn't become increasingly worse, and that he was bound to be unable to slip out of trouble so easily next time.

And all the while, he couldn't stop thinking about all the smug smirks Malfoy had been shooting him, and the restrain he had to employ in order to not punch it off the boy's face.

The git didn't seem to have learned his lesson, but Harry could no longer retaliate in such a 'crass', 'uncouth' and 'mugglish' way, as Tom had spat at him when he had told him about his previous encounters with Malfoy. Which, to Harry's irritation, didn't seem to have bothered Tom.

In fact, after Harry had been harshly berated for his stupidity, his brother had looked calculating and musing and told him not to antagonize Malfoy anymore. He! When it was the other way around – Malfoy always sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

Harry rather suspected that Tom now viewed the situation of having their whole House knowing about their claims of having Slytherin blood as something positive that could be taken advantage of. While Harry felt it as a pressing, suffocating, heavy weight on his shoulders.

Feeling rather mutinous, Harry wasted no time once he was in his dorm. There was no one in sight, as the others had to be in the common room, while he knew that Tom was spending some time in Ravenclaw Tower with Olive Hornby and her gaggle of friends, being fawned over, as always.

Thus, he felt no guilt as he rummaged his brother's desk until he found Tom's pass for the Restricted Section. If he was right about where he had seen the Peverell name, he would be needing it.

Feeling quite happy and proud of himself, Harry had almost successfully left the dungeons without being detected, when a shadow fell on him.

Dorea Black stood on the stairs leading to the ground floor of the castle, arms crossed over her chest, boot angrily tapping on the floor, and with a very dark and ominous expression on her face.

"Thought you could dodge me forever, did you?" bit out the girl, giving him the evil eye.

"Charlus wants to see you!" said Harry quickly, grasping at straws to avoid the confrontation. "Right now – in the Gryff's common room, he said!"

Dorea Black flipped a hand as if batting away a pesky fly. "I'll deal with him later." She narrowed her grey eyes at him, as she snapped, "You can't wriggle out of this one, Riddle. You and your brother owe me, and I intend for _you_ to make the repayment of the debt owed."

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat, as he grumbled warily, "Fine. What d'ya want?"

"First – is it true?" snapped Dorea Black, eyeing him closely.

"Is what true?" said Harry, though cringing since he had a fairly good idea of what was coming.

"Don't play the fool, Riddle," bit out Dorea impatiently. "The claims you and your brother have been making-"

"_We _haven't been making claims of any sort, have we?" snapped Harry heatedly, instantly bristling. "It's Malfoy who opened his fat mouth and flapped his gums and has been telling every Slytherin-"

"You – him – it matters little," interrupted Dorea crisply, her eyes narrowing and hardening, as her gaze became intense as she skewered him with it. "I want to know if what he has been saying is the truth."

Harry shot her gauging look. "If I tell you, will it count to return the favor we owe you?"

Dorea scoffed, as she waved a hand briskly. "Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Then I don't have to tell you, do I?" said Harry crossly, scowling at her.

The girl arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before her expression turned grave. "You do realize that if it is the truth, it is Abraxas who stands the most to gain? That he will attribute the discovery of true Slytherins amongst our midst to himself? Just imagine the kind of power that will give him."

Harry frowned, before he turned his chin up and retorted belligerently, "Why do you care?"

"I care when others mess with my players," said Dorea flatly.

"I'm not one of your players," pointed out Harry with a weary sigh.

"But you will be," retorted Dorea curtly, piercing him with her eyes. "That's what I want in return. Come this September, you'll be one of my Chasers." Her expression became ingratiating, as she added sweetly, "You will be playing with Alphard. Surely that's something you will enjoy."

Harry deflated and tiredly rubbed his face. "I can't do it-"

"This is beyond the pale!" snapped Dorea angrily. "Let us dispense with pretenses. Don't make it sound as if I'm forcing you to do something you deplore. I've seen how your face changes when you fly – it glows with joy!"

"Fair enough," cut in Harry waspishly, as he dropped the hand from his face, "but it's not about whether I like it or not. The problem is that I don't have time for-"

"You will make time for it," interjected Dorea sharply. "Or I'll just go straight to the Headmaster and tell him about the golems."

Harry stiffened, before he shot her an assessing look. "You'd be in trouble for that too."

Dorea shrugged her shoulders unconcernedly, splaying a hand to inspect her bright red fingernails. "I've shimmied out of worse than that."

Harry eyed her closely for a very long moment in which the girl returned his gaze just as stubbornly and firmly. At last, he grumbled, "Fine."

"Good," Dorea said brightly. "By the way," she then intoned airily, "I saw what nearly happened to you today. I'm sure you'll want to know that I told our housemates to leave you and your brother alone."

"Don't want me having broken bones, I suppose?" Harry said grumpily. "I reckon you don't want an injured Chaser for September."

"Precisely," said Dorea, smiling shrewishly.

"And Tom?" prompted Harry, more out of curiosity than anything else, since he was well accustomed to the girl's way of thinking.

"I spared him simply because I know your mind wouldn't be in the game if you had to worry about your brother," she replied dismissively, before she paused and added stonily, "But let's get one point straight, Riddle. I've only given you a chance to have time to prove your claims-"

"They are not _my_ claims!" seethed Harry, for what seemed the umpteenth time.

"- nothing more," continued Dorea as if she hadn't suffered any interruptions. She narrowed her eyes, as she added sharply, "If it's not true, not even I will be able to protect you from the repercussions."

"And if it's true?" bit out Harry rebelliously.

"Then beware of Abraxas," she said shortly, before she passed by his side to make her way towards their common room.

Harry was nearly by the end of the stairs when he heard her voice loud and clear coming from the corridor below, "And tell the dunce of my fiancé to stop being a coward and come face me himself. I won't bite - much!"

Harry spun around at that, ducking so that his voice would carry down the stairs.

"You two deal with each other and leave me out of it!" he hollered back, at the end of his rope with the pair of them, and quite indignant. "I'm not a bloody owl!"

"Very well! Little use you are!"

In quite a towering bad mood, Harry finally made it to the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. It was in the same book that Tom had used where he got his answers.

Once more, he saw the connection between them and the Potters: that Sidony Slytherin who had married an Ignacius Potter.

It took him another hour to find a book that clarified matters to him. The 'Ignus' Charlus Potter had mentioned was quite clearly 'Ignotus'. It seemed that no matter how many times the Gryffindor had seen his ancestor's grave, he hadn't paid much attention to the proper name.

Although, it was true that Ignotus Peverell had been a Potter ancestor: great-grandfather of the Ignacius Potter who ended up marrying Sidony Slytherin.

However, the brief paragraph mentioning the Peverells was quite lackluster. A French wizarding family which had escaped from the witch-hunts and persecution carried by the Inquisition of the France of those times, whom had settled in Britain, and had done fairly well for themselves. Out of the couples' three sons, only Ignotus Peverell had lived till a ripe old age. The other two sons had died at a very young age for wizarding standards, even of those times: in their mid thirties, one Peverell brother had committed suicide, while the other had apparently been killed in a barroom brawl.

Vastly disappointed, Harry sighed. It made no sense.

Firstly, the Peverell coat of arms looked like none he had seen before: a cluster of geometrical symbols, a triangle, a circle, and a straight line. From what he knew, of the Black, Malfoy, and now Potter crests, they usually displayed the first letter of the surname, along with some figure of an animal or magical creature and the background color which all signified and represented something to the family.

Secondly, why would Grindelwald use as his mark a coat of arms of a family he wasn't related to? Because Harry had checked, and there had been no Grindelwalds mixing with Peverells. Furthermore, why would the Dark Lord use the crest of a family which hadn't been in any way distinguished or known for doing anything of importance, at that?

Nevertheless, in the end, Harry wrote everything down all the same. And it seemed to him that once he began, he couldn't stop.

He scribbled down all his discoveries and suspicions, all the matters that still needed to be investigated, as well as the most pertinent events during his time at Hogwarts such as what the Founders' judgments had told him during his Sorting.

Between the moments he paused to think what other things he had to add, he took the opportunity to protect his diary as best he could.

At first, he thought of researching in some Dark Arts book to find some blood spell he could use. But then, he didn't want his brother to be able to open his diary either, not until he was ready to tell Tom something of significance. Thus, he settled for a keyword-operated locking charm, deciding on a rather simple and rebellious phrase that no one would possibly suspect from him or guess.

And then, he went back to writing, beginning to understand why Tom seemed to like to jot down his secrets so much.

* * *

"Harry?" murmured a soft voice, as a hand gently shook his shoulder.

Groggily, Harry opened his eyes, to find that he was still in the library, his open mouth dribbling saliva on one of the pages of his diary, with half his face resting and stuck on it.

"Huh?" mumbled Harry as he slowly pulled his face away from table, swiping his mouth with a sleeve as he squinted in the darkness.

His candle looked as if it had gone out long ago, and it seemed that the librarian Ciceron Plume had forgotten all about him in the Restricted Section. The library was empty, dark, and certainly closed for the night.

Although there was a golden glow of light, which Harry finally realized pertained to Santi, who was peering down at him with an amused expression on his face.

"You have ink on your face."

"Eh?" said Harry, blinking up at him, still a bit disoriented.

Santi chuckled again before he crouched on the floor by Harry's chair, making them level, as he drew out a handkerchief and began to gently dab it on Harry's face.

The moment he gathered back his wits, Harry instantly grabbed the wrist of the hand that was wiping his face clean, his grasp tightening, as he croaked out with his thundering heart in his throat, "Is he dead?"

Santi paused and stared at him. "Who?"

"Julian Erlichmann, of course!" snapped Harry wildly, in his apprehension and fear. "Who else!"

"No," replied Santi, looking startled. "Julian is alive and well."

So relieved that he went limp, Harry slumped on his chair, closing his eyes with sheer gratefulness.

"I would like to return his flute to him. He treasures it greatly."

Harry opened his eyes at that, and sat up straight on his chair, letting Santi finish wiping his face clean of ink.

"Do you have it?" added Santi, as he gazed back at him with an expectant, quirked eyebrow.

Mutely, Harry nodded, as he carefully extracted the magical flute out of one of his pockets.

He had been carrying it around since the previous day when he and Tom had returned from Norway. And it seemed to him that he must have been inspecting it for hours, touching, gazing, discovering, reverently, for its beauty, because it was obvious it was something personal and cherished. He hadn't even dared to attempt to test or play it.

"Who's Laurent?" he then asked before he handed over the flute.

"Ah," said Santi as he carefully tucked the flute inside his robes. "You saw the inscription."

Harry nodded again, since he had not only discovered the small loopy letters inscribed under one side of the flute amongst the swirls and curls of the figures of magical creatures represented in the silver metal of the flute, but he had even gone to the lengths of finding out what it meant.

That day, before lunch, he had intercepted the Prewett twins before they had entered the classroom of one of their shared lessons.

"À mon bien-aimé," Harry had said hurriedly without beating around the bush, trying his best to clearly pronounce the foreign language, "what does it..."

He had trailed off as Felicity had instantly brought up a hand as if expecting to receive something, her face aglow with surprise and happiness, her cheeks pink with pleasure.

"Er…" Harry had glanced from one twin to the other, utterly disconcerted. "Aren't I saying it right? You told me you knew French. So, um, what does it mean?"

When Felix stopped scowling as if Harry had been about to commit some grievous, unforgivable transgression which might mean the end of their friendship, and began to guffaw and shoot his sister amused and satisfied glances, and when Felicity dropped her hand, turned pale, and her beautiful mismatched eyes grew wide with horror and embarrassed mortification, Harry had known something was escaping him.

"Is she alright?" Harry had said worriedly as he had watched how Felicity abruptly turned around and ran to the nearest loo instead of entering the classroom. He thought he might have even heard her let out a sob, at that.

"She's just peachy," said Felix with a chortle as he patted Harry on the back. "She'll be fine. It means 'for my beloved'."

"Oh," murmured Harry a mite astonished, before he frowned and glanced towards where Felicity had disappeared into. "But then… why did she-"

"It's nothing. She'll get over it," said Felix, sounding inexplicably cheerful and unconcerned as he herded Harry inside the classroom. "Now let's get to Potions."

"Laurent Didier is who gifted Julian the flute," replied Santi at present, making Harry glance up at him as the man rose to his feet and pocketed his handkerchief. "He's someone Julian cares much about."

Harry didn't press for more, since it didn't seem as if Santi was inclined to say much else, and he didn't have the right to pry into Erlichmann's personal affairs, anyway. And yet…

"You should have told me you knew Julian," Harry said accusingly, feeling unaccountably hurt and wounded, and even betrayed.

Santi arched an eyebrow as he retorted gently, "When have we ever spoken about Julian?"

Harry harrumphed at that, but remained silent, though he couldn't stop wondering. He had so many questions he wanted to ask that he didn't know where to begin.

With a sigh, Santi added calmly, "I've known Julian since he was a toddler."

"Toddler?" echoed Harry flabbergasted. "But you look to be around his age, so how…" He closed his mouth, before he muttered sheepishly under his breath, "Oh. Right. You can time-travel. I forgot." He cocked his head to a side, as he gazed at him with much curiosity. "So you're his friend?"

"A friend, a father, a brother, a mentor, a guide, a confidant, a companion," said Santi softly. "We are many things to each other. Except lovers."

Feeling his face turn warm and the tips of his ears go red, Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right."

"Would you like to know anything else?" prompted Santi with a patient and indulgent look on his face.

A thousand and one other things, as far as Harry was concerned. Though he settled for the time being, because Julian's wellbeing was the only thing that had been at the forefront of his anguished thoughts.

Thus, he merely shook his head and mumbled, "Er, no. I suppose not."

"I'll see you soon, then," said Santi warmly smiling at him, before he vanished.

As he finally made his way to his dormitory, careful of avoiding the Caretaker of Hogwarts doing his rounds with his nasty pet Rascal the Raven, Harry realized that Santi's sole intention had been to get back the flute for Julian. Laurent Didier could not only be someone Julian Erlichmann 'cared much about'. Furthermore, it was clear that Santi cared for Julian as much as any 'lover' would.

Though, he preferred not to think about such things and the weird feelings such thoughts caused in him, and found Tom waiting for him in bed with curtains pulled wide open.

"Where have you been?" demanded his brother in a sharp whisper, dark blue eyes narrowed with anger and suspicion.

"Studying Healing and Ancient Runes in the library as always," replied Harry dismissively, safe in the knowledge that he had his diary tucked inside his satchel, which he was quick to stick in his trunk, careful of not making loud noises since their roommates were all fast asleep.

Once done with his ablutions and changed into pajamas, he slipped into Tom's bed.

Last night, their first since returning to Hogwarts from Norway, he had done the same when he had woken up in the middle of the night, trembling, his forehead drenched in sweat, and a throat raw from screaming. It had been a pillow thrown to his face and Thaddeus Avery's sleepy yet angered roar of "Shut up!" which had woken him from his nightmares.

He hadn't been able to go back to sleep until he had tiptoed to his brother's bed and quickly darted under the sheets. Yet, for once, Tom hadn't said a word about it, not even cruelly taunted him for being a crybaby haunted by silly nightmares about Norway.

Only when he had tightly hugged his brother and rested his head on Tom's chest, had he been lulled to sleep, with the rhythmic and comforting sound of Tom's heart beating peacefully, alive and well.

During the day, he hadn't found such source of reassurance that they were back in safety, though, as it seemed that every loud noise startled him, almost making him dive for cover and protection.

It was very nerve-wrecking, irking and bothersome, and unfair to boot, especially because Tom didn't suffer the same – not one nightmare about Norway at night, and looking during the day as placid and fresh as a lettuce.

"How did it go with Dumbledore?" said Tom in a quiet yet sharp voice as Harry blew out the candle of the nightstand and settled under the covers by his brother's side, snug and cozy.

They hadn't had the chance to discuss it yet, as busy as they had been in all their classes, catching up with what they had missed in lessons and homework.

After Tom drew the bed curtains shut and cast a Silencing Charm on them, Harry told him as much as he could, and by the end of it, his brother looked quite satisfied.

"I thought you would botch it," remarked Tom condescendingly. "At least you weren't such a lummox as to tell him anything important."

"I told him nothing," whispered Harry defensively, before he added in agitation, "But don't you see? Remember what Grindelwald's voice said in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic? He was trying to tempt and lure Dumbledore with something. Grindelwald said he knew where IT was-"

"I don't see the relevance," interrupted Tom dismissively.

"I think I know who 'she' is," murmured Harry animatedly. "Dumbledore's sister."

Tom turned his face on the pillow to stare at him at that, frowning. "What sister?"

It was then when Harry finally told him everything that he and Alphard had overheard that day in Hogsmeade.

"Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?" hissed out Tom furiously, glaring murderously at him.

"Didn't feel like it," quipped Harry flippantly.

Certainly, given the way Tom had reacted so furiously to the many things Harry had been keeping secret from him, added to the snide attitude his brother had later adopted, Harry hadn't felt at all inclined to sharing.

When he had revealed the map of Hogwarts to Tom, his brother had volleyed at him innumerable, incessant questions, wanting to know everything, from the secret tunnels he had discovered –the one behind the statue of Griselda of Grosemoor that lead to the cellar of Honeydukes' in Hogsmeade, added to the one already known by Tom behind the Mirror of Desires- to all the things he had been up to with Alphard Black.

About the latter, of course, Harry hadn't told his brother about the whole Animagus affair, since he already knew that Alphard would be crushed if the one thing left that was still truly theirs became known to Tom as well.

Thus, Harry at least was quite happy that he could continue studying the Animagus Transformation with Alphard in the Room of Requirements with no one being any the wiser.

Although it didn't prevent Tom from making demands after knowing about the hidden passageways. Of course, Tom insisted that if there were two, there had to be more, and he wanted Harry to find them all, since he suddenly seemed to be in a urge to know all the secrets and mysteries of the castle.

"That's your task too," Tom had stated firmly, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "The one of the Mirror of Desires, as you call it, you say has Slytherin's magic. The one that leads to Hogsmeade, has Godric Gryffindor's magic. So it stands to reason that Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff could have also created secret passageways – you will find them!"

It hadn't helped that when Harry had opened his map with a proud cry of "All for one and one for all!", Tom had given him a very contemptuous look, which turned cruelly mocking when his brother saw how the map was named.

"The Three Musketeers?" Tom had sneered with a vicious chuckle. "How very infantile of you, little brother. Let me guess, The Three Imbeciles –you, Black, and your pest of a furball."

At least, after tempers had flown in the midst of many heated arguments, Tom had yielded to the fact that Harry had no intentions of either dropping Alphard Black as a friend or stop from going around the castle with Alphard in search for an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

He had been able to reassure his friend of that when he had had to spill the beans regarding the things he had finally revealed to his brother.

"Of course Tom isn't going to stop us," Harry had said firmly when he had had lunch with Alphard in the kitchens. "He wouldn't dare. I told him that finding the Chamber is our adventure and he has no business butting in." He flapped a hand dismissively. "He said that when he had the time and fancied doing so, he would tag along. But I don't think he will. He's too busy with other stuff – he just said that to annoy me."

"Are you sure?" said Alphard in a low, dispirited tone of voice.

"Yeah!" Harry nodded his head up and down, as he munched down a pastry from one of the plates the house-elves had made for them for dessert. He then grinned at his best mate. "Truly, Al, it's still just you and me." He winked mischievously at him. "And I didn't tell him about the other stuff we're doing – the Animagus thing- so that's still ours too."

Alphard beamed at him, quickly recovering his cheer. "Good, because your brother is a prat, you know." He scrunched his nose until he suddenly paled a mite, as he added in a mutter, "And scary – so I rather not have him around."

"I hear you," Harry had said, commiserating with a martyrized sigh.

"You think that –what? – Grindelwald killed Dumbledore's sister?" said Tom at present, sounding snide with disbelief at the ridiculous notion. "And is now offering Dumbledore a way to bring her back?"

"I don't think anyone knows who actually killed her," murmured Harry, scrunching his forehead with intense, concentrated pensiveness. "It sounded as if all three had been arguing and possibly dueling, and the Dumbledores' sister accidentally got in the way or somethin'."

"So Grindelwald and Dumbledore do know each other from their days of youth?" muttered Tom slowly. "What was the nature of their relationship?"

Even with the scant, dim light that came from the depths of the Black Lake from the round windows in their dormitory, Harry could see his brother's expression of calculation and heavy plotting.

"I dunno - friends or something, I reckon. Who cares!" snapped Harry impatiently, though he quite clearly remembered that Dumbledore's brother had said 'lover'.

How could he ever forget when he and Alphard had gawked at that? But the lovers stuff was certainly something private, and while he didn't quite know what to do with Dumbledore to 'use him', he nevertheless didn't want to arm Tom with such a juicy bit of information. Who knew what Tom was capable of doing with it.

"What matters is the artifact!" continued Harry adamantly. "Aberforth called it 'stone', I think-"

"Stone?" intoned Tom mockingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," said Harry with exasperation. "But it would make sense, wouldn't it? We thought there must be a reason why the Dark Lord hasn't really attacked Britain yet, why he's leaving it for last. Not only because Dumbledore is here, but because there must be something in England that is important, that he wants-"

"And you think it is some pebble that can bring people back from the dead?" scoffed Tom snidely, before his expression turned formidably arrogant. "If such thing existed, I would know about it. I've been looking into the matter since First Year."

"Bet you have," griped Harry sourly, before he shook his head and sighed. "Look, it makes sense. There's something in England that Grindelwald knows where it is. He was taunting Dumbledore with the knowledge. And was referring to his sister. So it's obvious that it's something that can bring corpses back to life or something of the sort!" He harrumphed, before shot his brother an impatient look. "If you died, I would use any artifact I could get my hands on to bring you back, you see? So Dumbledore could be in the same situation-"

"I will never die," hissed out Tom virulently, his handsome face twisting and contorting, his features turning ugly. "I will find a way-"

"Yeah, yeah," snapped Harry peevishly. "Spare me – heard it all before and know it by heart. This is not about you, you prat." He glared at him before he bit out with exasperation, "It all fits, Tom."

"No, it does not," retorted Tom harshly, as he then adopted an overbearing and superior tone of voice, "I've been thinking about the matter, of course, and I believe it is quite telling that the one group of people Grindelwald has made his Nazi puppets target in particular are the Jews."

Harry blinked at him, taken aback. "Um, right. So?"

"So, you twit," sneered Tom acidly, "I don't doubt that the Dark Lord is after something, but it is not some imaginary artifact that can miraculously resurrect people. How can it, when Death is the end, and there's nothing after? Why do you think I don't want to die, you idiot!"

"That's what you believe," mumbled Harry under his breath, since after having met the Grey Lady he wasn't quite sure about the issue. Then again, he couldn't tell Tom about her either.

Clearly ignoring Harry's interruption, Tom added sharply, "Thus, given the targets of Grindelwald's Muggle War, I'm quite certain the Dark Lord is after something they posses."

"A Jew artifact?" Harry stared at him, bewildered and perplexed.

"Precisely," intoned Tom smugly. "I've already begun to research their history to find as much information and clues as I can-"

"Hang on," whispered Harry as he moved closer to his brother, their heads resting on the shared pillow with noses inches from each other's, his green eyes widening with the sudden idea that sparked in his mind. "Why can't it be both?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Both artifacts, you mean?"

Harry nodded, as he whispered excitedly, "Yup! We both think we're right. I think I'm right. And you think you're right. So why not? – we could both be right! And the Dark Lord is after two different things!"

Tom gave him a long, considering look, before he said at last, "Perhaps. One artifact that is in England, that only Grindelwald and Dumbledore know about-"

"And Dumbledore's brother," piped in Harry enthusiastically. "Aberforth, the owner of the Hog's Head pub. He knows about it too –remember?- because he said to Dumbledore that he didn't want him to use it-"

"Yes," snapped Tom impatiently. "There's that artifact. And then-" his expression turned sly and thoughtful "-the other one, which is possibly known only by Grindelwald."

"And the Jews," pointed out Harry. "If you're right."

"Yes, and them," said Tom, his tone both dismissive and disdainful, before his eyes gleamed with interest. "One artifact meant to torment Dumbledore with the possibilities, or perhaps to form an army of Inferi if it can do what you suspect. Another artifact for…"

"For what?" urged Harry, his green eyes bright with curiosity.

"I don't know," bit out Tom, scowling darkly. "But it matters little for now. Our decision is the same."

"What decision?" said Harry, frowning at him.

"Why, that we must take them for ourselves," sneered Tom impatiently as if it were a forgone conclusion, "before either Dumbledore or Grindelwald find them, of course."

"What?" Harry gaped and gawked at him.

"Yes," said Tom, looking vastly self-satisfied. "That's what we'll do. It's decided."

"_You _decided," bit out Harry hotly, "not me. I didn't tell you about these things to go around looking for stuff. We've got enough on our plate, and I don't see how we could find these artifacts, anyway-"

"Do you or don't you want to bring down the Dark Lord?" demanded Tom harshly, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "I thought you did, but if you have changed your mind-"

"I haven't!" snapped Harry bristling. "But we barely know a thing about the artifacts, it's all suspicions on our part-"

"Then this is what it takes, you fool," sneered Tom poisonously, and clearly disregarding Harry's concerns. "What Grindelwald wants, we find and take first. Then it is us who have the greatest bargaining chip. It is also us who can use them against him, if they can be used in such ways."

"Well, yeah, I suppose," muttered Harry slowly as he frowned at him. "But…"

"But what?" bit out Tom impatiently, his expression dark and forbidding.

"Nuthin'," sighed out Harry, before he shot him a beleaguered look. "So how do we go about it? Where do we start?"

"We research," said Tom shortly.

Harry groaned as he buried his face in the pillow.

"And there's also the Slytherin locket, little brother."

Harry gave him a jaundiced, bitter look as he resurfaced from their pillow, and mumbled without much spirit, "Right."

"It is mine by birthright," hissed out Tom, narrowing his eyes at Harry's lack of enthusiasm. "Ours – I mean, of course. I won't let it fall into the grubby hands of some wrinkled, old witch." His eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat, "Hephzibah Smith, wasn't she? According to Slughorn, the most interested bidder?"

"Yeah. Fine then," grumbled Harry tiredly, "we can go to Borgin and Burkes during summer holidays to deal with that, I suppose."

Harry finally fell asleep regretting he had opened his mouth and told his brother that much.

Three days later, it all got even more complicated.

"It's gone!" wheezed out Alphard Black who had pounced on him the moment Harry stepped out of the common room.

The boy looked as if he had been running with all his might and had been waiting for Harry to make an appearance out of Slytherin territory.

Startled out of wits, Harry recovered his composure to then blink at him. "The what?"

"The Mirror of Desires," whispered Alphard haggardly, as he glanced at all sides making sure there were no housemates lingering about in the dungeon's corridors. "I was coming from the loo when I had to pass outside the Staff's room, and Professors Babbling and Fancourt were coming out of it, gossiping about how Dumbledore could have done it."

"Done what?" pressed Harry with mounting apprehension.

"Convinced Headmaster Dippet to remove the Mirror of Desires!" breathed out Alphard, his big grey eyes growing with distress. "Apparently, Dumbledore has been trying to persuade the Headmaster for some time, saying it was dangerous, because some student ten years ago became so obsessed with it that he had to be forcibly removed and ended up spending a whole month in the Infirmary. But even then, Dippet wouldn't budge, because –according to what I overheard the Professors saying- the Mirror has been at Hogwarts since the age of the Founders. But now, Dumbledore convinced Dippet, and no one knows how!"

Having a fairly good idea of just how Albus Dumbledore had managed that, Harry lost all color in his face.

"Ask Charlus for the Cloak," he then urged anxiously. "We gotta check."

Alphard instantly nodded and dashed away. Fifteen minutes later they wasted no time as they reached the corridor in the fourth floor.

Harry stood rooted in place, next to Alphard, under the Invisibility Cloak, as he stared at a large, old mirror that was decidedly not the Mirror of Desires but an ordinary one.

"Is the passage still there?" whispered Alphard fretfully. "Do you see the magic?"

"Can't tell for sure," murmured Harry highly distressed, as he grabbed his friend's wrist to pull him to a side when a group of passing-by Hufflepuffs nearly collided with them. "We gotta wait. Curfew is about to start. I'll check then, when we're alone."

Thus, they both remained quiet, plastered against a wall, as students rushed by, coming and going in order to reach their respective Houses before Hogwarts' chiming bells struck nine o'clock in the evening.

As soon as the corridor emptied, yet still until the protective mantle of invisibility of the Cloak, Harry flicked his wand and muttered a charm. The large mirror unhinged itself off the wall until it floated and settled on the floor.

Harry let out a mighty exhalation of relief as he then saw the lattice of silver and green magic spanning across that section of the wall.

"The passage is still there," he muttered quietly.

"Good," breathed out Alphard, his big grey eyes then glancing sideways at Harry, looking highly troubled. "But then – do you think Dumbledore knows?"

"He does," replied Harry somberly, before he sighed deeply, rubbing his face.

The wizard was no Parselmouth and Harry was quite certain Dumbledore couldn't see magic as he did, so there was no way the professor could open the passageway or see for himself that it was there.

Regardless, it was clear that Dumbledore must have seen him and Tom coming out from the passageway, or at least suspected it, when the wizard had found them just as Tom had been staring into the Mirror of Desires.

Harry still couldn't figure out why Dumbledore had been running towards them, as if he had known they hadn't been in the castle, as if he had known they were just arriving from someplace else and he had gone about the castle in search of them. Yet, if Dumbledore knew for a fact that they had been in Norway, Harry was certain the wizard would have pressed the matter when they had had their meeting.

It was all very confusing, but one thing was clear to him: he had to turn Dumbledore's mind unto other things. Finding the Chamber of Secrets was now a must, and he couldn't let the wizard interfere in that.

"What do we do then?" pressed Alphard, his face filled with fear and apprehension. "If Dumbledore knows, if he even suspects that we are looking for the Chamber of Secrets, we could get expelled. If he has gone to the Headmaster-"

"If he told Dippet, we would know about it by now," interjected Harry, fully convinced that he was right. He shook his head, remembering his conversation with the wizard as to why Dumbledore had allowed them to hear about the Order of the Phoenix. He shot his friend a pensive look, as he then muttered, "I think the last thing Dumbledore wants is for us to be expelled. He must have used some other excuse on Dippet."

Alphard didn't appear to be all that certain, fidgeting nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if there were hot coals under the soles of his feet.

"Leave it up to me," Harry reassured him firmly. "I'll fix it."

He parted ways with Alphard, leaving the Cloak for the boy to return to Charlus Potter, and then made his way to the wizard's office.

There was light coming from under the door, and thus, Harry didn't bother to knock, knowing he would find Albus Dumbledore awake and at his desk.

Indeed, as he pulled the door open and took just one step inside the office, that's exactly how he found his Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster. Though, Dumbledore was not arduously grading essays, but instead seated on his desk's chair, pulled to a side, offering the wizard an unhindered view of his window, through which the man was staring at the darkening scenery with a distant look on his face, as if far away in his own ponderings.

Apparently, the wizard hadn't even heard or noticed Harry's entrance, till Fawkes gave a welcoming chirp from his perch.

Albus Dumbledore turned his head to a side, catching sight of Harry standing by the threshold, a quizzical expression on his face as he smiled warmly. "Ah, Mr. Riddle, what may I do for you at this late hour-"

"Tilly Toke is dead," said Harry flatly. "He was Gellert Grindelwald's spy."

The look of shock on the wizard's face was genuine –obviously if Julian Erlichmann had known about the spy at Hogwarts, he hadn't shared that information with Dumbledore. Harry didn't bother wondering why –he had already begun suspecting that Julian didn't trust the wizard much- and he didn't linger around for more.

He instantly turned around and left the office, closing the door behind him.

He didn't expect for Dumbledore to rush out to follow him, to demand more, and it didn't happen.

As Harry made his way to the dungeons, he was certain he had done the right thing, both the wisest and most cunning. Let Dumbledore sink his teeth on that. Let him know what it obviously implied – that the Dark Lord had set his sights on him and Tom.

After all, everyone had known that Tilly Toke and Harry had been close. Everyone had known that Harry had been his favorite pupil. The professor had always been very open in his regard, even in class, much to the ill-temper and anger of many Slytherins.

Furthermore, Harry had no doubt that, amongst the teachers, it was known that Tilly Toke had been giving him private lessons, teaching him more Charms. Evidently, Toke must have glided over the fact that he had been helping Harry create a map of Hogwarts, thankfully.

Nevertheless, Tilly Toke's motives for getting close to Harry would now be seen in a much different light by Dumbledore.

Indeed, Dumbledore now finally knew. Now, he would have reason to want to protect them from Grindelwald, and reason to find out what the Dark Lord wanted from him and Tom. Surely that had to be much more important than a couple of students trying to find the Chamber of Secrets? That's what Harry hoped. As he also hoped that now Dumbledore could be of some use.

Unsurprisingly, he found his brother in the common room, as Tom had taken to do lately. Seated in the midst of all other Slytherins, but alone in one sofa, with open book on lap, calmly reading and flipping pages, as if utterly unaware and undaunted by the looks and whispers that surrounded him, by the constant, expectant attention that their housemates focused on him.

It was nearly imperceptible, but Harry saw it: that upward tilt in one corner of Tom's lips. His brother was lapping it up, vastly enjoying the situation: seated like an unflappable emperor amidst a court of wary, hopeful, angered or dubious subjects, all tense and whispering quietly, waiting for a sign, for a clue, to know how the tides would turn, what would be most beneficial to them, whom to follow, with whom to tie their fortunes with.

Harry didn't think it was due to whatever Dorea Black had told their housemates. They were all suspended in a limbo of indecision and uncertainty, tiptoeing around Tom and him, until the time came in which they would descend upon them like a pack of furious wolves or hail them as Slytherin's long lost heirs.

If they found the Chamber of Secrets, everything would change. Nothing would be the same. And Harry doubted he would like the consequences. But a promise was a promise, and he had given his to his brother.

"I need to speak to you," Harry whispered as he reached his brother's side.

Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him, pausing in his reading, yet not moving an inch.

"In private," gritted out Harry, as he noticed that the whole room had fallen silent, their housemates' gazes locked on them.

With an air of utter tranquility, Tom closed his book – a Dark Arts one, Harry noticed, irked though unsurprised- and slowly rose to his feet.

The whisperings and mutterings renewed as Harry and Tom crossed the common room, yet the crowd of Slytherins parted open to give them an unimpeded path as they advanced forwards.

It was ridiculous, and it dismayed Harry greatly. If their housemates behaved like this when they only thought there was a very remote possibility that there was any truth in what Abraxas Malfoy had said about him and Tom, he didn't want to even imagine how it would be later, when he finally succeeded in his task of finding the Chamber.

The moment he and Tom were in the stairs leading down to the boys' dormitories, Harry halted and cast a Muffliato Charm at their surroundings.

"Dumbledore knows," he stated without beating around the bush, "that we're Slytherin's heirs. And he knows that we know. He knows about the passageway that leads to Hogsmeade's caves, though I don't think he actually knows that Salazar Slytherin made it." He paused, taking a deep, bracing breath, before he added, "But the point is that he knows-"

"That we're looking for the Chamber of Secrets," spat Tom, a very dark and ominous expression on his face, before he rounded on Harry with the seething rage of a rattlesnake mid-strike. "How? You half-brained imbecile! You must have let something slip when you spoke with him-"

"I didn't!" snapped Harry angrily. He shook his head, trying to calm himself down.

"You must have," snarled Tom viciously, his fury such that Harry's head began to throb, his scar prickling painfully.

Harry shot him a dirty look, as he rubbed his forehead. "He pieced it together himself. He's smart-"

Tom scoffed contemptuously at that, and Harry had to rein in a bout of very bad temper.

Moreover, it was then when he became truly wary, because it was obvious to him that Tom was blinded when it came to Dumbledore, that his brother's despise for the wizard clouded his judgment when it came to the man. Because it was then when Harry was assaulted with the realization of how very dangerous it was for Tom to underestimate Dumbledore –dangerous for Tom and himself.

Tom's dark blue eyes flashed, as he then hissed out sharply, "If he knows, then we must dispose of him."

Harry blinked, taking him a moment to catch up with what his brother had uttered. Then, he gaped, struck witless, mouth hanging open. "What?"

"I said," sneered Tom impatiently, "that we have to-"

"Have you gone bonkers!" shrieked Harry, before he cringed, warily glancing at all sides till he remembered the spell he had previously cast.

"You said he eats sweets, correct?" continued Tom sharply, utterly indifferent to Harry's outburst, his expression one of heavy plotting. "If he buys them from the candy shop in Hogsmeade, we could poison them – we must dispose of him in a way that makes it look like an accident." A deep, musing frown spread on his face. "Or perhaps we could-"

"No!" Harry snapped furiously, as he gave his brother a hard, violent shove. "I'm not killing anyone!"

Tom snarled as Harry's push made him slam painfully against the wall of the stairs. He regained his balance, giving him a murderous glare that promised retribution as he dusted off his school robes, before he hissed out poisonously, "You have killed before, little brother. Killed more than I did, in fact. In case you have forgotten."

Harry stared at him in speechless disbelief, utterly incredulous that his brother was bringing that up and using it against him when he knew how it had affected him – the manipulative, hurtful bastard. The gall.

Bristling, Harry found his voice and then bit out hotly, "What happened in Norway was different and you know it! I told you I wouldn't kill again unless I had to – as a last resort, when it's absolutely necessary to protect ourselves – nothing more!"

"And this is such case, you dimwit!" spat Tom enraged, his expression darkening and seething with hatred. "Dumbledore could ruin all my plans-"

"You leave Dumbledore alone!" bellowed Harry at the end of his rope, because certainly, he couldn't tell Tom just why he wanted the wizard alive and well.

Not even if he was dragged through the streets by a dozen hippogriffs would he ever confess to his brother what he had disclosed to Dumbledore but a few minutes before and the path he had surely set Dumbledore on.

Indeed, he fully believed he had managed what Julian had advice him to do, and he meant to see it through, for their own sakes'. Anything, to have someone powerful on their side if they ever had to deal with Grindelwald directly.

Thus, Harry decided to resort to logic, as he lowered his voice to a softly persuasive and inveigling tone, "Brother, trying to kill someone like him would be too risky. He's too powerful-"

"Please," sneered Tom snidely. "I'll believe that when I see it." His expression turned arrogant and smug, as he intoned smoothly, "Even if he is, there are always ways and means to accomplish it." He snorted irreverently, grandiosely waving a hand. "Why, it could be as easy as when I killed Mrs. Sharpe by pushing her down the stairs of the orphanage." His dark blue eyes suddenly sparked and gleamed, as he then added pleasantly, "Indeed, Hogwarts' moving staircases are treacherous, are they not?"

Harry stared at him, and finally threw precaution out the window, so thoroughly horrified, anxious, and fearful he was in the face of his brother's newest deranged idea.

He pinned his brother with a stony gaze, and said resolutely, "Sod your ways and means. You touch a hair on Dumbledore's head and I'm through with you."

Tom went instantly rigid, his face paling and then turning livid, his shoulders stiff, his dark eyes flashing, as he hissed out in a very low and slow voice, "You wouldn't dare. You are my brother, and brothers never abandon each other, do they? And you agreed to help me, you promised, you made a vow to me."

Harry flinched at that, looking down at his shoes, biting his lower lip, and then gnashing his teeth as he glowered up at Tom. Nevertheless, he remained silent, because his brother was right and knew him too well.

The smirk Tom gave him then was so supremely smug that Harry nearly vibrated with the need to smack it off.

"Alright," said Harry stiffly. "But we won't do anything to Dumbledore unless we have to."

Tom instantly opened his mouth to undoubtedly spit out something but Harry instantly brought up a hand to silence him, glaring as he added quickly, "I can find the Chamber of Secrets without him knowing. He's not a Parselmouth, after all. How will he ever know if we find it or not?"

"He knows we're looking for it," spat Tom with infinite impatience. "And he's not such a fool as to have missed how our housemates' attitude towards us has changed, you twit! That alone is enough for him to-"

"But he has no proof!" interjected Harry with vexed exasperation. "That's why I say that we only act if he ever intends to get us expelled and nothing more-"

"If you had already found the Chamber of Secrets," interrupted Tom acidly, his tone both nasty and accusing, "it would be a different matter."

"Alphard and I have begun inspecting the fifth floor," snapped Harry heatedly. "I cannot go any faster!"

Tom shot him a thoroughly dark and dissatisfied look, but Harry was swift to add in a cajoling tone of voice, "Come, brother, can't you please do what I ask for once?" He stepped closer to him, raising his arms to take Tom's shoulders in his hands as he peered up at him and continued softly, "Give me time. Let me find the Chamber. And you'll become the leader of Slytherin House, yes? And then, if Dumbledore tries to kick us out of school or something, then I'll help you deal with him. Alright?"

Tom narrowed his eyes as he gazed down at him, in what seemed like an attempt to gauge Harry's sincerity and pry apart his offer in search for loopholes or tricks.

To that, Harry was quick to widen his green eyes as he kept peering up at his brother, showing no guile but absolute honesty, as he then made his voice turn sweetly and softly pleading, "Please, brother, for me?"

Tom's lips curled and twisted, his expression one of deep annoyance, before he bit out, "Very well."

Harry dropped his hands from his brother's shoulders and beamed at him with the power of a thousand suns, which only made a muscle in Tom's jawline twitch before he shot Harry a nasty glower as he turned around and climbed up the stairs – surely to continue his performance in the common room.

The intake of air of profound relief Harry gave once alone, was a profound one, as he tiredly rubbed his face, the tension in his body slowly melting away.

Nevertheless, the following days, weeks, and months passed by swiftly, yet in utter havoc and in what seemed to Harry like a state of constant stress, wariness, and dejection.


	53. Part I: Chapter 52

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Responding to some questions:

Q: Why isn't there a second timetravelling Harry from the future in the story?

A: For all we know, there could be. It doesn't mean though that future-Harry (Antares Malfoy, that is) would let Harry see him, after all. We all know the dangers involved in that.

Q: Why can't Harry go back and forth in time like Santi?

A: Because he's still not what Santi is. We know he's changing: for one, he has his Magic-sight ability that's getting stronger. And as Santi explained in a chapter, Harry will keep getting other abilities, though Santi cannot predict which or when.

Q: Harry's abilities are inherent to his soul and not the body that traveled back in time?

A: Exactly. Santi explained that too. The Sands of Time affect the soul, changes it permanently, and through it, the magical core, progressively giving abilities and etc and ultimately changing someone into what Santi is. So whatever abilities Harry Riddle has due to the Sands of Time –like seeing magic- he'll have as Antares Malfoy, plus all those abilities that come from his bloodlines, like being part Veela because he will be Abraxas Malfoy's grandson, and being a Metamorphmagus due to his Black blood.

Q: Does Santi want Harry as a lover?

A: Definitely. Given what was done to Harry (Sands of Time), only Harry can become someone like Santi, so only Harry can be 'his companion'. Though clearly, Santi is bidding his time. And not only because Harry is too young, but because Harry doesn't know much yet and so isn't ready.

About Helena Ravenclaw, Santi's story, and all the rest, we'll see that as the fic progresses.

Hope you enjoy this chappie and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 52**

* * *

It all began with the news brought by the Daily Prophet, one after the other, it seemed, of the subsequent fall of the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. More and more, the Dark Lord and his forces seemed like an invincible, destructive force that crushed everything in its path.

The one event that struck most panic and fear in the hearts of everyone was the surrender of France.

The whole school turned into a frenzied beehive, of frantically whispering students, cries and wails, and even many abrupt absences.

Harry had counted at least twenty muggleborns and twelve halfblood students who had been removed from school, by parents who suddenly turned up at Hogwarts in a state of great agitation and fear.

"It's silly, really," said Felicity shaking her head sadly. "Everyone knows that because of Hogwarts' ancient wards, it's impregnable, even against Dark Lords! This is the safest place on earth."

Harry, though not quite sure about that after having seen how easily Grindelwald had destroyed the wards of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, could only nod at that, because nearly all purebloods had stayed put, clearly their parents thinking as Felicity did.

He frequently stuck by the Prewetts twins in those days, his best source of inside information. And granted, he had also missed them much. He was so constantly busy lately that he rarely had any spare time for friends.

"It's horrible," Felicity then murmured as she folded the latest edition of The Daily Prophet, the front-page article having displayed a large moving picture of the remains of Beauxbatons.

A week ago, during lunch, Headmaster Dippet had announced that Hogwarts would be hosting foreign students, those of the families that were fleeing from France at the invasion carried out by Grindelwald's muggle armies.

Apparently, giving sanctuary to French wizarding families was a decision that the British Minister of Magic, Gravius Marchbanks, had not come upon lightly. Many were the articles in the Daily Prophet alluding to heated arguments between the Minister and Dumbledore, the many times the wizard had been seen entering the Ministry of Magic. The particulars weren't known, except to a very few, and speculations ran wild.

"That's the end of their friendship," Felix had remarked somberly.

"But what happened?" Harry pressed, leaning forward, on tenterhooks.

He often met them in the Gryffindors' common room, but all students were too concerned with their own fears and anxieties to pay him much attention, so a snake in the midst of lions passed unnoticed for once.

"Well," said Felicity, her glance darting around before she lowered her voice to a secretive murmur, as she always did when revealing information obtained through the twins' father, "Gravius Marchbanks is feeling rather raw after what happened in Norway."

Harry blanched at that, since the topic of Norway had never been brought up before by them, though he had the inkling the twins knew that their Inferi aunt hadn't survived it, given the pervading air of mourning and grief that the Prewett twins had displayed. Evidently, he wasn't about to tell them just who had killed her.

"Only half of the French Auror Force that had been sent there made it back to France, along with the Norwegian survivors," said Felix Prewett, his tone downcast. "Father said it was terrible."

"Not only that," interjected Felicity, her beautiful mismatched eyes flashing in anger, "but Dumbledore was about to finally convince Gravius Marchbanks of doing the same as the French Minister of Magic."

"To declare war on Grindelwald?" supplied Harry, his green eyes widening hopefully.

Felicity nodded at him briskly, before her pretty features turned bitter. "But once Marchbanks saw how bad it went for the French in Norway, he reneged on his promise. Now, he absolutely refuses to directly confront the Dark Lord."

"Says it's best for British Aurors to stay put in Britain, to defend us," interjected Felix, as he released a deep sigh. "And I understand the bloke-"

"Oh, how can you say that!" snapped Felicity fiercely, her glossy red hair almost standing on end. "He was supposed to send Aurors to help defend France! That was the deal-"

Deeply alarmed, Harry choked out, "Marchbanks will not send any?"

"No," said Felix flatly, before he shot his twin a scowl. "And I said I understood his decision, Lissy, not that I was all for it. But it makes sense to keep our Aurors here instead of sending them away-"

"No, it doesn't," muttered Harry, vastly anxious and troubled, "because France is the only country that stands between us and Grindelwald. If it falls, we're next."

"Precisely," said Felicity firmly, before she gave Harry an admiring look, as she blushed prettily. "My same thoughts exactly. Helping France is a preemptive measure. One we desperately need."

"Well, fine," groused out Felix, darkly scowling at them, "but Marchbanks says that if France is conquered, he will admit refugees – that's bound to count for something!"

"Oh yes," bit out Felicity scornfully, "he's allowing for Hogwarts to serve as sanctuary for Beauxbatons' students, with his sight set on having any surviving French Aurors flee here, so that then they can be made to help us when our time comes – but by then, it will be too late, won't it? Grindelwald will have the whole of Europe and only us left as his target! How well do you suppose that will go?"

Nevertheless, no matter what Gravius Marchbanks' plans had been, the Dark Lord had acted too swiftly.

In a matter of days after that conversation, both muggle and wizarding France was occupied, and all of Beauxbatons' students taken as hostages before any much fleeing could be done.

The Battle of Beauxbatons, it was said, had been brutal, leaving half the palace destroyed as parents of students, professors, Aurors and whoever dared to assist and volunteer, fought desperately against the Dark Lord's armies of wizards, Dementors, and Inferi for two days.

Worst of all, Grindelwald seemed to have changed tactics for some reason, and was now taking all the prisoners he could get.

In the end, the seventh floor of Hogwarts' castle that had been prepared to house wizarding children from France went unused.

Furthermore, only some few French families managed to escape in time to settle with relatives in England or from across the Atlantic.

With the lives of their children pending on a thread, wizarding France had surrendered.

The Dark Lord had kept his end of the bargain, at least, releasing the students of Beauxbatons. Nevertheless, many adults who had fought at the battle had been taken as prisoners, to never be seen or heard from again. Where they had been taken was a mystery.

Moreover, there was something in particular that the Prewett twins said in those days which instantly caught Harry's attention.

"Marchbanks is a fool," snapped Felicity crossly, glaring and bristling as if the wizard she had once admired had let her down in the most unforgivable of ways.

"Father sides with Marchbanks on this one," interjected Felix, glowering back at her. "So are you saying that Father is a fool too?"

Felicity lifted her chin up, a rebellious spark in her blue and brown eyes. "Yes. If Dumbledore believes that it is of the utmost importance that we offer political asylum to the Jews, then he's bound to have a good reason-"

"Hang on – what?" said Harry, looking up from his piece of parchment in which he had been attempting to scribble down his Care of Magical Creatures essay – 'How to best nurse a Niffler and keep him happy to gain a fortune!'.

It seemed that even Professor Kettleburn was being affected by the war and was now always appointing homework with a rather mercenary aim of teaching his students how to use creatures to make quick money.

Harry even thought that perhaps the wizard was about to abscond with all the golden trinkets their Nifflers had been unearthing all around Hogwarts' grounds during lessons, and jump the boat to America or some such place.

Crazed professors aside, the news had turned so grim and depressing lately that Harry at times turned a deaf ear to the twins' conversation when discussing such matters, but now, they had his full attention.

"What about the Jews?" he pressed insistently.

"Dumbledore," whispered Felicity quietly, as she leaned forward to be close together. Though it wasn't quite necessary. The Gryffindors' common room was always such a loud, chaotic, and boisterous place that even if they had been shouting their deepest secrets at the top of their lungs, no one would be any wiser, "believes that Grindelwald is targeting the Jews for some reason. And as such, that they should be helped and protected at all costs. He even tried to convince Charlemagne McLaggen when the wizard was Minister of Magic, but the fool refused back then-"

"Exactly," interrupted Felix in a hard tone of voice, "as Marchbanks is doing now, because he and Father are right. Letting Jew refugees come to Britain is as good as painting a target on ourselves! Grindelwald will surely come for us if we do that-"

"He'll attack Britain regardless, you dunce!" snapped Felicity hotly, scowling at him. "And I would like to know, are you a Gryffindor or not? Because your position in this matter sounds like nothing but cowardice to me!"

Felix puffed up like an affronted, bristling hippogriff, as he hollered angrily, "I'm as much a Gryffindor as you are, Lissy! I would help the poor Jew chaps if I could, but-"

Sensing an impending, looming bout of bickering between the twins, Harry urged hastily, "But are there any Jew refugees, then?"

"That's the point," said Felicity, shooting her twin a nasty glower before she turned back to Harry, "that there aren't going to be any if they have nowhere safe to go! That's why Dumbledore is trying to persuade the Minister – but the lummox won't budge!" She huffed irritably, as she flipped her long, red hair over a shoulder. "Truly, men have no sense."

Felix fulminated her with a most indignant look at that. "Your precious Dumbledore is a bloke, case you haven't noticed!"

"Might as well be a woman – intelligence like his!"

By then, Harry had picked up his things and made a hasty escape before either of them had the chance to rope him in their usual quarrels. Nevertheless, he realized, Tom had been absolutely right: Grindelwald was indeed after something the Jews had. And Dumbledore knew or suspected it.

Alas, he didn't have much of a chance to muse about it, with too many other things on his plate already.

If he had thought that Tom was a loon unhealthy obsessed with learning all that could be found, it was nothing to the heights of demented studiousness that his brother reached.

Apparently, 'seeking power' for Tom meant, at least for the time being, becoming more of a bookworm than he already was, and expecting Harry to turn into one as well, to boot.

Such entailed not only going over and over Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks and practicing all curses in the Room of Requirements until they dropped from exhaustion, as well as keeping up with their slow-paced studies of Occlumency and Legilimency, plus German, whilst all the while Harry stubbornly concentrated on learning by his own as much about Healing as possible –having learnt in Norway just how essential it was- but also something new, because Harry had opened his mouth.

It had been his fault, granted, as he kept persevering in his hopeful attempts of influencing Tom's deranged goals, trying to channel them unto safer paths.

"You could be the Minister of Magic, instead," said Harry in his most cajoling and buttery tone of voice, making his eyes widen and sparkle with the worshipful awe that such thing would inspire in him if Tom achieved it.

Surely Tom would eat it up. The one thing his brother seemed to enjoy the most was Harry's admiration, after all. Alas, for once, his brother was unmoved.

They were seated together studying for the end of term examinations, taking full advantage of the silence and seclusion that the Room of Requirements offered them.

Tom had insisted they had to begin studying several weeks in advance, and Harry had done his best to wriggle out of it, and failed.

"If you don't do well in your grades, it would reflect badly on me," Tom had bit out acidly. "So you're studying hard, even if I have to tutor you every day from now till the end of June!"

Which indeed, was exactly what came to happen.

"Minister?" sneered Tom scathingly at Harry's suggestion, during a break between their revision of Transfiguration and Potions. "What – to depend on votes in order to stay in power, to have to listen to babbling idiots in the government, to have to negotiate with inferiors, to be ever subjected to the limitations of the Law?" His face contorted with utter revulsion. "No. Such trifles are not for me." His eyes flashed manically as he said in an intense, low tone of voice, "I want absolute power, little brother. I don't want to be accountable to anyone."

"Absolute power? A dictator you mean!" snapped Harry, not being able to rein in his temper and sheer frustration. "Haven't we got enough of those! You told me yourself – what, with Stalin in Russia, Hitler in Germany, Franco in Spain, Mussolini in Italy-"

"Muggles!" spat Tom incensed. "Those are nothing but filthy, clueless muggles. Do not dare compare-"

"Fine," griped Harry peevishly, as he slammed his Transfiguration textbook shut, "and Grindelwald too, to boot, and you wanna be one more, huh? You're enough of a psycho as it is, brother, you don't need 'absolute power' on top of that!"

"A what?" hissed out Tom, his eyes narrowed to slits, seething. "What did you call me?"

"A psycho," bit out Harry, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You know what I'm speaking about. If you had seen yourself hacking that muggle with that axe, like an unhinged wacko…"

He trailed off, shuddering at the recollection of what had happened in that cottage in Norway with the army deserters.

Tom darkly glared at him, stiffening abruptly, as he snarled viciously, "Being a psychopath would entail having a mental trauma of some sort, of having no control over oneself, no fortitude of mind, being weak. And I'm not weak, in any sense of the word!"

Harry blinked at him when he realized that his brother felt profoundly offended, insulted, and perhaps even hurt by his words.

He regretted it immediately, knowing he had to be careful as of late in how he handled his brother.

Thus, he bracingly grinned at Tom, patting him comfortingly on the back. "Don't worry. Even if you're a psycho, I'll just have to put up with it, won't I? Because we're brothers."

Tom stared at him with narrowed eyes, before he seemed to relax, a lazy smirk quirking his lips as he drawled placidly, "Exactly, and don't you forget that."

"Sure," said Harry sweetly, before his expression hardened and he piped in firmly, "But it still doesn't solve that you've got a self-control problem."

Tom instantly hissed like an enraged Gorgon, "I do not have a-"

"You do!" snapped Harry, shooting him an inflexible scowl. "And Dark Lords have to be in control of themselves, don't they? Because if not, no one would follow someone who could suddenly snap and turn into a rampaging lunatic! So you either fix your problem or you give up trying to become a sodding Dark Lord!" He crossed his arms over his chest, as he lifted his chin up and added divisively, "And you either do it, or I won't help you at all with your nutty ambitions."

"And how do you propose," gritted out Tom as if grinding stones, his eyes flashing dangerously, "for me to-"

"What did you feel?" interrupted Harry demandingly, pinning him with his gaze. "When you killed, I mean."

"Do you need to ask?" sneered Tom contemptuously. "You've killed yourself, surely you know already. The surge inside, feeling the power you have over others, their lives in your hands to do as you please, when they're utterly in your mercy and you can so easily snuff them out into nothingness." His dark blue eyes glinted, as he added with giddy breathlessness, "It's glorious, is it not?"

"What?" Harry shot him an alarmed look. "Is that what you felt?"

Tom gave him a narrowed-eyed look. "Didn't you?"

Harry shook his head at himself the next second. Why had he even asked? Why was he even surprised? He should have known. And it was now painfully obvious to him that trying to unravel his brother's twisted psyche would not help in attempting to dissuade Tom from being a Dark Lord.

He sighed heavily, as he tried to fathom some other way that would work on Tom.

"Were you scared of me?" demanded Tom in a sharp yet quite tone of voice, skewering him with his gaze.

"When you were chopping the muggle with the axe? Yeah," murmured Harry, feeling uncomfortable and very awkward, as he squirmed on his seat and swallowed thickly. "You seemed to be in a world of your own, lost in your… er, enjoyment."

Tom frowned, looking highly irked, before he asked acerbically, "And when I used my magic?"

"Oh, that. No, of course not," said Harry instantly, flapping a hand dismissively before a soft smile spread on his face. "That was different, brother. It was beautiful."

"Beautiful?" repeated Tom, frowning at him.

"Yes," said Harry, his smile widening just as his eyes unwittingly gleamed with reverence and fascinated appreciation. "Your magic was beautiful, blue, thrumming and rolling off you, and it felt right, a bit chilly, but somehow safe and comfortable and…"

He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders, not quite knowing how to fully describe it.

"Blue?" said Tom shortly, glowering at him. "You mean you actually saw it, and you didn't tell me until now?"

Harry blinked at him, taken aback. "I thought you had realized that I did-"

"How could I have known!" thundered Tom angrily, shooting him a poisonous glare.

"I told you to let it free," said Harry with exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Why would I have told you that if I hadn't seen it already? I saw it first in the cottage, Tom! I said that because I knew you could do it, don't you see?"

"I see _now_," griped Tom churlishly, before his eyes narrowed to slits. "So your Magic-sight ability has grown stronger-"

"Or you have," cut in Harry coolly, as he then cocked his head to a side. "Well, we both might have, since I saw my magic too." He beamed proudly at him. "Mine is red, blood red and hot, but very beautiful too, in my opinion."

"_Your_ magic?" Tom stared at him, looking utterly surprised, incredulous, and even disconcerted, as if he had never imagined that Harry would be capable of such things, which Harry found quite insulting – they were both Slytherin's Heirs, after all, not just Tom.

His brother apparently got over the shock in the next moment, and Tom narrowed his eyes at him as he hissed out furiously, "Then why didn't you use it, you imbecile!"

"I didn't know how!" said Harry grumpily, throwing his arms up into the air. "I'm not like you, Tom. You controlled your accidental magic when we were little children, I didn't-"

"Yes, you did," snapped Tom impatiently. "Or have you forgotten how you-"

"I apparated away from Dennis Bishop," interjected Harry with much frustration, "and blew up the windows of Mrs. Sharpe's office without even realizing what I was doing, brother! I wasn't aware, I wasn't directing my magic-"

"I don't mean those," interrupted Tom irritably. "I meant the times you did control it on purpose." He shot him a snide look. "When you made Billy Stubb's stupid rabbit do flips in the air and dance, to entertain your silly little friends, when you summoned toys to your hands when you wanted them, when you made a flower bloom to impress the muggle couple that wanted to adopt you, and when you made your hair grow, you halfwit!"

Harry gaped, before he snorted disparagingly. "Those don't count! They were small things, done for fun. Not impressive, useful stuff like the things you can do!"

"The principle behind all those things is the same, you twit!" snarled Tom, looking aggravated beyond measure. "You wanted those things to happen, on whatever level of awareness, so they did! That's all it takes, awareness and willpower – you have to really desire it, in order to focus your magic into doing what you want it to do. That's all!"

Harry stared at him, utterly astonished, before he muttered dubiously, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" bit out Tom mordantly, shooting him a scathing look. "Fine, I'll help you practice." A gleam of calculation glinted in his eyes as his gaze roved over Harry, before he added firmly, "Yes, it could be of great help to both of us. We'll both practice until we fully master it. It's decided."

And somehow, Harry realized, the conversation he had initiated in the hopes of discouraging his brother from his mad plans, ended up in another commitment of learning just one more type of magic, of gaining one more type of power, all for Tom's ambitions.

It was then when he began to deeply fear that, despite his initial optimism, Tom was like an unstoppable force, too sure in his convictions and desires to be able to be moved into another way of thinking and other worthier goals.

It was from then onwards when Harry began to despair from time to time, in between bouts of self-encouraging reassurances that if anyone could mold Tom into being something except a murderous Dark Lord, it could only be him.

But somehow, every little ruse he attempted ended in giving Tom more tools.

Nothing felt or was the same after Norway and the promise he had given to his brother.

Beleaguered, it shamed and horrified him, to desire that his brother was someone else, someone easier to deal with and manage than Tom.

Harry felt he couldn't cope, that he was out of his depth. He wished Tom had never told him about his desire to become a Dark Lord, wished he could remain blissfully ignorant and deluded about the harsh reality of it.

But it was what parentless brothers did -wasn't it?- to care about the wellbeing, both mental and physical, of each other. It was a duty, yet done out of love, and Harry was horrified that it was weighing so heavily on his shoulders, like a yoke, like shackles chaining him forever to Tom, because of that second when he had agreed, when he had given his tacit promise, which had bound him in a commitment that lasted a lifetime, he knew well.

Harry felt bitter resentment at times: that he had taken upon himself the role of being Tom's handler, because it was so obviously needed and now he couldn't change his mind and just drop his brother. That he had that responsibility from then onwards, till they both died, since it was clear that Tom couldn't be convinced to be anything other than a Dark Lord. That Tom had decided that future for them, and for the good of all concerned, Harry had no other choice but to stick to his brother's side to prevent Tom from going too far.

Other times, he felt guilty for resenting his brother. Because Tom, in his own way, no matter how nasty, had always taken care of him, and now it was his turn to do the same. That it was so impossibly difficult, that he despaired so much, was no excuse.

Nevertheless, Harry had never felt such a pressing responsibility before. Not only responsible for another person, but for that person's actions, because Tom needed to be controlled as best as Harry could manage. Because without it, he blanched in thinking just what Tom was capable of doing if not reined in, if there wasn't someone always there to make him see matters in a different light.

It all left Harry exhausted and depressed.

He needed to regroup, he needed some time of peace and solace in which to gather himself back into some measure of clear-headedness and fortitude and strength. He needed to be able to ponder at leisure and finally discover what to do, how to carry the onerous duty without letting it weigh down on him and crush him.

Indeed, it had been affecting him so much that his temper became very short-fused. He had even blown a gasket at poor Alphard several times. Though his friend seemed to understand at least where part of it was coming from, and bore it all with infinite patience and good cheer.

"We'll find the Chamber of Secrets, you'll see," Alphard said to him, his tone perky and reassuring, as he patted him on the back. He chuckled as he winked playfully. "How can The Three Musketeers, fail, eh?" He shot Harry a bright smile, as he added eagerly, "And then I can tell my parents about you!"

Harry blinked at him. "Um, Al. I'm still a halfblood, at best. I don't think your dad will be too thrilled about that-"

"Tosh," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively before he toothily grinned at him. "Being a descendant of Salazar Slytherin trumps it all, Harry! And once it's known for certain in Slytherin House, I can tell my dad, and I'm sure my parents will see things my way." His big grey eyes grew large with enthusiasm as he rushed out, "And then I can invite you over for holidays and you'll stay with me and I'll show around my house and all my toys and stuff! You'll love it – we'll have so much fun! We can spend the whole hols playing Quidditch!"

Harry found himself sharing his best friend's excitement for a moment, and fondly smiled at him.

Though such reprieves didn't last for long, particularly when Tom had received the latest of Alice's newspapers clippings, with the news that Neville Chamberlain had resigned and Winston Churchill had become the new Primer Minister.

That had given Harry some hope as he remembered that that muggle had been the one always warning the public about the danger in allowing German rearmament, warnings which had now been proven to be prophetic.

Two weeks later, he found the Prewetts twins discussing the subject.

"Nearly had to run for their lives!" Felix was guffawing, as Harry began to realize what it was all about.

The Daily Prophet had only said that Minister Marchbanks had paid a visit to the new Muggle Prime Minister, as bound to do by one of Dumbledore's laws that had been passed by the Wizengamot some time ago. Especially in cases of war, or trouble in the Wizarding World that spilled over to the muggle one, and affected them, there had to be a greater integrity between both, with wizarding leaders informing and working along, as best as possible, with the muggles' top leader.

"What happened?" pressed Harry worriedly.

"Well, Marchbanks took our cousin along for the visit," said Felicity as she released a weary sigh. "Thought Ignatius would prove invaluable in handling the muggle since Marchbanks had heard that Churchill is quite an ill-tempered curmudgeon…"

Harry blinked in surprise and then nodded in understanding. Ignatius Prewett had been the one who had given him all that information that had allowed him to find Robert Hutchins in Norway. Of course that Gravius Marchbanks couldn't have known about it, but it was the twins' cousin who had spent a whole day with Winston Churchill, polyjuiced as one of the muggle's aides.

Certainly, Marchbanks had only chosen Ignatius because of the young wizard's position in the Ministry of Magic, working under the twins' father – the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. From what Harry had always heard, Ignatius' job often took him to many other countries, in which he had to deal with many foreign muggle officials. And the young wizard had the reputation of being quite a smooth diplomat and the best in handling clueless muggles.

"When Marchbanks and our cousin began to explain about the Wizarding World," continued Felicity, her beautiful mismatched eyes growing wide and distressed, as she gestured with her hands, "Churchill nearly killed Marchbanks!"

"Killed?" breathed out Harry, baffled.

Felix chortled, looking vastly amused. "The muggle thought they were a hoax from the opposition – hurled a bottle of scotch at Marchbanks, he did! Ignatius wrote that if it had struck Marchbanks, it could as well have cracked his skull open!"

"It isn't funny!" snapped Felicity bristling, before she eyed Harry with sorrow on her face. "It all went horribly wrong, Harry. Everything they told Churchill only made the muggle become more enraged, especially when he realized that the Germans were being led by one of our kind."

"But," interjected Harry worriedly, "didn't they tell Churchill that it was a Dark Lord causing all these troubles?"

"They tried!" replied Felicity in a high-pitch of anxiousness. "But it seems that the muggle didn't quite understand at first." She huffed irritably. "Thought that 'Lord' meant some crazed aristocrat –like the lords the muggles have, you see?- that was causing trouble with the muggles for the sake of it!"

"And when he did understand," piped in Felix, sniggering under his breath, "he was even more livid. Raging about wizards meddling in politics, pulling the strings of those two other muggle blokes, the German and Russian ones –what were their names?"

"Hitler and Stalin, you mean?" supplied Harry hastily, his hands fretting on his lap.

"Yes," said Felicity firmly. "But of course, Ignatius explained that we have no reason to believe that the Dark Lord is controlling the Russian muggle - just the German one."

"Churchill didn't like that one bit," interjected Felix, looking puzzled now. "Apparently he would have liked to hear that the Stalin chap wasn't acting out of his own accord or that some wizard was frying his brains, or who knows what-"

"But it was the American one he was more interested in, demanding to know if some wizard was also controlling him," interrupted Felicity, lowering her voice as her eyes widened with apprehension. "It seems Churchill has been constantly writing to the American Minister Goosebelt-"

"President," said Harry distractedly, his mind spinning. "They have presidents over there. And it's Roosevelt."

"Are you sure?" Felicity frowned at him, before she shook her head. "No, I'm quite certain Ignatius said he is called Goosebelt."

"Well, never mind," said Harry, waving a hand dismissively before he leaned forward, his gaze piercing and intense as he then urged, "So what about him?"

"The issue is that Churchill has been writing to the bloke a lot, asking for the Americans' help, and it appears that Goosebelt is refusing to get his country involved in a war that he sees as a European conflict that America has nothing to do with," replied Felix with a roll of his eyes. "And Churchill thought it was all our fault – that some wizard had to be meddling with Goosebelt's head or something."

"And when Marchbanks and our cousin explained that there was no indication of that," said Felicity uneasily, "Churchill went mental – full blown howling mad! – raging and roaring and hurling things!"

"It is funny if you think 'bout it," pointed out Felix with a chuckle.

Felicity scowled at her twin, as she snapped, "There's nothing amusing in the fact that Marchbanks and Ignatius had to run for the lives!"

"Hang on," said Harry quickly, eyeing them nonplussed. "What happened – exactly?"

"Churchill tried to get them captured!" huffed Felicity angrily. "It seems he blamed us for the whole war –as if decent wizards and witches have anything to do with the Dark Lord! He said that if one of us had caused the war, it was our duty to end it. That he wasn't putting any more of his soldiers' lives on the line if wizards didn't cooperate with the Muggle British Army."

"Our cousin began explaining about the Statute of Secrecy," piped in Felix who was still sniggering, "but the muggle couldn't have cared less. By then, according to Ignatius, the muggle was in such a towering ill temper and so enraged by the whole affair that he began bellowing, calling for his aides-"

"His members of cabinet were loitering around nearby, it seems," interrupted Felicity with a most put upon expression on her pretty face. "And they all came rushing in as Churchill kept hollering that Marchbanks and Ignatius had to be taken prisoners."

Harry gaped at her. "Whatever for?"

"Ignatius thinks," replied Felicity with a heavy sigh, "that Churchill wanted to take them hostage, to force our Ministry of Magic to back the Muggle British Army. It seems Churchill was set on having 'magical soldiers', as the muggle called it, fighting alongside his soldiers."

"It all came to nothing, of course," said Felix with an amused grin on his face. "Marchbanks and Ignatius obliviated them all and then apparated out of there as fast as they could."

"So now," said Harry slowly with a frown on his face, "Churchill remembers nothing? He doesn't even know about what's truly happening in the war?" He shot the twins a distressed look. "And the Americans aren't going to help?"

"Not the muggle ones, it seems," murmured Felicity somberly, before she marginally perked up. "But you must have noticed how Dumbledore has been missing from meals in the Great Hall during the weekends. He's been visiting the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas." She beamed proudly. "He was one of the key mediators in the negotiations for its formation. And there are countless of important wizards over there who owe him favors." She leaned forward as she added in a secretive whisper, her beautiful eyes shinning hopefully, "I think Dumbledore will manage it. I think he'll convince them to help wizarding Britain against the Dark Lord."

Harry wasted no time in going straight to his brother after that, retelling everything that the Prewetts twins had told him as he paced in their dormitory, highly anxious.

"We're doomed," he concluded gloomily as he flopped down on his bed.

"Pessimism from you, little brother?" intoned Tom loftily, who was seated at his desk, having been working on some research of his own when Harry had come careening into the room. He gave him a taunting smirk. "How very refreshing."

Harry shot him a dirty look, before his shoulders slumped and he said sullenly, "We need the Americans' help. More importantly, Churchill needs the muggle Americans." He gave his brother a look of sheer misery. "How is muggle Britain supposed to stand up to the Nazis, now that they've nearly conquered the whole of Europe!"

"Americans?" scoffed out Tom scornfully. "It's not the Americans who can stop Hitler, you idiot. It's the Russians."

"The Russians?" Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly, before he snapped angrily, "The Russians are on the Dark Lord's side, they are his supporters!"

"I meant the muggle Russians," pointed out Tom acerbically.

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "The Soviets?" He shook his head as he muttered sharply, "But you've always said that Stalin and Hitler must have a secret pact between them. And after the way they conquered Poland together and split it amongst themselves-"

"Oh, I have little doubt that they do have a secret pact," interjected Tom impatiently, before he shot him a wide smirk, "but how long do you think something like that will last? Both Stalin and Hitler have the same ambitions, to conquer as much of the world as possible to make it theirs to spread their ideologies. Ideologies," he remarked poignantly, shooting Harry an annoyed look for his apparent lack of thought, "that are complete opposites. Hitler and Stalin are natural enemies, you twit!" He waved a hand dismissively, as he added as an afterthought, "I'm certain that even as we speak, the Dark Lord is already beginning to urge Hitler to turn against Stalin."

Harry stared at him gobsmacked. "What? Why?"

Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "You tell me why. Don't you remember what I said about Russia when we were little?"

Harry blinked, his eyes then widening with understanding. It had been one of those times in which he had felt very proud of being a Brit, when Alice had been teaching the boys of the orphanage about the Napoleonic Wars and how it had been two Englishmen, Wellington and Nelson, who had defeated Napoleon.

Back then, Tom had been tutoring Harry after lessons with Alice, so that the knowledge would stick. Though his brother had had a vastly different view on the matter, scornfully alleging that Nelson hadn't even been a blip in Napoleon's map. That Napoleon had been a General who conquered by land and couldn't have cared two figs about some English Admiral sinking French ships at sea. That Napoleon's mistake had been to attempt to conquer Russia, and that it had been the sly genius tactics of the Czar's Minister of War and those of General Kutuzov that had bested Napoleon in the end. That by the time Wellington had defeated Napoleon in the Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon had already been defeated by the Russians, whom had left him with nothing but one fourth of his armies, no matter how their countrymen loved to take the credit when saying that England, Nelson, and Lord Wellington had been the ones to stop Napoleon.

"You said that Russia cannot be conquered," said Harry slowly as the recollections flooded his mind. "That its land is too vast, its people too many, its supply of soldiers endless, its winter too long and harsh." He frowned at his brother. "But then, why do you say that the Dark Lord wants his Nazi puppets to turn against the Soviets?"

"Because he doesn't want the Nazis to win in the end, obviously," bit out Tom, shooting him a disdainful look. "I thought you had realized that by now."

Harry stared at him, flabbergasted. "You mean, he's setting them to fail?"

"Of course, you fool!" spat Tom with vexed exasperation. "Why would Grindelwald want to deal with a muggle empire? Why would he leave them having so much power? More and more, I'm convinced it is all about the artifact."

Astonished, Harry blinked at him. "The stone thingy?"

"No, you lamebrain," sneered Tom contemptuously. "That doesn't even exist, I'm sure – Grindelwald must have been lying to Dumbledore, to trick him. I mean the Jews' artifact –whatever it is."

"So," said Harry slowly, his mind spinning, trying to make sense out of what his brother was saying, his eyebrows increasingly climbing upwards, "you think all this war-" he gestured wildly with his hands "-is just a ruse, intended to confuse, while the Dark Lord is going about trying to find the Jew artifact?"

"Precisely," drawled Tom placidly, looking mightily self-satisfied.

"Well," said Harry, not quite knowing what to say as he gazed at his brother with appalled and horrified wide green eyes.

"It must be something superb," Tom stated as his dark blue eyes gleamed with feverish greed.

"Sure," mumbled Harry, though he felt nothing but sheer distress, because it was sounding more and more like the artifact could only be a weapon of some sort.

It all seemed to go from bad to worse, to outright abysmal. Problems and dangers were piling up faster than Harry count even count or wrap his mind around, much less deal with.

Furthermore, it seemed that Tom was right and it was all about the artifacts. Which in turn meant that Tom had also been right in his decision of wanting them to get the artifacts before either Dumbledore or Grindelwald could – even if Harry had no idea how they could possibly manage that.

With everything going on, few were the sources of joy in those days. And strangely enough, Harry found himself enjoying more and more his monthly duty of letting the Grey Lady posses him so that she could experience the 'pleasures of the living'.

Twice, he had spent two full Sundays swimming lazily in the Black Lake, until she had insisted she wanted to take a peek at Hogsmeade.

It had been easily carried out, as Harry employed Alphard's help in getting Charlus' Invisibility Cloak once more, to then tag along with the upper year students in one of their Hogsmeade weekends.

Thankfully, the Grey Lady had been wise enough to not speak to him in his mind. Harry was certain that if Alphard saw him apparently talking to himself, the boy would have carted him off to the Infirmary post-haste. Alphard seemed to have become even more concerned about Harry lately, always asking if he was well, always reassuring him, always glancing at him.

_That boy likes you_, said the Grey Lady's voice, sounding amused, the instant that Harry had parted ways with Alphard when returning from their much-enjoyed trip to Hogsmeade, their pockets filled with chocolates and candies.

"Course he does," said Harry dismissively. "He's my best friend."

_No_, said the ghost's voice with what sounded like a roll of the eyes, _I mean that he really likes you._

Harry blinked at empty space, before he said slowly, "Um, yeah, because we're friends. Duh."

_I mean_, she began in a sharp, impatient tone of voice, before she paused and then added sounding exasperated, _Oh, never mind! You're such an oblivious child. If I hadn't told you what those girls had been gossiping about, you would not have even noticed!_

"I would have!" snapped Harry, aggravated.

It had been during the previous occasion of 'Possession Day' -when the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw had wanted to experience through him a normal school day- that she had pointed out that he was gathering quite a 'following', as she had put it.

Oh, Harry had indeed seen people shooting him glances, girls giggling as he passed by, whispering amongst themselves, giving him very weird looks accompanied by fluttering eyelashes and blushes. At all that, Harry couldn't have been any more flummoxed.

When the Grey Lady had forced him to pay attention, he had finally overheard some of the bizarre comments.

"… did you know he had eyes like those? How come we never noticed before?"

"He used to wear those horrible, ghastly eyeglasses, didn't he? That must be why. Who knew he was hiding such pretty eyes behind them?"

Harry had bristled indignantly at that. His eyes were not 'pretty' - pretty was for girls, not blokes!

"… say, he does look yummy now. As handsome as his twin, I dare say..."

"Oh no, Tom Riddle is something else." A deep, worshipful sigh had accompanied the remark. "Tom is so smart, so charming, so gallant, so tall and handsome-"

"I've heard that Harry's nice too, and that he's excellent in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms-"

"Not Charms, surely! I've heard he falls asleep in class now with the new professor…"

Harry had scowled and glared at the girls at that, though they didn't seem to have even noticed as they kept gigging and gossiping and shooting him coy looks. Though there wasn't much he could say in his defense.

By then, the Ministry of Magic had finally declared Tilly Toke as presumed dead and Headmaster Dippet had brought an old witch out of retirement to impart the Charms lessons.

What had been one of his favorite classes became the most boring. Gone were the days when they practiced charms and used them to levitate each other in class or play a game of Badminton or some such thing as they had done with Tilly Toke. The new teacher stuck with the textbooks, making them first read the chapters and write whole paragraphs down, before spending just a few minutes in the actual practice part of the lesson.

"I've heard he's a bit daft, though-"

"I wouldn't care if he was a complete dunce, with looks like those. Do you think I can get him to ask me to the Yule Ball?"

Harry had ended up glowering darkly at them before packing up his things and leaving the room in a high dudgeon.

Nevertheless, he had finally discovered why his scar had been hurting at all times for no apparent reason, as if something was constantly irritating his brother.

Indeed, he noticed the coincidence that it was when Tom was with him and they crossed path with some gaggle of gossipy girls giggling and whispering about his 'beautiful green eyes' or 'emerald limpid pools' or some such sappy rubbish, that his scar would flare and prickle.

And that was rich! Because it was Tom who had always insulted his eyeglasses, who wanted him to get rid of them when he had taken that horrible eyesight-correcting potion as Dorea Black had demanded. And Harry was still raw about having lost his eyeglasses in Norway. They had been Alice's gift to him and he still missed them terribly.

And Tom was now evidently annoyed that people were noticing that he wasn't wearing glasses anymore. Really, he couldn't understand his brother at all, sometimes.

_You're leaving soon_, said the Grey Lady's voice as they approached the corridor of the Room of Requirements, pulling Harry out of his recollections.

Harry said nothing as he paced up and down in front of that small stretch of wall that he saw covered with a lattice of Rowena Ravenclaw's yellow and blue magic, letting the Grey Lady envision what she wanted the Room of Requirements to appear like.

Once inside -as always an endless grassland with a beautiful, rumbling creek, surrounded by some trees and the sound of chirping birds- Harry nearly buckled when the ghost floated out of him.

She didn't look much better, more translucent than normal, almost as if she was about to disappear altogether. Harry knew that possession took a lot out of her.

The ghost floated slowly, as if giving herself time to regroup some modicum of strength and energy, before she halted by the stream, turning her face around to gaze at him. "When are you leaving?"

"The Hogwarts Express leaves in two days," said Harry, not being able to hide his joy and excitement.

A couple of days ago, they had finished their end of term examinations. Harry thought he had done rather well in all subjects, given that Tom had tutored him incessantly. Alphard was also sure his results would be good since the boy had counted with his aunt's help. Dorea Black seemed to be of the same mind as Tom, and had been helping Alphard with his study whenever she could.

Furthermore, it was the news that he had received in those days that made him so keen and eager to return to London as soon as possible.

The envelope he had received from Alice had been very thick, showing that it contained two letters and not just one.

Harry had read Alice's first, immediately alarmed when he had seen watery smudges in the ink. Yet he soon realized that they hadn't been caused by tears of grief and wretchedness, but of joy. Throughout her letter, Alice rambled and gushed as she informed him that Robert Hutchins was back from the war.

Harry had only been able to understand more when he had read Hutchins' letter, revealing that the man had stayed for two months in a hospital in an army base in England, before he had been deemed as healthy as he would ever get.

…_I remember some doctor telling me I was having hallucinations, because of my fever, but having imagined seeing your face lent me strength. It gave me hope that I would live to see it again, for real..._

Harry knew that when he had read that he must have been grinning like a loon, his chest swelling with pleasure and pride, but above all, such affection that he couldn't wait to see the muggle.

Even though not everything was good news according to Robert Hutchins. Some officer of the British Army had paid him a visit in the hospital, commending his bravery in the front yet informing him that due to his new physical condition, he was being released from army duty.

Hutchins sounded bitter, even though he downplayed his condition by writing he only had a limp. And Harry realized that the bullet wound in the man's leg he had so desperately tried to heal, the one with gangrene that he had done his best to cure with potions, had made the man a cripple.

Oh, it wasn't all that bad, Harry understood the more he read. Hutchins just needed a cane to walk and move around. But he was no longer fit to be a soldier and that seemed to weigh heavily on Robert Hutchins.

Alice, on the other hand, seemed to be over the moon, now that there was no chance that Hutchins could try to make it back to the warfront. In that, Harry wholeheartedly agreed with her.

All his idealized notions about the bravery, honor, and heroic patriotism involved in war had died in Norway, and if it was a crippled leg what was required for Hutchins to stay put in England, Harry was all for it.

Moreover, the best parts of Alice and Hutchins' letters were when they announced that they were getting married at long last.

…_in four days after you boys arrive from your boarding school. We wanted to make sure you would attend, as it will take place in our neighborhood's parish. _

_We even have a special spot reserved for you, since as soon Alice and I tie the knot, we'll be singing the papers for adoption. Remember, keep the secret, though, until we can contrive a way in which to tell your brother._

_I rather only you and I take care of that, Harry, as I know that your brother's certain refusal will only make Alice sad and she would fret terribly. But I know I can count on you to make your brother see that we want him as a son in truth, and I'm sure Alice and I will make the best of parents for you both. _

_It's our deepest wish._

It all made Harry so deliriously happy that he constantly day-dreamed about it. He could see it clearly: coming out of King's Cross Station, running towards Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins, being lifted from the ground as the couple embraced him together, and they all took off, with Tom of course, to the cottage in Southend-on-the-Sea that Hutchins had finally bought, next to Old John's.

Indeed, after having read their letters, Harry still felt he was dancing on clouds, despite his brother's attitude.

"They are getting married," Tom had sneered snidely when he had read the letter addressed to him. "Wonderful. Just what the world needs, two more filthy muggles procreating."

Yet now, as Harry gazed at the Grey Lady and the sadness on her face, he offered gently, "I could take you to London with me, if you want."

Helena Ravenclaw's expression turned sour. "I'm bound to Hogwarts. As you know, I cannot leave the walls of the castle."

"I mean," said Harry with a heavy sigh, "that I wouldn't mind if I was possessed by you during the holidays." He gave her a bright smile. "That way, we could spend the holidays together, and I can show you my orphanage and we can even go to muggle London to have some fun, if you like. Things must have changed a lot since your times."

The smile the Grey Lady gave him was a brittle one, as she lifted an ethereal hand to touch his arm. Harry didn't mind as the touch turned needy, and insistent, and caressing. He knew that, for some reason, only he -and Santi too, he remembered- could be touched by ghosts. And the Grey Lady was always doing that to him every chance she had.

"I wish I could," she murmured quietly as her hand crept to cup his face tenderly. "But I do not have the strength to posses you for so long." She dropped her hand from his face, her features contorting with rage, as she spat, "Possessing you for just one day a month already debilitates me too much! I can feel it-" she angrily patted her chest, as if wanting to claw something out of it "-something weakening every time I posses you!"

She shot him a bitter, seething look, as if somehow he had let her down due to it. Nevertheless, Harry took no offense. By then, he was well used to the illogical twists of her mind and her unbalanced temper. If he had been a ghost for over a thousand years perhaps he would be as barmy as her, after all.

Harry couldn't do anything more for her except the offer he had given, and thus left her in the Room of Requirements, looking glum and forlorn.

The day after, before the End of Term Feast in the Great Hall, all Second Year Slytherins took a turn in going to their Head of House's office. They were required to discuss with Horace Slughorn the electives they would be choosing for their Third Year.

Instantly, Harry had happily made his two choices: Ancient Runes –which he would be glad to learn from a professor at long last- and Care of Magical Creatures, which had become an elective in Hogwarts' curriculum some time ago when the Wizengamot had passed one of Dumbledore's Laws, and which he still had no intention of dropping.

It was that Law, as well, which also made a class of 'Muggle Studies' the new, revolutionizing elective, to be taught at Hogwarts for the first time in history. Though not for Tom, who had unsurprisingly chosen to take all electives except that one - heavy schedule for Third Year that Horace Slughorn had been more than proud to approve, as he gushed about Tom's 'unparalleled brilliance' and hard-working and studious discipline, as his brother later told him with an arrogant smirk.

"You chose Ancient Runes too, right?" Alphard immediately demanded the moment Harry stepped out of Slughorn's office, pouncing on him in the middle of the dungeon's empty corridor. "I'm only taking it because you said you were – that way we'll get a chance to spend some more time together." He scrunched his nose, not looking too pleased. "Even if it is in class."

"I'm taking it," reassured Harry before they had to enter their common room, and thus part ways so that no one could suspect their true friendship. He rolled his eyes. "Slughorn looked surprised that I wanted to, but said it was fine."

Alphard looked mightily relieved at that, and beamed brightly at him, before they each went their own way.

Tom's sentiments about the matter were quite different when Harry went back to their dorm to pack his trunk, as his brother took the opportunity of being alone in the room.

"You're the one who has been studying Ancient Runes all this while," snapped Tom impatiently, "so you should already know as much as you need."

Harry shot him a surprised look. "I thought you would be pleased that I chose the Ancient Runes elective." He then scowled at him, feeling very surly. "You're always harping about how I should be studying a lot more-"

"Of course I'm pleased," snapped Tom irritably, as he paused mid way in laying a neatly folded set of robes in his trunk. "But that's just the very least you could do." His face darkened with ill-temper, as his eyes narrowed. "What I meant is that you should already be solving the issue of how to disable our Traces."

Harry dropped the books he had in his hands, gaping, before he spat angrily, "That was your task!"

"Not anymore," griped Tom acerbically. "Now it's yours, since you're the one who discovered a way to-"

"Exactly!" said Harry heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm the one who figured out that it's ancient wards that mess with the magic of the Trace Charm. I've done enough with that alone, I'm not putting that on my plate too – it's your duty not mine!"

Harry had begun suspecting that his brother was pilling so much stuff on his plate, making him spend almost all his time with him, precisely because he didn't want him to have time left for Alphard. After all, Tom hadn't succeeded in forcing him to drop his best friend, so he could be employing slier and more underhanded methods, the prat.

"Then we'll work together," hissed out Tom acidly, carefully placing the last of his possessions into his trunk and locking it shut. "I will not do all the work alone, you slob!"

"Slob? That's rich coming from you!" snapped Harry indignantly, as he crouched to pick up his books to then wave them angrily in front of his brother's face in recrimination. "I'm the one doing everything, while you do what?"

"I research," said Tom flatly, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, I see," retorted Harry peevishly, briskly stuffing the books in his trunk. "If that's what you've being doing, then you should know by now what the Jews' artifact is." He shot him a hard, challenging look, as he violent slammed his trunk shut. "So do you?"

"No," said Tom shortly, his eyes now mere slits.

"Right – what I thought," bit out Harry hotly, as he pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're still spending much of your time scribbling who knows what in your stupid diary!" He scowled at him. "You could at least tell me what it's all about!"

"None of your damn business, you twerp," said Tom mordantly. "Now shut your gob and go pester someone else!"

"Fine, I'm leaving - just because I'm done packing and Nagini is waiting for me," groused out Harry grumpily, glowering at him. "But if I'll take care of the Ancient Runes bit, you'll take care of finding out how wards are made – got that?"

"Very well," sneered Tom acidly, before he narrowed his eyes at him and added sharply, "You cannot be planning on taking Nagini with us-"

Harry huffed at that. "I already told her we were leaving for the holidays and she wouldn't hear about coming along! She refuses to leave the Forbidden Forest."

And her harem of worshipful male snakes, but no need to tell Tom that. At least it seemed that Nagini's constant attempts at mating weren't bearing fruits, since the few Saturdays Harry had paid her a visit she had grown only in length and not girth, much to his profound relief. He certainly didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of mini Naginis, on top of everything else.

"You should come with me to say goodbye," Harry then pointed out angrily. "You've never gone to see her, and she misses you."

Although Nagini hadn't quite put it that way, but rather hissed a whole volley of ill-tempered and crude insults about Tom, for his lack of attention and interest in how she was faring.

Harry rather suspected that she wanted to smugly parade around her admirers for Tom's benefit. And he was sure that something like that wouldn't end well.

Tom didn't visit her, but certainly still felt that Nagini was his and he her master. And as possessive as Tom was with Nagini, if he heard or saw that she was mating… Well, Nagini obviously hadn't thought it through, because Harry was certain that Tom's reaction and the consequences for her wouldn't be good.

"Perhaps next term if I have the time," Tom retorted dismissively.

"Do what you like," said Harry crisply, before he turned heel and made his way to the door.

"Harry."

His brother's voice was quiet and hesitant, the latter so uncharacteristic that it made Harry halt with hand on doorknob as he glanced back at him. "What?"

Tom approached him until they were in front of each other. "We shouldn't be going to London."

Harry scowled fiercely at that. "You already went to see Headmaster Dippet –behind my back, I might add- to ask him if we could stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. And he said no. He won't bend the rules for you, and that's that."

"That only proves how much of a fool he is!" spat Tom, his face contorting with rage before he sneered contemptuously, "Even Dumbledore sees how risky it is!"

Coming back from the Headmaster's office, Tom had told him what had happened, clearly because he had been seething with fury at being refused, because Tom had certainly not told Harry about his intentions beforehand.

Indeed, Harry had felt most betrayed at his brother's attempt, since Tom knew how important it was for him to return to London, to be there for Alice's and Robert Hutchins' wedding.

Nevertheless, the point was that before entering the Headmaster's office, Tom had heard that Albus Dumbledore was with Dippet, in the midst of a heated argument with the Headmaster, apparently trying to convince Dippet that Hogwarts should remain open during the summer holidays and that students –muggleborns above all- should be allowed to remain.

From the smidgens of conversation that Tom had managed to eavesdrop, before the wizards had noticed that there was a student outside the door, it seemed that Dippet didn't want to incur in the costs that keeping Hogwarts opened and staffed represented, insisting that the Minister of Magic's measure of sending Aurors to patrol the corridors of the Hogwarts Express was enough to protect students till arriving to King's Cross Station and their parents.

"Harry," insisted Tom, his voice quiet and entreating once more in a visible restrain of his temper, "we shouldn't be going to London."

Harry gazed at him in silence.

It sometimes seemed to him that Tom was being as careful with him as Harry was being with Tom, both of them tiptoeing around each other. Though it had to be for vastly different reasons than Harry's, since it certainly wasn't Harry who had the mad scheme of becoming a Dark Lord.

So Harry didn't bloody well understand what Tom had to be anxious about regarding him. The gall of it all, as if Harry was the difficult and problematic one, who needed to be treated with a delicate touch!

"I'm going," he finally huffed out, glowering at him.

"Then I suppose I have no other choice," groused Tom crisply, his expression darkening, "but to go with you."

"I would like that," said Harry flatly. "Just as I would like for you to be in Alice's and Hutchins' wedding." His brother's face turned sour and then nasty at that, but Harry was quick to add waspishly, "But then again, we aren't joined by the hip, brother. You do whatever the hell you want."

* * *

"Harry!" someone was yelling, shaking him violently. "Wake up, you idiot!"

With a start, Harry jerked awake so suddenly that he nearly toppled out of his seat in the Hogwarts Express' compartment.

Rubbing his bleary eyes and regaining his balance, he placidly stretched as he yawned out, "Have we arrived?"

"Look, you fool!" spat Tom at him, who was standing in the middle of their compartment, pointing a finger at the window.

It was then when Harry noticed all the loud voices ringing in the train, the cries of distress, the wails of fear, the roars of Aurors.

"ALL STUDENTS REMAIN IN YOUR COMPARTMENTS!" some Auror boomed just then, as the rushing of feet outside in the corridor became increasingly louder.

Blinking, puzzled, Harry slid across the seats and took a peek through the window. His eyes flew wide and his face paled in an instant.

The train was reaching King's Cross Station, but the skyline was filled with smoke. He could see buildings blazing with fire, others crumbling, and the distant flashes of light and sounds of explosions, and cries of a city under attack.

"It began just now," Tom bit out, before he rounded on Harry like a seething rattlesnake. "I told you we should have gone anywhere else but London! I knew this would happen!"

Harry couldn't stop looking as he caught sight of the countless black blurs darting in the sky, and with green eyes enormous with fear, he choked under his breath in horror, "The Luftwaffe."

"Grindelwald is finally attacking England," snarled Tom like an irate beast, skewering Harry with his furious gaze. "And now, dear brother, what?"


	54. Part I: Chapter 53

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for the reviews! I only have something to clarify this time, since one of my Q&A of last chapter seems to have confused some. That Santi wants Harry as his lover doesn't mean that Harry will reciprocate. I still haven't decided on the final pairing for this fic –FYI, there's a poll about it in my YahooGroup if you want to put in your two cents.

Nevertheless, for those who just need to know, there is going to be Harry/Tom. When, how, for how long, etc, we'll see. But Harry/Tom will be the central relationship in this fic. If they will end up together in Part II or even till the very end as final pairing, that's another matter.

Oh, and I think someone asked again. Yes, this fic is going to be slash. It won the majority vote, by a staggering amount, in fact. So that's decided and there will be no turning back. I'm sorry to those who will feel disappointed or decide to drop the fic.

I hope this has helped ^^ Enjoy this chappie!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 53**

* * *

"We have to get off as quickly as possible!" said Harry anxiously as he jumped to his feet. "Take only the important stuff!"

Though looking very ill tempered, Tom nodded, and with his heart thundering in his chest, Harry wasted no time as he dragged his trunk out from under the seats, finding his satchel and hastily loading it with his diary, and with the gun and box of bullets he had gotten in Norway.

He glanced at all the rest – his clothes, his textbooks, his rolls of parchment and quills and other supplies- but there was nothing that couldn't be replaced, so he took nothing more.

Tom was doing likewise, though Harry noticed that his brother had many other things he refused to leave behind. Tom was stuffing his schoolbag with his countless pouches of galleons, along with Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks, to finally pocket his own journal and hang Tilly Toke's pendant around his neck – to which Harry gave a dirty look, as his brother tucked it under his shirt.

Hearing a high-pitched meow, Harry slammed his trunk shut and swiftly took hold of the basket atop a seat, opening it hurriedly.

"Quick!" he urged frantically, as Ulysses came jumping out of it and into his arms.

In a few moments, he had his Scorcrup safely ensconced under his jersey, leaving Ulysses' head poking out from his collar –so reminiscent of their days in Norway that it made Harry blanch.

Meanwhile, Tom opened the cage of his owl. Lord Horkos let out a shrill, irritated hoot, and batted his enormous black wings as he finally settled on Tom's shoulder with his large, sharp talons.

The wails and shrieks of fear of students reached an unbearable crescendo as the Hogwarts Express's wheels came to a screeching halt, so abruptly that it flung Harry and Tom against one side of their compartment.

"We've arrived!" bit out Tom as he regained his balance and swung the strap of his heavy schoolbag across his chest, as Harry did likewise with his much lighter satchel. "Let's go!"

They soon saw that it was pandemonium in the corridor of their train wagon. All hell seemed to have broken loose, as distressed parents in Platform Four-and-Three-Quarters began yelling and urging their children to run to them, as students in the train began to attempt to get off, many stupidly dragging their trunks and cluttering the corridor, others just rushing as best they could, or even climbing out of their compartment windows and into the awaiting arms of fathers and mothers.

"Leave your possessions behind!" barked the voice of some Auror, sounding irritated as well as frazzled and hurried. "Descend in an orderly fashion!"

Though no one seemed to be paying him much attention as all students shrieked and cried out and tried to climb over each other just to reach the exit of the wagon.

"Move!" snarled Tom as he forcefully pushed others out of his way, and who didn't seem to mind stepping on hands, feet, legs, or even heads.

For once, Harry said nothing as he hurriedly followed his brother through the press of people, having to jump over several trunks obstructing the path.

When they finally stepped out into the Platform, it was mayhem, with panicked parents taking their children away in Side-Along Apparitions, the Aurors helping the mothers or fathers of muggleborns, creating portkeys in the spot, out of buttons or anything else they could instantly get their hands on, while Harry noticed others who seemed to have been fully prepared for the occasion.

Indeed, he caught sight of that barmy old wizard who had tried to beat him and Tom with his walking stick. Maximillian Malfoy looked utterly unruffled, donned in rich wizarding robes with a red bloom of the Egeriana Rose on his lapels, his lips curled contemptuously as he gazed at all the hysteric parents.

Until, that was, the old wizard flung out his cane, and barked, "Abraxas!"

The boy was standing right next to the old wizard, apparently having been one of the few students that had managed to be the first to get off the train. But just then, the boy's roving silvery eyes halted and locked with Harry's, as if Malfoy had been looking for him.

'See you soon' mouthed Abraxas, shooting him a wide smirk as he clutched his grandfather's cane, and then vanished.

It left Harry frowning as he followed his brother through the crowd of frenetic families, those fleeing, or going around searching and shouting names in order to be reunited with their children as swiftly as possible.

"HARRY!" someone cried out, sounding deeply anxious and desperate.

Instantly recognizing the voice, Harry halted and swirled around, his eyes widening when he caught a brief glimpse of the Blacks through the mass of people: looking very calm, Castor Black and wife, with their children, Orion and Lucretia, side by side with Pollux Black who was holding up a porcelain figurine that was being grabbed by Cygnus, Walburga, and Alphard.

But it was Alphard who was staring right at Harry with huge, frantic grey eyes, one hand on portkey, the other stretched out, as if imagining he could make his arm cross the distance and take a hold of Harry to pull him along into the journey.

"Harry!" yelled the boy again in distress, and for a moment looked as if he was about to break free from parents and portkey to reach him, though his older brother Cygnus snarled something and violently grabbed Alphard, just as the figurine blazed blue.

In the next second, all Blacks had disappeared, leaving Harry rooted in place, his mind spinning, because it was obvious to him that the Black men had been prepared, that they had known beforehand, because they were, after all -and he should never forget- Grindelwald's supporters in England.

"What are you doing!"

Harry blinked and found himself staring up at Tom's enraged face, who had apparently noticed that Harry had lagged behind and had turned back to find him.

"Move, you idiot!" spat Tom as he violently pushed him ahead and then grabbed his hand to break into a sprint.

Shoving, and panting, and bowling through the crowd, they finally ran into the wall that led them right into the muggle part of King's Cross Station.

If Harry had thought that the platform of the Hogwarts Express had been in full chaos, it paled in comparison with the rest of the train station. There were muggles everywhere, in a state of outright panic, rushing in all directions, like a disturbed anthill.

And no wonder that, because the very walls of the station were shaking and the floors trembling, with dust and bits falling from the ceiling every time a distant blast of bomb sounded and echoed, and reverberated, shaking the world with each strike, it felt like.

"Alice! Hutchins!" yelled Harry over the cacophony of screams and cries and the sounds of explosions, as he finally gathered back his wits.

After all, in her latest letter, Alice had said that they would be picking them up in Hutchins' motorwagon.

Thus, Harry became the one who led now, as he tugged Tom along and rushed to make his way to the street outside.

When he finally halted in the sidewalk in front of the train station, his green eyes widened in horror at what he saw. Having had a glimpse from the windows of the Hogwarts Express was nothing like being right in the middle of it.

London seemed to be ablaze, the sky illuminated with glows of orange light, as it filled with smoke, as buildings all around were bombarded, as many crumbled, while people in the streets were running like headless chickens, some looking disoriented and shell-shocked, others screaming with arms over their heads as they attempted to find some shelter.

All the noise was nearly deafening, accentuated by the city's sirens that were baying that constant, caterwauling sound.

"Where are they?" spat Tom irately, as he rounded on Harry as though Alice's and Hutchins' tardiness was somehow his fault.

Though at that, Harry glanced at the streets again, frowning, because he saw that there wasn't much traffic to speak of. He saw a couple of motorcars and a double-decker bus that had been left in the middle of the road, though there were some other vehicles that were trying to dodge all the obstacles to pass through and make a hasty escape out of town.

"Give them time!" snapped Harry sharply, as he pointed at the street. "Can't be easy to drive through all that."

Tom glowered at him but remained silent as they both stood closer together under the ledge of the train station's roof, which at least kept debris from falling down on them.

"What's making all that racket!" suddenly hissed out Tom looking vastly irritated, as he turned around with searching, narrowed eyes.

"It's the sirens," muttered Harry with a heavy sigh, rubbing his ringing ears.

"It's something else," snapped Tom angrily. "Like a howling cat-"

"Oh," breathed out Harry as he caught sight of someone.

A girl in Ravenclaw uniform, not very far from them, was standing by the curb of the sidewalk as if she was also waiting for someone. Though she was hugging a lamppost, shrieking and wailing and sobbing at the top of her lungs, looking terrified and in hysterics.

"Oi! Moaning My- er, Myrtle!" Harry quickly amended as he called out and began to run towards her.

He heard his brother furiously hissing something, yet it was then followed by the sound of footfalls rushing after him.

Harry halted before the girl and shook her gently. "Myrtle – what are you doing here?"

The Ravenclaw didn't seem to hear or notice him, she kept wailing and yowling, hugging the lamppost tighter at every sound of blasts and explosions, as though she wished she could climb to its top and thus be safe from it all.

"Myrtle!" yelled Harry, as he grabbed her forcefully and gave her a very rough shake.

For a moment, she paused in her shrieks, blinking owlishly at him through her thick eyeglasses. "I know you." The next second, Myrtle furiously scowled at him as she screeched, "You're Harry Riddle – the boy who promised to be my friend and then ignored me!"

Wholly overlooking that last bit, Harry pressed urgently, "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my dad!" Myrtle bawled in a shrill voice. "Daddy always comes with his chauffeur to take me home-"

"We cannot stay here!" hissed out Tom, who had merely spared the girl a revolted and disdainful look before he rounded on Harry. He glared at him as he gestured sharply at the train station behind them. "It's the most important station in London, do you think the German airplanes will not target it?"

Knowing his brother had a point, Harry swallowed thickly. Yet then he shook his head and said distressed, "But Alice and Hutchins-"

"Perhaps they are not coming," snapped Tom ill temperedly. "Perhaps they decided to stay put until the air raid is over, you halfwit!"

Harry stared at his brother. Tom could be absolutely right, after all. If the bombings had begun before Alice and Hutchins could leave the orphanage, they could have chosen to wait it out. Harry didn't expect them to risk their lives just to come pick them up. Furthermore, the muggles knew that he and Tom could manage on their own, that they could find some shelter or other and wait until it was all over.

Just then, as if to prove Tom's point, an explosion went off very nearby.

Indeed, both Harry and Tom instinctually ducked for cover as they were pelted by debris, a cloud of dust and smoke engulfing them, making them hack and cough, just as Myrtle let out a terrified wail.

"The Germans are coming!" she shrieked in an earsplitting high-pitch filled with mindless fear, as she hugged the lamppost tighter and then began sobbing and sneezing and howling, "I want to go home! I want to go home!"

As the dust settled and the smoke cleared in billowing puffs that rose to the skies, Harry caught a glimpse of something one block away. A corner of a street, lined with large brown sacks, one on top of the other as if forming a protective wall.

Harry's eyes widened in realization, remembering what the caregiver Magda had explained the last time they had seen her.

"Look, Tom!" said Harry as he pointed in its direction. "I think-" he squinted hard "- it's a tube station. It must be one of those serving as air raid shelters in cases of emergency!"

"Let's go!" Tom didn't waste a single second as he began running towards it, with Lord Horkos flying above his head, though Harry hesitated, glancing back at the Ravenclaw.

"Myrtle," he said urgently, as he grabbed a sleeve of her school robes and tugged. "You have to come with us. It's not safe here-"

"I want to go home!" she screeched back at him, sniffling in between a sob, and then glaring and scowling. "I must wait for Dad!"

"You can use my brother's owl to write to your father once we're somewhere safe," offered Harry with impatience and exasperation. "You can tell him where you are so that he can-"

"No! I have to wait," Myrtle wailed in a moaning, terrified voice, her face white as she clutched and frantically gripped her lamppost. "My dad will come!"

"HARRY!"

Harry's scar blazed with stabbing pain, his eyes watering, as he caught sight of Tom, standing in the middle of the road, far ahead, looking enraged.

"Leave her and come at once, you fool!" bellowed Tom across the distance, with Lord Horkos anxiously fluttering above one of his shoulders.

Harry turned to Myrtle, and bit out flatly, "Fine. Suit yourself then."

He immediately turned heel and rushed towards his brother, but he had barely given two leaps when he heard Myrtle's voice yowling, "Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!"

Harry swirled around and yelled with frustration, "Then come with me!"

Myrtle swallowed thickly, and seemed to be gathering as much courage as she could muster as she slowly disentangled herself from the lamppost. To their misfortune, a deafening blast exploded and reverberated just then, making the girl stop in her tracks, as if paralyzed and unable to move, as she began weeping once more.

Harry heard his brother roaring something or other, Tom's fury evident by the way his scar began to flare and throb even more painfully than before, but he ignored it as he ran back to Myrtle and briskly pulled her up, and he kept pulling and tugging forcefully, taking her along with him as they made a mad dash towards Tom and the tube station.

It wasn't easy, every sound seemed to make Myrtle freeze, and she stumbled and lagged, and made a complete nuisance of herself by wailing and bawling incessantly.

However, Harry was determined, and violently dragged her along, passing by Tom, and snapping irritably given the murderous glare he was shot, "I couldn't bloody well leave her behind!"

Tom didn't appreciate the sentiment and viciously glowered at him, before hastening towards the street corner buttressed with the sacks of sand.

As they approached it, Harry saw that it was indeed a tube station, and they swiftly descended the stairs. He could hear panicked and terrified whispers and voices coming from the underground, though they soon had to halt when they were faced with a locked gate impeding their path.

"Is someone there?" bellowed Harry through the entryway barrier. "Let us in!"

It took a moment before a set of approaching footfalls reached their ears, along with a beam of a flashlight and the sound of jingling keys.

"Who goes there?" demanded a stern, grave voice, before Harry was blinded by the light that was focused on his face.

He heard Tom hissing when the flashlight was turned to him, but at least it gave Harry a chance to glimpse the man standing at the other side of the railings: obviously a muggle, and clearly a policeman, given the man's peaked helmet and black uniform. He had a key chain dangling from his belt, the ring filled with all sorts of keys of every shape and metal, added to a sheathed baton.

"State yer allegiance!" barked the muggle, looking at them very suspiciously as he pointed the beam of his flashlight from one to the other.

Harry gaped at him incredulously at that, before he snapped, highly vexed, "We're British of course! What, did you expect a couple of Germans who had just fallen from the skies, you idiot!"

Bristling, the muggle glared at him, as he spat, "Ye could be. Might be expectin' Jerry to invade us at any mo', mightn't we?" His eyes narrowed to slits and his flashlight roved over them, halting at their school robes. "What's that ye're wearing?" His expression turned puzzled and then darkened, as he spit out, "And what're those?"

Harry understood the man's meaning when Ulysses meowed in pain as the flashlight bore on him, the blinding beam then turning to Lork Horkos who began menacingly batting his enormous black wings from his position at Tom's shoulder.

"Do we look like Nazis to you?" hissed out Tom, his expression so dark, ominous, and stark, that it was frightening. "We're just children, with pets. Let us pass!"

The muggle, clearly the daftest policeman in London, harrumphed under his breath, until he grumbled peevishly, "Had to make sure." He shot them a glower as he stepped closer to the lock of the gate and began perusing his set of keys. "Can't just let anyone in."

Finally, the gates were opened with a squeaking noise, and they wasted no time as they rushed into the underground.

Myrtle's sobs had subsided to sniffles and hiccups and some soft wails now and then, but Harry dropped her hand and paid her no attention as they finally reached the platform of the tube station.

There were countless of people there, huddled against the walls, seated on the dirty floors: families trying to soothe crying children, couples hugging each other, maids in uniform with grocery bags, old women whispering and bemoaning to each other. All of them with terrified expressions on their faces, their gazes more often than not pinned on the ceiling, as the muffled sounds of the bombings above rang and echoed in the dimly lit and cavernous space.

Every blast made the tiled walls and floor tremble, every explosion on the city above made the ceiling shake, dust falling down on them. To such point that Harry's black hair looked as if it was grey with litter, and it all made him very wary.

When the policeman came back from securing the gate, Harry immediately reached him.

"Say," he said in apprehension, as he pointed at one spot on the ceiling, "was that crack there before?"

The muggle looked up briefly, before he scowled at him, and briskly waved a hand dismissively as he bit out, "Haven't the foggiest."

Harry nibbled his bottom lip before he dashed back to Tom, gripping one of his brother's arms tightly as he whispered uneasily, "I don't think we should stay here."

Tom skewered him with a poisonous glare. "This was your idea. And we have no other place to go."

"We should try make it to the orphanage," began Harry firmly, to be instantly interrupted by a snide scoff from his brother.

"The orphanage is the safest place in London," snapped Harry impatiently, scowling at him. He lowered his voice as he added sharply, "Remember the anti-muggle weapon wards that Marchbanks made his Unspeakables and those American wizards cast at Hogwarts after the destruction of Leisure Alley? The Daily Prophet said back then that those wards had also been placed in every wizarding home, including those of muggleborns. We've got to trust that the Ministry didn't forget about our orphanage-"

"Of course I remember," bit out Tom caustically, "and I know all that." He shot him a very withering, dark look. "But how do you propose that we get to the orphanage, you twit! We cannot go outside."

An idea sparking in his mind, Harry searchingly gazed around, until he suddenly grinned. He clutched his brother's arm and instantly pulled him along until they stood before a wall of the station, displaying the map of London's Underground behind a pane of glass.

Sliding a finger across the glass, following one of the colored lines depicted, Harry murmured under his breath, "See this one? Its last station is close to our neighborhood." He cocked his head to a side, thinking fast and hard as he stared at the name and the address implied. "What could it be – four or five streets from our orphanage? Give or take?"

"Yes," said Tom grudgingly, clearly realizing Harry's intentions. He gave him a narrowed-eyed, considering look, before he nodded sharply. "Very well."

Harry beamed at him, feeling mightily relieved and reassured, before he dashed back to the policeman.

The muggle looked vastly annoyed and sour-faced as Harry came to halt before him, asking quickly, "Are the tube trains operating?"

"No," said the policeman crossly. "Had to shut 'em all down when the bombings began. They'll be back and running by 'morrow-"

"Do you have another flashlight?" interrupted Harry in the most innocent tone of voice he could muster.

The muggle frowned at him, before he mutely shook his head.

"I'll be borrowing yours, then," said Harry, instantly swiping it from the man's hand as he turned tail and scampered away as fast as his feet could carry him, leaving the muggle behind –blinking, clearly so startled and incredulous that he was unable to react at first.

Tom was already rushing ahead, and Harry only paused for a second as he reached the encased map of the Underground. Using the butt of the flashlight, he slammed it against the glass pane, which cracked and broke in a second as Harry thrust his hand forward and ripped out the map.

He did it so hastily that it tore, and part of it was left dangling behind, but as he ran, Harry glimpsed briefly at the paper in his hand, seeing that it depicted the part that they would be needing to find their way.

"Vandals! Thieves!" roared the policeman in an outraged voice, apparently jolted out of his stupefaction to then begin chasing after Harry. "Stop 'em! Someone stop 'em!"

"Harry – wait!" cried out a hysterical, wailing voice. "Wait! Where are you going!"

Having forgotten about her, Harry yelled over his shoulder without halting his mad dash towards the tracks, unto which Tom had already jumped down, "Follow us, Myrtle – quick! Run!"

"Ye can't go in there! It's dangerous!"

Harry paid the muggle no mind, since if the tube trains weren't working he had nothing to worry about. The other people huddled against the walls of the platform gasped or stared but didn't move a muscle, so his path was unobstructed as he finally reached the very end and took a big leap from the platform.

His landing was hard and painful, making his feet ache, his knees nearly wobbling from the strain, as he gritted his teeth and regained his balance, but at least he hadn't crashed into the thick, metal tracks themselves.

"HARRY!" shrieked Myrtle's voice, sounding panicked.

Harry spun around and looked up. He could barely see anything but feet on the platform, one set rushing towards the end where he was, the other giving chase.

"Tom, catch!" Harry shouted as he tossed the flashlight to his brother, before he yelled urgently, "Come, Myrtle, jump – I'll catch you!"

"I can't!" came the terrified wail.

"Leave her!" snarled Tom like a wild beast, already using the flashlight to illuminate and dispel some of the darkness creeping deep into the tunnel.

"Jump, Myrtle, now! I won't wait!" roared Harry, as he spread his arms in hopeful preparation and set his feet wide apart to best withstand a heavy impact.

There was a sob of panic and fear, and then a high-pitched shriek as Harry at last saw Myrtle hurtling herself through the air, her bespectacled eyes scrunched shut as she kept screeching in midair. In the last second, Harry thankfully readjusted his position to be able to catch her, and he did.

Though the unexpected force of the weight that slammed into him made him topple over, arms wrapped around the girl as they fell down, with him serving as the cushion - which he hadn't counted on.

Harry let out a gasp of pain as his back hit one of the tracks, feeling as if he might have broken something. It didn't help that Myrtle was desperately clutching at him, at his arms and chest and neck, barely leaving him able to breathe. Not to mention poor Ulysses who had certainly been a bit squashed.

"Geroff!" Harry snapped, shoving her away, even making her bawl and weep in hysterics, but he paid it no mind as he painfully got up to his feet.

His back ached terribly, and he was certainly bruised all over, but at least he didn't seem to have sustained any serious injuries – the satchel strapped across his torso had evidently buffered his fall quite a bit.

He then checked on his Scorcrup immediately, giving him a soothing scratch between the small black ears, and thankfully Ulysses licked him, letting him know all was well.

"Stop!" bellowed the policeman, now not sounding furious but highly troubled and concerned, as he halted at the very end of the platform and stared down at them. "Ye can't go into the tunnels –it ain't safe! Come back up!"

"Get moving!" urged Harry at Myrtle, as he pushed her ahead.

They had barely entered the tunnel, leaving the platform and shouting policeman behind, when Myrtle flopped down on the ground between the tracks, sobbing despondently.

She seemed to be too lost in her own fears to pay any head when Harry began to tug on her, as she kept shrieking over and over, "We should go back - the policeman is right!"

Harry shot his brother a frustrated look. "Help me!"

"I'm not taking care of her," hissed out Tom virulently, shooting him a murderous look. "You shouldn't have brought her with us, to begin with."

"I don't want to go into the tunnels!" Myrtle wailed at the top of her lungs.

"You're free to go back if so you wish," snarled Tom viciously, hatefully glaring at the girl. "If not, keep quiet!"

Myrtle yowled like a wounded animal. "Why are we here? I want to go back! I want my daddy!"

Letting out a deep-suffering sigh, Harry crouched before her, and intoned gently as he grabbed her hands between his own, "Myrtle, this is the only way that we can get to our house. And our house will be warded, it will be safe." He gestured at the platform they had left behind. "We couldn't stay there because, well… we don't think it was that safe."

Sobbing, Myrtle squinted at him through her thick eyeglasses. "The policeman said-"

"Harry."

Harry snapped his head around to look at his brother. Tom looked tense, an expression of concentration and alertness on his face, a gleam of uneasiness in his eyes. It was then when Harry heard it too, a distant cracking sound accompanied by the noise of something beginning to crumble.

"The tube station," said Tom quietly, his gaze pinned on what little they could see of it. "I think – Run!"

Harry didn't think about it twice and did just so, grabbing Myrtle's hand and violently pulling her along and sprinting as he had never run before, because the noises seemed to explode into a cacophony of them, of screams and shrieks and crashing things, and their tunnel was soon filled with clouds of dust and debris and everything seemed to be shaking.

Tom lead the way with the flashlight, with Lord Horkos flying way ahead as if their survival depended on it, with Ulysses hissing in distress under Harry's chin, with Myrtle wailing at the top of her lungs, with all of them choking and sneezing and hacking as the air became so filled with particles of dirt and dust and litter that their eyes prickled and burned and their lungs felt as if they were clogged and smothering.

And then, there was silence, and the darkness of their tunnel, and the grimy ground that had stopped quaking.

Harry coughed and coughed, as the air slowly cleared, as he dropped Myrtle's hand and bend over to clutch his knees, feeling as if his lungs were about to burst out of his mouth.

"It collapsed!" wheezed out Myrtle, bawling and crying in a high-pitch.

Harry glanced backwards, his heart thundering wildly, his chest aching, his hands trembling and his throat constricting so bad that he choked on his own tongue. Because he had seen that crack in the tube station's ceiling, but had only thought of getting Tom out of there as fast as possible.

Because he had realized that there was a remote possibility that a tube station that hadn't been designed to serve as an air raid bunker could cave in, but he hadn't thought about alerting all those people who had been huddled there for protection. He had thought of no one but themselves, and now, given the absolute silence in the distance-

"No," bit out Tom, gazing down at him with a dark expression on his face. "It's not your fault, you fool! And we are not going back in search of survivors. We have our own lives to think of!" He gestured angrily at the ceiling of the tunnel. "If the tube station didn't withstand the bombings of the streets above, the tunnel might not as well. We must make haste!"

Harry swallowed thickly, but jerkily nodded his head, as he then held up the crumbled piece of paper that had been crushed in his hand. "Here."

Tom took the map of the Underground and wasted no time as he lit it with the flashlight, his dark blue eyes roving over it.

"Follow me," he then said sharply, as he began running with flashlight in one hand and map in the other, and Harry was instantly at his heels.

* * *

It felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than two hours, as they rushed through the Underground tunnels with Tom leading the way, with Harry having to halt and sometimes go back for Myrtle to grab her hand and make her run faster, to help her from tripping or just simply giving up and dissolving into a sea of wails and tears and panicked shrieks.

"We would go much faster without her!" Tom had snarled at him at one point, looking so thoroughly fed-up and aggravated that Harry's scar hadn't stopped hurting.

Harry could say nothing to that, because his brother was right but nonetheless he wasn't about to abandon the girl in the middle of some dark tunnel in the bowels of London.

It wasn't easy when they passed by other tube stations, with people clearly preparing themselves to stay overnight, using their clothes to pillow the floor of their platform, all snuggled together in groups.

In those occasions, Tom and Harry had to be very careful, crouching and ducking as they moved forward, pressed under the ledge of the platform so that no one would see a couple of children in the tracks. They didn't want to be halted, after all.

It was then when Harry had to forcefully drag Myrtle along, with hand pressed against her mouth because she seemed unable to stay quiet, always wailing and crying as she was.

They had even encountered an abandoned tube train in one of the tunnels, the conductor clearly having left it behind long ago when the German air raid had begun - begun and never ended.

Not five minutes passed by when the walls and ceiling of the tunnels didn't vibrate, when the ground shook and trembled, when dust and bits of debris rained down on them, as they heard the muffled sounds of explosions coming from the surface, the noise and impact of buildings crumbling.

Myrtle always jumped and shrieked each time, not allowing Harry to even try to not think about what was happening in the city above.

Yet, they had been lucky so far. They had not encountered another train station or tunnel that had collapsed in its entirety, thus they didn't find their way obstructed by anything impassable.

At present, though, they stood before a bifurcation of their last tunnel, the encroaching darkness feeling oppressive, Tom's flashlight nearly having run out of battery, the beam of light now very dim and small.

Myrtle was wailing and hopping from one foot to the other. A flood of rats seemed to have come out of nowhere, and they had found themselves surrounded by the fleeing rodents as they had to halt before the branching tunnel.

Screeching and bawling with disgust, horror, and fear, Myrtle had even tried to climb on Harry, apparently wanting him to give her a piggyback ride for the duration of their journey, to be spared from the rats.

For the sake of their abused eardrums, Harry would have been more than happy to oblige the girl just to get her to shut up, but he felt exhausted, every muscle and joint aching, every bruise on his body throbbing.

Harry himself didn't like rats much, but there was little he could do about it, except urge his brother to make haste.

"So?" muttered Harry quietly with a frazzled, weary sigh. "Which one is it?"

Tom was studying the map of the Underground with an irked expression on his face, looking hesitant as he now and then glanced at the two tunnels before them.

"It's missing a bit," Tom bit out churlishly, pointedly waving the torn map. "The last bit." He shot Harry a vexed glance, as he then gestured at the bifurcation. "I don't know which one we should take."

Harry gazed at him pensively, before he said slowly, "Remember what Old John Bryce used to say?" He glanced around at the floods of fleeing rodents. " 'When in doubt, always follow the rats, they're smarter than people'."

"He referred to the trenches," pointed out Tom acerbically.

"Same applies here, I dare say!" snapped Harry gruffly.

Tom shot him a long, considering look. "True." He sneered snidely as he added venomously, "The critters are certainly cleverer than muggles, and have good survival instincts. We'll follow them, then."

"What?" shrieked Myrtle in a shrill, high-pitch.

The last stretch of tunnel became an arduous, taxing ordeal, Myrtle's cries and bawls at any rat that came too close becoming unbearable. Only Tom looked completely unruffled as they made their way through the tunnel chosen as an exit by the rodents.

It could have something to do with the fact that Lord Horkos was taking full advantage of the situation, having a jolly good time in hunting rats, swooping down and picking them up with his beak, to then tear apart with his large talons to finally gobble them down. The bloody owl was having a feast of it.

Tom, not looking at all fazed by any of it, watched his owl hunting rats with a gleam of indulgent approval and appreciation in his eyes and an air of magnanimously allowing his pet a special treat.

Regardless, after following the end of the rats' chosen tunnel, they soon reached the last station of the line. The people having taken shelter there gawked and stared when three weirdly dressed children, with even weirder pets, climbed out of the tracks, covered in grime and dust.

Well, Tom climbed out first, being taller and thus the matter being less strenuous for him, and then helping Harry out, because he certainly didn't lift a finger to aid Myrtle. That, as always, was left to Harry.

There was no policeman in that tube station, no closed gates either, and no muggles halted them or even seemed to care when they finally ran towards the exit stairs.

As soon as Harry stepped unto the streets, he glanced around in puzzlement. He felt utterly disoriented, nothing looking familiar to him.

The streets were completely deserted now, not even cockroaches seemed to dare to come out of their hiding places. He saw many buildings on fire that no one was putting out, and many houses that had their windows boarded up, with no lights glowing from within.

Apparently, those who had basements, were in it, and it seemed the government must have issued a Blackout by radio, since even the lampposts on the streets were not lit - clearly with the intention of making matters harder for the airplanes that Harry saw zooming in the skies.

Though he had a hard task in guessing if they were all of the Luftwaffe. Clouds of smoke had turned everything foggy and grey, and at times Harry couldn't tell if there were airplanes of the British Royal Air Force trying to battle the Germans away from the London sky, or not.

In fact, Harry couldn't even tell if it was nightfall. Everything certainly seemed to be dark, still, and silent, except for the occasional distant sound of some bomb being dropped somewhere in London and the glow of fires in the horizon.

"Where do you reckon we are?" mumbled Harry, feeling a frisson of distress as he kept shooting his surroundings apprehensive looks.

"About three or four blocks from our neighborhood," stated Tom quietly, sounding very sure of himself.

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "Really?" He then beamed at him, feeling profoundly joyful. "Then Old John was right about the rats, wasn't he?"

Tom grunted noncommittally, but Harry was soon grasping his hand, and Myrtle's –in her case more forcefully- to then rush forwards with a spring of happiness in his bounds and leaps.

"Come, Tom," said Harry excitedly. "I can't wait to see Alice and Hutchins! Show the way!"

When they finally reached their neighborhood, Harry released a mighty exhalation of sheer relief.

It didn't look as if it had been targeted by the Germans, and as they approached the orphanage, he saw it glowing with that lattice that looked as if made of cords of fire. Like what he always saw in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade after Gravius Marchbanks' Unspeakables had cast and woven the newly invented magical ward that repelled bombs, and supposedly all other kinds of muggle weaponry.

To his surprise, he could even see the ward they had known that Dumbledore had cast on their orphanage. Not so dim and transparent as once before, when Harry had barely been able to get a glimpse of its runes from time to time. Now, it glowed beautifully, white and strong, under the newer set of wards.

"My ability has grown stronger," mumbled Harry under his breath in awe and wonder.

Tom shot him a narrowed-eyed glance. "Said something?"

"It has Marchbanks' wards," Harry instantly informed him with a wide, satisfied grin.

Tom stared at him, before he nodded his head, though his expression was sour as he bit out snidely, "Good. At least it can offer us protection."

Ignoring his brother's stark mood, Harry began to hastily and enthusiastically approach the gates of the orphanage. He saw no light glowing through the curtains of the windows, but then again, Mrs. Cole and Alice and Hutchins and all the children had to be in the basement, as they always did when the sirens blared. And for even more reason now that it had not been a false alarm.

"What's that?"

Harry whipped around, thinking Myrtle was asking something regarding him, but he saw her instead staring at Tom's chest.

He realized what had happened in the next second, as he saw that Tilly Toke's pendant had at some point popped out of Tom's shirt. Myrtle was staring at the symbol inscribed in it with a curious expression on her face – the Dark Lord's mark, to those who knew about it. The Peverell coat of arms to Harry, who knew the truth, as puzzling and nonsensical as it was.

"None of your business," sneered Tom acidly as he swiftly tucked the pendant back under his clothes, glaring poisonously at her.

The Ravenclaw's expression soured, looking about to shriek or wail at the rough treatment, but then she sniffed and turned around to stare at their home, a frown and then a look of distaste on her face, surely due to its shabbiness.

"Saint Jerome's Orphanage," Myrtle then read aloud, staring at the wrought-iron sign in the gates. The unpleasant expression on her face vanished, as she owlishly peered and blinked at them through her thick spectacles, a look of utter surprise transforming into relishing, gossipy curiosity on her plain face. "You're orphans?"

"If you ever say a word about anything you've seen or heard," hissed out Tom in a very low, vicious tone of voice, his face darkening with menace, as he took a step closer to her, looming, "I'll make sure you rue the day your mother begot you-"

"He means to kill me!" shrieked Myrtle instantly, her bespectacled eyes growing wide as she then let out an earsplitting wail.

Harry winced at the sound, his ears ringing painfully, no matter how he thought he should have gotten used to it by then. He shot Tom a dirty look, filled with vexed scolding, before he gave a deep sigh.

He finally approached the bawling girl, soothingly patting her on the back. "There, there… It was just a joke. My brother has a bit of a twisted sense of humor –always saying such nonsense!" He let out a fake bout of chuckles. "But he is harmless. See?"

Demonstratively, Harry brought up a hand and patted Tom's cheek, and then found himself grinning and enjoying the situation as Tom shot him a withering, murderous look that could have curdled milk.

"He's nasty and mean!" yowled Myrtle at the top of her lungs, shooting Tom evil-eyed looks. "I don't like him!"

"Yeah, well," said Harry in a martyrized tone of voice, "try being his brother."

Sniffling, Myrtle stared at him, and then finally went quiet as she gazed at him pityingly, though there was a spark in her eyes that revealed that she quite enjoyed having him on her side, and foremost, learning such juicy bits of information.

"Enough!" snarled Tom, looking very ill-tempered, glaring from one to the other and apparently not at all pleased with the two of them ganging up on him. "Move!"

Harry was shoved forward so briskly that he nearly tripped over the stairs, but then he was jumping and leaping, taking two steps at a time, before he joyfully pounded on the door.

"It's Harry and Tom!" he declared happily as he kept pounding. "Let us in!"

It took a while, as he kept repeating and shouting, before the door was opened a crack, a sliver of Kathy Cole's face peeking out. The woman's eyes grew wide with sheer relief at the sight of them as she then parted the door wide open.

"Oh thank the Lord!" Mrs. Cole breathed out as she hurried them into the house, looking thoroughly frazzled and disheveled. "I was so worried!" She paused as her gaze fell on Myrtle, blinking. "Who's this?"

"A friend from boarding school," said Harry coolly as he crouched down on the floor to let Ulysses spring out from his clothes, the Scorcrup looking mightily relieved to be on solid grounds that didn't shake, for a change. "She'll only be staying until her father comes to fetch her."

"Oh," muttered Mrs. Cole still looking a bit nonplussed, "that's alright, I suppose." She shook her head, as she then urged pressingly, herding them towards the stairs at the end of the hallway, "Hurry, we're all staying in the basement for the time being."

Harry happily went along, dying to see everyone after what felt like ages, and specially prepared to do some tight hugging and giving his heart-felt, jubilant congratulations for the upcoming wedding.

"Alice! Mr. Hutchins! Be quick with the boys' trunks, will you?" hollered Mrs. Cole over her shoulder as she moved them along.

Harry froze on his tracks at that, so abruptly that Mrs. Cole, who had been hurrying behind him, nearly tripped over him.

"What?" croaked Harry, all color draining from his face as he stared up at her. "What did you say?"

"Move along, boy!" snapped Mrs. Cole impatiently. "It's not safe here-"

"What did you say!" roared Harry at the top of his lungs, feeling as if he was about to be sick, as he noticed that Kathy had not closed the front door, as if expecting more people to come inside, as if…

Harry instantly grasped the woman's apron with trembling fists, shaking her roughly, dreading the worst as he yelled in full panic, "WHERE ARE THEY?"

Mrs. Cole, looking utterly startled at his outburst, blinked at him. "Where are who?"

"Alice and Hutchins!" shouted Harry desperately, so frantic, so unbearably anxious that he suddenly felt he couldn't breathe, his breathing becoming laborious, ragged pants.

"What do you mean, Harry? They are with you," Mrs. Cole said flatly, before she glanced back towards the opened front door, before she seemed to realize what was amiss. She instantly whipped around to stare at him, as the realization dawned on her, her face so pale that she looked about to faint, as she whispered tremulously, "You came on your own."

"Yes!" bit out Harry, giving her another violent, demanding shake. "So where are _they_?"

"They left," mumbled Kathy Cole weakly, her face turning alarmingly white. "I told them to wait – the sirens were blaring, we heard the first bombings- but they would not hear a word about it. They were worried. They didn't want you waiting for them in King's Cross Station. They took the motorwagon and…"

The woman abruptly swayed where she stood, but Harry took no notice.

Like a flash, he was out the front door before anyone had the chance to react, with the beating of his heart thundering in his ears, the rush in his blood pulsing as if about to burst.

Distantly, he heard Myrtle shrieking and wailing, he heard Tom's furious yells, and then two sets of footfalls giving chase after him, but he didn't stop.

It all seemed to blur, the streets and houses, as Harry hurtled forwards, because he knew the route Hutchins always took to reach King's Cross Station. He knew it by heart, so he would find them and they would all be well.

And then, suddenly, as he took a turn around a corner, he distinctly saw it: Hutchins' motorwagon at the left side of the road, right beside a building that had been clearly bombed, as crumbled and in ruins as it was. But one chunk had fallen down on the motorwagon, Harry saw clearly as he reached it – had smashed into it, leaving the vehicle's roof horribly indented and crushed, as if a Giant had stepped on it.

He saw metal chunks twisted, the driver's door so deformed by the impact that the whole vehicle was barely recognizable as such. But then, Harry halted, right by his side: Robert Hutchins was laying on the motorwagon's hood, half the man's body having gone through the windshield. The lacerations and cuts on the muggle's body were countless, the face so badly wounded that the features looked distorted, but none of the injuries were bleeding anymore.

Feeling as though he was in some foggy, slow-motion nightmare, with his breath hitching in his throat, Harry checked for a pulse with shaking fingers. There was none, as much as he frenziedly left the man's neck to check on one wrist. Still nothing, not even a faint fluttering.

"He's dead," he heard Tom's voice stating coldly, as it seemed that his brother had finally caught up with him. Vaguely, he realized that Myrtle was also there, panting hard, recovering her breath to then suddenly fall silent.

Harry swallowed thickly, as though he had a tennis ball stuck in his throat that refused to go down. He shook his head, and finally sucked one of his fingers to then pose it under Robert Hutchins' mangled nose. Not the slightest hint of air caressed the moist on his finger, and Harry dropped his hand.

"Who are they?" wailed Myrtle, sounding both horrified and terrified. "I don't like dead people!"

"Don't you ever remain quiet, you stupid girl!" hissed out Tom virulently, though Harry paid no mind as he rushed around the motorwagon to its other side.

His green eyes went wide with hope, with relief, and then dismay. Alice was still alive, but in an awful state, her head forced to look out her glassless window, her face gaunt and pale, her lips drenched with blood, her eyes opened but foggy and dazed, barely conscious. She looked to be unnaturally bent, crushed by the roof of the motorwagon and the chunk that had fallen on it, one of her arms dangling from the window, bleeding profusely. But it was still bleeding!

"Alice!" croaked Harry as he desperately tried to worm his arms through the window to find a way to pull her out.

But it was impossible, the vehicle was so bent and crushed that she was pinned in it. Worst of all, it was then when he noticed that a twist of metal had speared one side of her waist. There was so much blood inside the motorwagon, soaking her seat and her dress, that it was a miracle that she was still breathing.

In the next second, Harry could have slapped a hand on his forehead at his stupidity. There was a way! He instantly whipped out his wand from his robes' pocket-

And it was immediately snatched away violently, as Tom towered over him, snarling furiously, "Don't even think about it! The Trace, you idiot – you cannot do magic! I'm not letting you get expelled for this foolishness-"

"I CAN SAVE HER!" roared Harry at the top of his lungs, such rage encompassing him as he had never felt before, as he flew at his brother and clawed and kicked and grappled for his wand like a wild cat. "Give it back!"

Harry didn't know how his brother managed it, but abruptly, he found himself in a lock, trapped by Tom's arms, a hand brusquely forcing his face towards Alice. "Look at her, you halfwit! Her spine is obviously broken, she's suffering internal injuries, and we took over two hours to reach the orphanage – she's been slowly bleeding to death during that time. It's too late – even with magic, she cannot be saved, you imbecile!"

Harry stared at Alice, and abruptly felt himself go limp, making Tom grunt with the effort of sustaining him on his feet, because his brother was right.

He was way in over his head: all the Healing he had been studying, more dedicated than ever after Norway, wasn't enough. He didn't know how to repair a severed spine, and he couldn't work on her without first taking her out of the vehicle. Even if he used Levitation Charms to lift the chunk off the motorwagon and then slowly pry the vehicle apart to get her out, any misstep, anything that jolted her in a wrong way, could worsen her condition even more.

Suddenly, there was a gurgling noise, and Harry surged to his feet and violently tore away from Tom to reach Alice.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide and coherent, apparently unable to move except for her lips, a splat of blood dribbling down her mouth as she tried to speak.

"…Ro… Ro…" she gurgled out painstakingly, her face paling even further with the effort, but there was a light of desperation and anxiety in her eyes as she kept staring at him.

"Robert?" choked out Harry, as he immediately grasped her hand from the arm that was dangling out the window. He didn't know if she could feel his touch, but he rubbed her hand reassuringly nonetheless. "He's…"

Harry paused when his throat tightened and his eyes began to burn, but then he shook his head, forcing himself to display nothing but a warm smile on his face, as he kept slowly caressing her hand and whispered gently, "Hutchins is fine. My friend over there-" he vaguely gestured with his free hand in Myrtle's direction at the other side of the motorwagon, who was still fearfully wailing and moaning to herself "- is helping him get out the motorwagon."

He gave Alice a beaming smile, feeling such strain in his facial muscles that it felt as though it was about to split apart. "He has a mild concussion and we're taking him to a hospital. He'll be alright." He jerkily clutched her hand tighter, as he added cheerfully, "And you'll be alright too, Alice."

Alice's bruised face seemed to thoroughly relax with profound relief, her eyes sparkling with gratefulness and joy at hearing about Hutchins' wellbeing, her features turning beautiful as they slacked with peacefulness, as she let out a soft exhalation of breath, as her eyes turned dull and her pupils distended, as Harry found himself holding a limp hand that began to turn cold, staring into eyes that had turned lifeless, and somehow, he kept gazing at her in incomprehension and then numbness, and then such a devastating pit of shattering, overpowering emotions that he couldn't move.

"Let's get going," snapped Tom's voice impatiently, as hands roughly shook and pushed at Harry. "It's not safe to be on the streets. We must get back. Harry! Harry!"

* * *

There was a sound of hushed voices, of Alice's and Hutchins' names being whispered followed by tears, of children weeping, of adults chokingly giving reassurances, of a radio choppily giving its broadcasts, of muffled, thundering explosions, of walls slightly shaking and ground quivering, of the rustle of pillows and bed sheets, and the silence of a night spent in distress, and fear, and grief.

Harry woke as if from a foggy, drawn out dream, finding his head resting on Tom's lap, his brother's fingers entangled in his hair, yet not giving comforting caresses. His brother's fingers were just there, as if to make sure Harry was staying put, secured down by Tom's grasp on his disorderly black locks of hair.

A lick on his chin made Harry aware that he had Ulysses snuggled on his chest, now purring soothingly at him, licking and nuzzling his small furred muzzle into Harry's neck.

A girl noticed his resurface into consciousness, her plain, bespectacled face looming over him as she intoned with relish, as one who reveled in dissension and strife, "Tom knocked you out!" Myrtle tittered sharply. "And then he carried you back! Not very gallantly, at that. He carried you like a sack of potatoes!"

His brother was now gazing down at him with a frown on his face, yet without removing his fingers from Harry's hair, but the grip tightening, as if expecting Harry to attempt to bolt.

Tom looked utterly disheveled and ruffled, with blood-shot eyes and tousled hair and rumpled school robes, as if having spent a whole night awake - in the basement, Harry realized distantly. They were all in their orphanage's basement.

With a fleeting glance, he saw his friends, Amy Benson, Eric Whalley and Billy Stubbs, all huddled together on a set of improvised cots, like all the rest of the many children there – ashen-faced and with eyes puffy from crying.

"Have you ceased your histrionics?" Tom demanded crisply, a look of dark irritation on his face as he stared down at him with narrowed eyes.

"He wouldn't let me borrow his owl!" snapped Myrtle crossly, shooting Tom a nasty look, before she pinned Harry with an accusing glint in her bespectacled gaze. "You said I could write to my father once I was here-"

"And you did," bit out Tom acidly, his dark look turning ominous, though he then lowered his voice to not be overheard, sounding like grinding stones, "I gave you paper and pencil, you insufferable girl. And went outside to send my owl with your letter, just to get you to stop pestering me-"

"Then why isn't my dad here!" shrieked Myrtle with a high-pitched, anxious wail. "It's morning – he should already be here!"

"Tom, for Heaven's sake, will you comfort your friend!" yelled the caregiver Magda from the other end of the basement, looking thoroughly aggravated. "She hasn't let anyone of us get a wink of sleep with her lamentations. If you would just-"

"She is not my _friend_ and I've done enough," sneered Tom virulently, turning his head away, to then stare down at Harry once more, with furred brows, which turned into a glower. "Are you going to-"

"Harry," said a hesitant voice, and Harry saw Kathy Cole coming up to them, with the blaring radio stuck under an arm, her face strained and pale.

"What news?" demanded Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at her.

Mrs. Cole gave him a surly look, before replying crisply, "They are saying all sorts of things. I cannot make head or tails of any of it."

She huffed irritably, before her expression softened as she eyed Harry.

With some effort, it seemed, she crouched down on the floor before him, clumsily taking something out from a pocket of her apron, to then push it into Harry's hands.

"I went upstairs to get this for you," Kathy Cole whispered in a quiet yet wavering voice, her eyes moistening. She blinked repeatedly, forcefully dispelling any tears, as she carried on in a firmer tone, "Alice would have wanted you to have it. It was her most treasured possession. It belonged to her mother."

Harry curled his fingers around the silver sewing thimble, and said nothing.

Mrs. Cole gazed at him with a hint of concern in her eyes, before she let out a deep sigh and rose to her feet, wobbling her way back to some other children, taking radio along.

* * *

Somehow, he seemed to be weaving in and out of sleep, as when Harry woke again, it was to the sounds of great hurried agitation.

"Magda, Karen, you know the routine!" Mrs. Cole was hollering at the top of her lungs, amidst children coming and going to and fro the basement, carrying their belongings in preparation. "Only pack the bare essentials – and mostly, sacks and cans of food!"

This time, Harry found that he was resting on a pillow on the floor instead than on his brother's lap, with the ever faithful Ulysses nestled under his chin, meowing softly up at him.

With a searching gaze, he found Tom standing before Kathy Cole, in what seemed like a battle of wills, of sour or disdainful expressions, of stubbornness or relentlessness.

"For the last time, Tom," snapped Kathy Cole acerbically, "you cannot stay here! You heard the radio – children are being evacuated to Canada this time. There's not a spot in England that's safe anymore." She gestured apprehensively with her hands. "With the Germans bombings us every day and night in what they're now calling-"

"The Blitz," said Tom coolly, before his eyes narrowed to seething slits. "Harry and I cannot go to Canada, you daft woman! I've already explained-"

"Oh yes," interrupted Mrs. Cole with dripping sarcasm, "that your school term has been moved up and is now starting in a few days. Show me proof." She glowered at him. "You're up to no good, as always. I might not know what, but I'm sure of it. And this time, I cannot allow it." She lifted her chin up in a display of firm determination. "Your twin is not faring well, Tom. If you insist on remaining, be it on your head, but I'm taking Harry with me!"

"Just try," sneered Tom venomously, his voice low and quiet, as Harry's scar suddenly blazed in pain. "I'm more than capable of taking care of him. He's staying with me." He menacingly took a step closer to her, his voice lowering to a mere hissed out whisper, "Attempt to take him away, and just see what will happen to you."

Instantly, Kathy Cole paled and stiffened, one of her hands shooting up to rub her throat as if in remembrance, with a volition of its own. She seemed to notice it, blanching as she dropped her hand.

"I've always known," she muttered sharply, her eyes flashing, "that there's something very wrong and unnatural about you, boy. And I'll be glad to see the back of you. But in this matter, at least, I think I should let Harry decide for himself."

She swirled around, her apron flapping and billowing with the brisk motion, as she then reached Harry's corner of the basement.

With hands on hips, Mrs. Cole pinned him with a stern gaze, and snapped, "We're being evacuated to Canada. I've been informed that the ship is leaving today. Are you coming with us or staying with your brother?"

Harry could feel Tom's gaze piercingly boring into his skull. He gazed up at the woman, slowly trailing his fingers through Ulysses' soft fur, as he then finally mumbled quietly, "I stay."

Mrs. Cole's nostrils flared, giving him a most disappointed and angered look before she rounded on Tom.

"So be it," she bit out disgruntled, glowering at Tom. "We're being fetched in half an hour. I haven't got the time to argue further with you!" She shot Harry a curt look, as she added, "You have until then to change your mind. And I hope, for your sake, that you will."

She flounced around, stomping away as she grumbled under her breath, "Thank goodness that wailing girl is gone, at least! Most ungracious ingrates as her parents I never saw – after we harbored her amongst us and offered her shelter and…"

"We wait," whispered Tom sharply as he sat down by Harry's pillow. "When they're gone, we can freely make use of the house."

Harry merely nodded vacantly.

* * *

"We want to say our good-byes!" several voices seemed to be speaking at once, indignant, angered, fretful, or teary. "We've got a right – we're his friends and who knows when we're coming back from Canada!"

"I'm not waking him up," hissed out Tom's voice viciously. "Go away or you'll miss your silly boat."

Eric Whalley's voice rose above the others, furiously, "Then promise to tell him-"

"I will," bit out Tom irritably.

"Right. Sure you will."

Feet stomped angrily away, until it was only a girl's voice that was left, Amy Benson's, sounding strained and teary, rustling something, "Mrs. Cole said to give you this. It's only some cans of food she said she could spare. I… tell Harry I'll miss him. And tell him I'm sorry about Alice and-"

"Of course," intoned Tom dryly, "we all are. Such a tragedy."

"Yes," murmured Amy Benson, sniffling. "Tell him to take care – and you too, I suppose."

A sound of feet nervously skittering away, and there was finally blissful silence, only Ulysses' soft purrs puffing against the hollow of Harry's neck.

"They're gone," said Tom's voice mordantly. "You can stop pretending you're asleep."

Yet Harry didn't. He tightly hugged Ulysses to his chest, rolled to a side on the floor, and closed his eyes.


	55. Part I: Chapter 54

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

**HAPPY NEW YEAR 2013!** :D :D

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 54**

* * *

It was strange how the days seemed to blur and merge together. Harry couldn't have told the date or time if his life depended on it.

As a matter of fact, he didn't seem to care much about anything.

Not when he had awoken to find himself tucked in his own bed, in the room he shared with Tom in the orphanage. Not when plates with bits of food were left on his nightstand and he couldn't summon the slightest bit of hunger, to the point that he merely drank the glasses of water that Tom brought him only when he felt his throat unbearably parched and dried, and his lips cracked.

Not even when he spent all his hours staring at the wall his bed was pressed against, seeing the dancing runes of the ward Dumbledore had cast. White, glowing beautifully, so clear to his sight now that if he had wanted he could have followed each and every wriggling symbol with a fingertip. But he didn't.

He didn't even frown when he saw strange runes intertwined with Dumbledore's – strange in coloring, strange in the way they seemed to be hidden, ducking around behind the runes of the ward, yet also linked to them, as if they were purposely affecting and interfering with the way the ward should originally function.

He couldn't muster the slightest interest, curiosity, or even wariness, as once he would have.

Time passed by with the constant sounds of bombings, with the noise of the radio at the ground floor blaring its incessant grim news, with Ulysses seemingly becoming more concerned given the way he licked and purred and meowed at Harry with more insistence, with the sound of Tom's footfalls as he went about the house, and with Tom's increasingly furious recriminations.

At times, Harry merely rolled in his bed, turning his back to his brother.

"I'm not getting saddled for the rest of my life with a mentally crippled brother. Are you listening? Snap out of it, you pathetic little fool! Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins died, as I told you they would, as all inferior, weak beings do in war."

Other times, he mutely laid there, dully, gazing up at his brother, letting Tom vent his spleen.

"It's been four days! Enough with self-pityingly wallowing in your misery and grief, Harry. I'm not about to start spoon-feeding you, let me make matters clear. If you won't eat, then I will let you die. Are you listening!"

Until one day, he awoke startled, his hair being grasped in a merciless, painful grip by Tom who was looming over him, his handsome face contorted in rage.

"I see now that I've indulged your melodramatics for too long," hissed out Tom in a low, livid tone. "My patience with you is not infinite, little brother. Get up!"

Harry cried out when he was yanked out of bed by his hair, his eyes watering as he futilely tried to struggle against Tom, who instantly locked an arm across his chest and began dragging him into the corridor.

He felt greatly betrayed when Ulysses did nothing but merely watched calmly – not even defending him against Tom and the rough manhandling, as Harry was dragged, kicking and screaming, to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

But it seemed that he was too exhausted… no, too weak, because as much as he tried -Harry realized in startled shock- in his current condition he was no match against his brother's strength. He should have eaten something after all.

The next thing he felt, before his languid mind could gather back its wits, was the shock of being unceremoniously tossed into a bathtub filled with freezing water.

Harry cried out and spluttered, flailing his limbs around.

"Are you back to being your usual self?" demanded Tom harshly, skewering him with an incensed, narrowed-eyed look.

Harry roared in outrage, and tried to get out, so chilled to the bones he was, his clothes thoroughly drenched and weighting heavily on him.

"I see you're not quite there yet," sneered Tom, before Harry felt fingers gripping his hair once more, and he was dunked into the water.

For moment, he thought his brother might truly be trying to drown him, as the hand clutching his hair didn't release him but forced him to stay underwater, making Harry choke and struggle for air, weakly kicking to be let off, his lungs burning and searing.

Harry gave a great gasp for breath when he was suddenly jolted upwards, and for a moment, he felt such intense rage that, seeing red, he shrieked like a loon as he latched his hands on Tom's shirt and pulled him in with all the strength he could muster.

The look of surprise on his brother's face was worth it, as Tom fell face-first into the tub, as Harry leapt at him with every intention of wrapping his hands around his brother's neck, of squeezing the throat and pushing him into the depths of the tub, of making Tom drown and feel hurt and pain, for a change.

Yet as Harry was about to do so, he halted in mid savage leap, and stared at Tom and his wet hair splattered on his face, and the look of wrath as his brother struggled at the other end of the tub to find a hold to prevent himself from sliding further down the tub.

"You're wet," croaked Harry, his voice more a rasp after days of going unused than anything else. And for some reason, he found himself laughing, and chortling, and guffawing, as he pointed a finger and repeated, "You're wet. We're both wet."

There was nothing funny about it, but he couldn't stop laughing, so hard and incessantly that his ribs began to ache, that tears were streaming from his eyes - a laugh that became so raw that it felt as though it was painfully rasping and lacerating his throat, that felt corrosive and abrasive.

Tom stared at him, with a frown on his face at first. Then he eyed him closely as he settled back against his end of the tub, watching, observing in silence, though apparently relaxing as he stretched his arms over the tub's rim, restfully, awaiting.

As Harry's high-pitched laughter began to subside until it was nothing but one last dry chuckle, he realized that it hadn't been abrasive at all, but expunging.

Suddenly, Harry felt limp, but not with dullness and apathy as he had felt for the last couple of days, but drained from the tempest of quelling, horrible emotions that had been suffocating him, that had driven him to such listlessness – to such point that, now, he felt utterly ashamed of himself.

He didn't think he had ever felt such profound chagrin. Harry felt the tips of his ears turning red, as he remembered his cowardice, not wanting to say goodbye to Amy Benson, Eric Whalley, and Billy Stubbs, pretending to be asleep so that he wouldn't have to be confronted with one more parting, because at the time he could only think that good-byes always seemed to end in death.

Moreover, Harry felt his cheeks flushing, abashed, as he realized just how much his brother had had to put up with, leaving Tom with the burden of taking care of him as though he had become some witless, traumatized child that couldn't fend for himself or even summon the will to care for anything.

And his shame was absolute when he realized that he had no right to have behaved so. That it had been Alice and Hutchins who had been robbed from spending a life together - and he, just of his long-held dreams of having them as parents.

What he had lost, as devastating as it still felt, like a wound that would certainly never heal or close, was still nothing in comparison to what _they_ no longer had.

Harry knew that if Alice and Hutchins could have seen him in the last couple of days, they would have felt deeply disappointed in him. Oh, Alice certainly distressed too, but Hutchins would have given him some choice words. Hutchins would have…

Releasing a deep exhalation of breath, Harry forced his eyes shut, as he slumped against the tub.

There was silence, peaceful, soothing silence for a very long moment, in which Harry felt himself gathering some measure of hold over himself, of control, of clear-headedness, as he opened his eyes and gazed at his brother.

"Are you done?" intoned Tom calmly, arching an eyebrow.

Harry glanced at him, to then draw his knees to his chest, hugging them with his arms, and nod.

"So…" began Tom in a slow voice as he watched him carefully, "they're dead."

Harry stared at him, his brows crinkling. "Yes."

"And you are done with your…. mourning?" said Tom in a low voice, evidently struggling for delicacy and tact, as he pierced him with his dark blue eyes.

"Mourning?" muttered Harry flatly under his breath, to then give his brother a pityingly look. "I don't think people ever stop mourning, Tom."

His brother gave him a skewering, narrowed-eyed look, and Harry sighed heavily. How to explain something that Tom certainly couldn't understand, hadn't the capacity to feel and probably never would?

"I think…" said Harry slowly, frowning down at his knees, "that it can be… overcome, I suppose. With time."

Tom shot him a snide, contemptuous look, before he demanded in an aggravated tone of voice that was much more impatient and harsher, "Are you recovered, at least, then?"

Rankled and affronted, Harry scowled at him. "What's this? Checking if I'm about to go barmy again?" He shot him a dirty look and snapped tetchily, "I'm fine, alright! No need to ask stupid questions."

"I'm just saying," intoned Tom loftily, though his eyes had sharpened as he pierced him with his gaze, "that if you still think that Alice and Hutchins-"

"You want to know what I think?" interrupted Harry sharply. "I think that what we went through in Norway was for nothing. Because we saved Hutchins-" his throat dried "- just for him to die a couple of months later." He violently shook his head, his hands curling into fists on his knees, as he gritted out, "There's no sense in it. No-"

"But you did give him some more months of life," pointed out Tom impatiently, before he sneered scathingly at him. "Surely that is enough to satisfy your sappy sentimentalities-"

"I wanted to give him a lifetime," murmured Harry under his breath, flinching. "With Alice. With us. With me." He clenched his jaw but then heaved a deep breath. "I don't want to discuss this-"

"They died," spat Tom, glaring at him with deep annoyance. "As many others have and will. We're living through a war, such things will always happen." He shot him a disparaging, snide look. "I thought you had learned something from Norway-"

"Look," interjected Harry quietly. "Do me a favor." He pinned his brother with a hard gaze. "We will never speak about them again."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, before a vastly satisfied expression graced his features as he said silkily, "With pleasure."

Harry nodded and remained quiet as he gazed down at his knees, shivering in the cold water of the tub.

"Come," said Tom commandingly as he rose and stepped out of the bathtub, dripping water across the tiled floor as he reached for a couple of ragged towels. "Let us get dried and changed." He shot him a fulminating glance over a shoulder. "And some food in your belly. I've saved the last can of tuna for you. You'll need it."

"The last?" Harry echoed, frowning as he accepted the towel his brother handed over.

"We've run out of food," said Tom caustically. "There's much we must do and plan for, now." He cast Harry a pointed look, as he added coolly, "I don't believe it was a mere coincidence that Grindelwald made the Luftwaffe begin bombing London on the day we were coming back from Hogwarts."

* * *

Later, Harry mused -and found quite ridiculously funny- that his brother had tried, in his own misguided and unfeeling way, to comfort him. Well, not to comfort exactly, as he soon realized, but rather to get him up and running.

Now that Tom had apparently made sure that Harry was no longer incapacitated by grief, he was taking full advantage of him.

"Go board up the windows," Tom commanded briskly. "There are scavengers looting all around our neighborhood-" he sneered acidly at him "-and the magical wards in our orphanage can't protect us from them, can they?"

Grumpily grumbling under his breath, Harry got to work, rather feeling like an abused house-elf.

Having found the box of tools that Robert Hutchins used to employ to do Mrs. Cole the favor of doing some repairs in the orphanage, Harry used hammer to break off wood boards from one of the girls' bedroom, to then nail them to the windows of the house.

"You're the one who's good at manual labor," Tom remarked scathingly whenever he overheard Harry lamenting his fate. "So stop whining like a spoiled tyke."

Harry angrily slammed the hammer into a nail pinning a floorboard into the last of the windows.

Once done, he spat unto his hand the nails he had been holding in his lips, and shot his brother a scowl as he griped accusingly, "I don't see you doing anything!"

"We each have our fortes," intoned Tom loftily in an unbearably arrogant and superior tone, who had merely been seated by the radio, listening attentively, while Harry went around the house working. "I have my brains, and you have your…" He curled his lips, giving him a scathing look. "Brawn, I suppose."

"Brawn?" bit out Harry angrily, dropping nails and hammer into Hutchins' tool box to then roll up his sleeves, pointedly displaying his thin arms that were by now trembling in exhaustion with all the effort he had expended.

Tom eyed Harry's arms with a snide look on his face, as he muttered under his breath, "Pathetic."

"Yeah, well, if you would let me eat already!"

"Are you done with all the windows?" demanded Tom harshly, who had the last can of tuna in his hands, having kept it hostage all the while.

"Yes!" harrumphed Harry irritably as he swiped a sleeve over his drenched forehead.

The summer heat in the house, especially now that all the windows were boarded up and didn't allow even a breeze to pass inside, felt suffocating. He had been dripping sweat all the around the place as he worked.

"Very well," said Tom coolly. "Here's your reward then."

Harry deftly caught the can of tuna tossed his way and wasted no time in dashing into the kitchen, with legs that wobbled weakly and stomach that grumbled so hard that it ached.

He later returned, with hair dripping water as Harry had filled a pan under the kitchen's faucet and splashed it to his head and face, further soaking his shirt, now pleasantly wet and chilly.

"Take that off," Tom instructed short-temperedly as he watched Harry plopping unto a chair across from him to then desperately attack the opened can of tuna with a fork. "You will catch a cold."

Harry grunted, paid him no mind, and flung fork over his shoulder as he decided to use his fingers instead to scoop out the bits of tuna. It proved to work much faster than with the fork, even though drips of oil splattered unto his shirt as he kept voraciously gobbling the tuna with his fingers.

"Do have some manners instead of eating like an uncivilized muggle!"

Harry purposely shot him a nasty grin with oil dribbling from the corners of his mouth, as he finally sucked the last remnants of tuna from his fingertips, making loud, appreciative, smacking noises with his lips.

Tom gave him a thoroughly disgusted and revolted look at that, eyeing his face and shirt as he sneered contemptuously, "You're filthy."

"And I care because?" said Harry nonchalantly as he left the empty can on the low tea table between them, right beside the radio that was now blaring the latest news, and slumped tiredly on his chair.

_"… Marshal Pétain, Chief of State of the French government in Vichy, in the midst of the Italo-German occupation, has signed an armistice, surrendering to Adolf Hitler. Earlier in the day, the French General Charles de Gaulle, having recently escaped to Britain, made a radio broadcast from London addressing the issue, appealing to the French people to resist the Nazi occupation and the Vichy government of Marshal Pétain. It is believed de Gaulle intends to organise an armed force with the exiled French officers in Britain. It is as of yet unknown if he will count with our PM's support…"_

Harry sat up at that, intently listening to the radio.

_"…In his speech to the House of Commons, the PM Sir Winston Churchill, obliquely addressed the matter of Pétain's surrender and collaboration with the Germans, expressing that the Battle of France is over, yet the Battle of Britain has just begun, exhorting our brave lads of the Royal Air Force to persist in giving battle to the German Luftwaffe as London continues being bombed, having already resulted in countless civilian casualties..."_

Frowning deeply, Harry shot his brother a quizzical glance, though he saw that Tom didn't seem at all fazed by any of it.

_"… This is, in the words of our Prime Minister, our finest hour, in a war he previously dubbed as being one of blood, toil, tears, and sweat, which we shall fight in our very beaches if necessary. However, there are signs of dissension in the government, as several Members of Parliament and a section of the British public have begun appealing for peace negotiations to be undertaken with Adolf Hitler..."_

"I don't get it," Harry muttered under his breath.

_"...On another note, the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini, who recently declared war on Britain…"_

Only then Tom seemed to pay him any attention, shooting Harry a very smug look. But Harry, at all those news, had many other things in his mind and fanning his brother's already inflated ego wasn't one of them, even if it was true that Tom had been saying for ages that Hitler and Mussolini had to have a secret pact of allegiance, issue which had now been proven to the whole world.

"I don't understand what's going on," snapped Harry waspishly, gesturing at the wireless.

"What do you not understand?" said Tom impatiently as he thankfully turned off the radio.

"Well," began Harry crisply, "for starters, why hasn't Grindelwald attacked yet?" He jerkily carded his fingers through his wet locks of hair, as he continued anxiously, "He usually conquers a country right after he sends his muggle forces to attack it. So what is he waiting for? Why is he just satisfied in having London bombed-"

"Bombing London," interjected Tom sharply, "is a terror tactic, little brother-"

Harry shot him an irked look. "Obviously. I know that already-"

"-not to mention," continued Tom in a superior tone of voice as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "that conquering a country that is an isle is much different than conquering an inland nation. First," he grandiosely displayed two fingers of his hand "- the isle's defenses has to be brought down. Which are-" he sneered impatiently at Harry "- its Air Force and Navy. Which is precisely what the Germans are trying to do, with the Luftwaffe targeting ground infrastructure, shipping centers, aircraft factories and such, while their airplane torpedo bombers and their submarines are already sinking British ships, according to the news. Hence, only then, will it be safe for the Germans to send their soldiers in an invasion by land."

Tom paused to give him an aggravated, ill-tempered look, as he gestured expansively and added matter-of-factly, "This is a battle of attrition, litte brother. The first who loses the most airplanes and ships, will be the one to ask for terms of peace, and thus, will be the defeated."

Harry frowned at him. "Right. But the thing is that we saw in Norway that Grindelwald has Dementors." He shook his head in dismay. "He could just send Dementors to the British Army's bases in England. Muggles can't see them, after all, but they can feel the effects, right?" He shot his brother a quizzical glance. "So he could have the British soldiers trembling with fear and in that state the Nazis could easily kill them all! So why isn't Grindelwald doing something like that?"

Tom gave him a long, considering look. "True. Grindelwald does have many means at his disposal that he is evidently not employing." He suddenly leaned forward, a wide, satisfied smirk curling his lips, as he whispered secretively, "But that's just it, little brother. The crux of the matter is that I don't think the Dark Lord wishes for Hitler to win this one."

"Why not?" Harry cocked his head to a side, frowning. "We know that he wants to force Dumbledore to confront him-"

"Be that as it may," interjected Tom snidely, as though he still refused to believe that Dumbledore was of any important significance to the Dark Lord, "I'm sure Grindelwald would want Dumbledore to go to him and not the other way around." He waved a hand dismissively. "A Dark Lord like Grindelwald would want the territorial advantage that comes with battling a foe on his own terms – surrounded by his followers, of course, to give a good show, and in a land he controls as well."

Harry's forehead crinkled in pensiveness. "So you're saying that Grindelwald isn't going to help his Nazis attack England with any magical means because-"

"Because," said Tom, apparently vastly annoyed at Harry's slow-wittedness, "it must have been Hitler's idea to attack England now and not Grindelwald's. And Grindelwald has obviously allowed it since it nonetheless serves four purposes." He shot Harry an irked look, as he ticked off his fingers. "Firstly, it's terrorizing the muggle population of England, as well as the wizarding one, no matter if they have Marchbank's wards to protect them from muggle bombs. Secondly, it's killing muggles, which of course-" he shot Harry a vicious smirk "-is always a benefit. Thirdly, without Grindelwald's help, the Nazis won't win air superiority over England." He snorted disparagingly. "How can they, when the Luftwaffe must be deploying from the coast of France and their airplanes have to return there to refuel after every air strike." Tom waved a hand contemptuously. "No battle can be won thus, when England already has the home advantage. Which means that Hitler will lose on this occasion, and it will leave him with a debilitated Air Force."

"And you think Grindelwald wants that," interjected Harry musingly, feeling a frisson of distress, "because he means to turn Hitler against Stalin. And losing airplanes in the Battle of England will mean that Hitler will be weakened when he attacks Russia?"

"Exactly," said Tom coolly. "And hence, that will be the beginning of the end for the Nazis." He gave Harry a very self-satisfied look. "Indeed, The Blitz has proven my belief that Grindelwald means for the Nazis to ultimately lose the war."

Harry's apprehension only increased at that. Oh, of course that he couldn't be happier if the Soviets did trounce the Nazis, but it made him feel very wary that Tom seemed to understand Grindelwald's twisted way of thinking so easily. That his brother could see through a Dark Lord's schemes and understand the reasons for his actions, as puzzling as they had been for Harry, didn't bode well at all. He didn't want Tom to be that well attuned to a Dark Lord's ruthless and unscrupulous way of thinking.

Then, he suddenly recalled what was amiss, and shot Tom a troubled glance. "You said there were four reasons, but you didn't say what the fourth one was."

"I already did," said Tom pleasantly, as he crossed his legs as if basking in smug comfort. He arched an eyebrow at him. "Didn't I tell you that it could be no coincidence that Grindelwald made The Blitz begin exactly on the day we returned to London?"

Harry shook his head, and grumbled peevishly, "But you didn't explain-"

"Is it not obvious by now?" retorted Tom irritably. Suddenly, he let out an amused bout of sharp chuckles. "Why, little brother, he took the opportunity to send us a message, of course."

Harry blinked at him. "Um - what?"

"In his letter he did appoint himself as our mentor, did he not?" intoned Tom conversationally, before he waved a hand dismissively. "With The Blitz, making us see and experience it, he's imparting a lesson, you twit."

Fiercely scowling, Harry snapped furiously, "What kind of lesson-"

"Of how very terribly dangerous muggles are," interjected Tom, chuckling again as if vastly and darkly amused by the whole idea. "How 'devastating' their silly little bombs can be." He widely smirked at him. "Of course, I'm not that easily impressed."

Harry gawked at him, speechless.

"I rather enjoy hearing the muggles wailing at every drop of a bomb, their cries of fear, their screams as they burn and die," continued Tom placidly, his smirk widening with relish. "I will have to let Grindelwald know that his lesson has pleased me rather than made me wary, won't I? It has certainly backfired on him."

"Don't you talk like that!" thundered Harry seeing red, jumping to his feet with hands curling into trembling fists of rage. "Don't you ever speak like that again! If it's true, then Alice and Hutchins died because of Grindelwald's deranged 'lesson', and I won't hear you saying that-"

"I am what I am," snarled Tom viciously, as he too got to his feet, towering over Harry with a livid expression on his face. "I make no excuses and I do not apologize for it. I see no wrong in my opinions and I only allow you to freely express yours to me because of the closeness between us." His eyes narrowed to irate slits, as he hissed out in a very low, ominous tone of voice, "But do not abuse the liberties I give you. Don't forget that you vowed your loyalty to me, and disrespect and outright insubordination is something I will not tolerate from you."

"Insubordination? Tolerate?" Harry sputtered, gaping incredulously at him before he bristled angrily. "Stuff it up yours, Tom! I am your brother – not a pet, not a minion! I will speak my mind whenever I want and-" he sharply jabbed a finger into his brother's chest "- if you don't like it, you can go take a hike!"

Tom eyed him venomously as he sneered, "When I am a Dark Lord, you'll be singing a different tune, little brother."

"If and when you are one," bit out Harry incensed, glowering at him, "it will change nothing in the way I speak to you!"

Tom's narrowed his eyes at him, his fury evident in the way Harry's scar suddenly flared in pain. But then his features relaxed, as he gave Harry a sly smirk and whispered softly, "Perhaps that won't be a bad thing after all. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

A tad nonplussed at those words, Harry frowned at him, though before he had the chance to angrily push the matter, he was interrupted by his own grumbling stomach.

Tom shot him a scathing look at that. "We need food."

"Oh, I see," said Harry stiffly, trying his best to ignore his complaining, hollow belly, because a can of tuna had certainly not been enough. "So I'll be the one to go fetch it, I suppose?" He darkly glared at his brother, his eyes accusing. "That's why you dragged me out of bed, wasn't it? To order me about and make me do all the hard work-"

"I'm not sending you out to streets alone, you dunce!" bit out Tom, looking vastly annoyed. "I'll be going with you, of course. It's not safe out there."

Suspiciously, Harry eyed him closely, before he gave him an ingratiating smile and mumbled sheepishly, "Right, then."

He ignored the way Tom sneered at him for jumping to conclusions, and hastily went back to their bedroom for his satchel.

* * *

With loaded gun tucked in belt, since Harry was taking no chances after all the trouble they had gotten into in Norway, they left the orphanage under the mantle of darkness.

It would be no easy thing to obtain food, he realized at once as he warily glanced down the street. It was obvious that many of their neighbors had hastily packed and left, since many of the houses had doors that had been smashed open, and he could glimpse interiors that had been savagely upended and ransacked.

There was a very nerve-wrecking, deathly stillness, and there would have been utter silence too if it wasn't for the distant sounds of bombings.

Harry could feel the small hairs of the back of his neck standing on end as they dashed forwards. None of the shabby streetlamps were lit, and thus they quickly darted down the street, moving from shadow to shadow, not wanting to be seen.

Half an hour later, Harry fidgeted nervously after they had checked the fourth house, finding nothing in it except destroyed furniture and empty kitchen closets.

"Someone has looted all these houses before us," he mumbled dejectedly, as he then shot his brother a worried look. "So where are we going to find something to eat?"

"We must keep trying," bit out Tom sharply. "We have no other choice."

Harry didn't like it one bit. He rather thought he was becoming paranoid, having felt once or twice as if someone was following them, or tracking them with their eyes.

"You were once our neighbors' darling little orphan," said Tom scathingly as he narrowed his eyes at Harry with an aggravated and impatient expression on his face. "Thus, you should be the one to know where we could find-"

"Hutchins' store," mumbled Harry under his breath, inwardly cringing because it was the last place he wanted to set foot on, but he knew well it was the only possible alternative for them.

Tom scoffed at that as he sneered acidly, "That's the first place that looters must have gone to."

"No doubt," said Harry grimly, "but there's much that they couldn't have found."

Tom frowned at him but Harry didn't waste time with explanations as he grabbed his brother by the arm and hastily pulled him along, ever wary and on guard as they dashed down the streets.

Hutchins' store, they soon saw, had been thoroughly ransacked, the front door hanging from its hinges, the display windows shattered, the shelves -usually filled with kitchenware, toys, sacks of grains and vegetables, and assorted canned food- now only gathering dust.

On the counter top, the heavy, bronze cash register had been forcefully smashed open, not even a shilling left inside.

"I told you there would be nothing here," pointed out Tom crossly.

Ignoring his brother, Harry crouched under the counter top, knocking on the floor boards with his knuckles, until one sounded hollowed.

He shot Tom a triumphant grin as he hurriedly pried off the wood board. Exactly as he remembered, there was a small key inside.

Thievery had always run rampant in their neighborhood and Robert Hutchins had been a smart and cautious man.

Harry still remembered how once -during the many times Alice took him to Hutchins' store under the excuse of having to do some grocery shopping for the orphanage- the man had urged Alice to keep the scarce valuables of the orphanage somewhere hidden, explaining how he did so himself.

He remembered Alice blanching at first and then softly laughing under her breath when Hutchins told her that 'Lenin kept his secrets'.

"He kept the good stuff in a hidden pantry or something of the sort," Harry murmured quietly as he rose to his feet with small key in hand. He then glanced around, perusing, thinking hard and fast, trying to unravel the meaning of what Hutchins had once said. "Right. I suppose it has to be in the house."

Tom followed him in silence as Harry crossed to the back room of the store that led into Hutchins' private quarters. Sighing, seeing that not even the man's home had been spared by scavengers, he halted when he caught a glimpse of something.

A small room that had also been ransacked, though everything inside looked as if savagely destroyed in a fit of anger and hatred.

Harry frowned as he stepped inside, carefully moving through heaps of rumpled and torn leaflets, some sort of machine smashed to bits in the midst of it.

"I knew he printed Communist pamphlets, but to have the printing press in his very own house," sneered Tom contemptuously as eyed the broken machine and gave it a sharp kick. "Utter fool. If the war hadn't killed him, he would have died anyway for being a Communist."

"That's what this is?" murmured Harry under his breath as he glanced around in wonder, before his brother's words sank in and he glared at him, bristling. "Don't say that about Hutchins. No one would have harmed him - we don't hang Reds in England!"

Tom scoffed as he shot him a very scathing look. "Shows how little you know."

Deciding to ignore his brother, Harry focused on the many things he saw hanging from the walls: posters and pictures, some of people he recognized.

He stared up at the one depicting a black and white representation of Joseph Stalin, bemused since it didn't seem as if Hutchins had liked the bloke given the things scribbled and slashed in red ink. Another one, this one spotless, showed some sort of Asian man.

Harry frowned. "Who's this supposed to be?"

Tom glanced at it, before he said impatiently, "Don't you read the newspapers?" He waved a hand dismissively, turning away from it. "That's Mao Tse-Tung, a young Communist leader causing lots of trouble in China."

"Really?" muttered Harry under his breath, his eyebrows shooting upwards. "It looks as if Hutchins admired him."

"He would have," sneered Tom acidly, before he rounded on Harry angrily. "Why are we here?"

"Because now I'm certain that it must be here," mumbled Harry as he glanced around pensively, gesturing at all the posters. "Which of these chaps is Lenin?"

Tom's eyebrows quirked upwards. "Vladimir Lenin?" His eyes narrowed to slits, as he demanded sternly, "Why do you ask?"

"If I'm right, you'll soon see," snapped Harry impatiently. "Just tell me which one is he."

"That one," said Tom coolly as he indolently gestured at the poster hanging on the farthest side of the room.

Harry blinked as he approached it, staring up at the large profile of the face depicted in the poster. "Funny looking fellow, wasn't he?"

"An idealist fool, more like," said Tom scornfully, "who didn't understand a single thing regarding human nature. As if people truly want equality." He shot Harry an annoyed glance, as he sneered viciously, "People are greedy, envious, and selfish creatures, they don't want equality but to crush all others, to raise themselves to be superior. That is what Lenin and his sort never understood."

"If you say so," muttered Harry distractedly as he roved his palms over the poster. It had been torn on one side by the looters, like many of the other posters and pictures, but felt as if Hutchins had glued it to the very wall.

He finally pressed his ear against it as he rapped it with his knuckles.

"It's hollowed," said Harry, grinning triumphantly. "Come, brother," he added excitedly, "help me tear the paper off."

As they worked, it was soon revealed what lay underneath: a metallic lid with a lock. Making use of the key he had found, Harry opened it instantly, his green eyes widening at what it held inside.

"A dead man has no use for his savings," said Tom gleefully as he immediately pocketed a hefty stack of pound notes.

Harry was too distracted to pay him any mind as his fingers curled around a small box of red velvet. With a click, he opened it, to gaze down at two wedding rings, suddenly feeling a piercing ache in his chest.

"Seem to be made of real gold," Tom's voice remarked in a satisfied tone. "We can pawn those and get a substantial sum for them."

"We won't," bit out Harry angrily, yanked out of his bout of pained sorrow, scowling at his brother as he then snapped the small box shut and carefully tucked it inside his satchel.

"Only this is what we came for," he added sharply, as he gestured at the many cans inside the coffer.

And as he eyed them, he realized that it was very expensive stuff, delicacies of some sort, only reading their labels and gazing at their pictures making his mouth water in hunger.

"Good enough, I suppose," said Tom waspishly, as he began to load them into Harry's satchel. "But we will need more. We need two-months worth of food-"

"Aye! Knew Bob Three Fingers gotta have sumethin' tasty hidden away," said a chortling, nastily crowing voice, which instantly made Tom and Harry swirl around. "Didn't I tell ye!"

Harry tensed with apprehension as he saw three very scrubby-looking muggles standing by the threshold of the room, their faces dirty, their hair disheveled and oily, their clothes grimy and frayed. They looked vaguely familiar to him, probably three of the many men that worked in the docks near their neighborhood.

As they slunk inside with predatory and greedy gleams in their eyes, one of them paused and stared at them with narrowed eyes. "Oi, I know ye. Aye, ye're those filthy orphans, ain't ye?"

The man jabbed an elbow into one of his companions, who soon spat angrily, "Aye, they're. The Riddle urchins. Heard loads about ye. Father Patrick used to sey ye had the Devil in ye, he did."

"Did he now?" said Tom coolly, who didn't look at all fazed by their current dangerous situation.

"Aye, said some very strange things 'bout ye," spat the other muggle, as the three men began to advance on them, meaty fists swaying by their sides in a pointedly threatening manner. "Our mate, good ole Jenkins said ye're the ones to cut his face. Cost 'im an eye, ye did! Said ye blew up some windows, somehow-"

"How'd ye do it, ey?" demanded the other muggle, the first who had spoken, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Wot trick was it?"

"Why," drawled Tom placidly, sharply smiling at them, "it was Devilry of course."

The three muggles stiffened at that, one paling, the other doing some warding sign with his hands, yet the third one was staring at them with narrowed eyes as fury spread on his face in red blotches.

"Tom," whispered Harry in dismay, blanching, as he grasped his brother's sleeve and pulled him back, "don't make it worse."

"No matter," said the purple-faced man, nastily grinning at them with rotten teeth, "Devilspawns don't scare me. We'll be takin' everythin' ye've got-" he pointed a meaty finger at Harry's satchel, and then at Hutchins' coffer, as he spat on the floor, spit flying from his mouth "-and everythin' the filthy Commie had – passin' himself off as decent folk, the filthy traitor-"

"You won't," muttered Harry as he quickly drew out the Norwegian gun from his belt, instantly aiming at the three muggles. "Stay right where you are."

The purple-face man guffawed snidely. "Think a filthy lil' orphan wavin' a gun at me is gonna scare me? Don't know ho'to use it, do ye, boy?"

"Kill them!" hissed Tom sharply under his breath.

"I'm not killing muggles over some cans of food," whispered Harry angrily from the corner of his mouth, before he yelled warningly as he saw one of the men taking a step, "Oi, don't move! I have a rather good aim!"

Obviously not feeling at all intimidated by him or his declaration, the three men made a sudden lunge forwards, and Harry was quick to fire.

The purple-faced muggle howled, jumping backwards, the bullet having missed one of his toes by mere inches.

"I missed on purpose, but next time I won't," bit out Harry giving them a hard look, as he kept eyes and gun on the men while he fumbled into the satchel with his free hand.

"Here," he then snapped as he tossed several cans at them. "That's all you're getting. Now count yourselves lucky and sod off!"

The men gazed at them with bitterness, outrage, and fury in their eyes, but there was certainly also cowardice and apprehension, as they wasted no time in clutching the cans to their chest before turning heel and running towards the door.

"This ain't the end!" shouted the purple-faced man over his shoulder, shooting Harry a very nasty glare, before they disappeared.

Finally, Harry lowered the gun, letting out a deep exhalation of breath.

"Let's hurry!" spat Tom angrily, as he finished loading the satchel with what remained in the coffer.

Harry even saw him taking a legal document of some sort, though having a glimpse of it he realized it was the deed to the cottage Hutchins had bought in Southend-on-the-Sea.

They made their way back to the orphanage slowly and very alert, glancing to all sides in case of a possible ambush. Thankfully, though Harry again had the sensation of being watched, they were left in peace.

* * *

"You should have killed them!" snarled Tom furiously as he slammed shut the heavy front door of the orphanage, glaring darkly at him. "Now they must already be spreading the word around that we're here and that we have food. Thieves and scavengers will be coming for us – we must leave at once!"

Harry briskly shook his head as he tiredly plopped down on a chair. "We've got nowhere else to go! Besides, the house is safe, you made me board up the windows-"

"It was save enough before," interjected Tom harshly, angrily narrowing his eyes at him. "It is not any longer, because of your stupidity!"

Rubbing his face, Harry sighed wearily as he mumbled under his breath, "I still wouldn't have killed them."

Tom glowered at him, before he bit out sharply, "There's no point in arguing now when it's too late. Go get your things packed, we're leaving post-haste."

"Where? How?" grumbled Harry peevishly.

"Here," said Tom briskly as he snatched the satchel from Harry's lap and took out Hutchins' deed of property, pointedly waving it in front of Harry's face as he then set the stack of pound notes on the table. "We'll find some muggle with a motorcar, and pay him to take us to Southend."

Harry stared at him before he slumped his shoulders and despondently nodded his head.

In a few minutes, they were almost ready. Harry had found a bread basket with a lid in which to comfortably tuck Ulysses inside, while Tom had procured a cage for rabbits that would do well for Lord Horkos. Everything else they had stuffed in Harry's satchel and Tom's schoolbag, given that their trunks were probably back in Hogwarts by then.

"Let's go," snapped Tom shortly.

"Wait!"

Harry quickly crossed their bedroom to reach the nightstand, quickly opening its small drawer to fish out Alice's silver thimble, his fingers jerkily curling around it as he stuck it in a pocket.

"Alright," muttered Harry dispiritedly, as he went to take hold of Ulysses' new, improvised basket, "we can go now-"

A loud, crashing sound reverberated all around them, and Harry froze, as he shot his brother a panicked look. "The looters-"

"Riddles! I know ye're here!" boomed a drunken, enraged voice. "Come out ye little miscreants – ye devils will finally get what's comin' to ye!"

Harry's face drained of all color and he could have been knocked over by a feather, the shock and utter horror he felt so mindboggling and paralyzing that for a moment he couldn't move.

The voice was unmistakable, but it was one that he hadn't heard in ages, and never expected to hear again.

"Mr. Jenkins," hissed out Tom, his face turning dark and contorting grotesquely with utter despise.

"How?" whispered Harry in absolute dread and alarm. "How did he get in! The front door was locked and it's too heavy for even he to-"

"I'm gonna make ye pay for what ye've done to me, I am!"

"Tom!" Harry cried out distressed when his brother suddenly ran out of their bedroom, leaving everything behind.

Too terribly worried to be able to think, Harry immediately went after him, to then halt in his tracks at Tom's side, by the stairs that led to the ground floor.

Harry could see him clearly then, and his green eyes widened in horror.

It was indeed Mr. Jenkins who stood by the front door that hanged from its hinges - looking as if a Giant had punched it with a fist. It was Mr. Jenkins who was glaring up at them, with a face that Harry thankfully hadn't had to see before, because when Kathy Cole became the Matron after Mrs. Sharpe's death, she had sacked the odious man instantly.

However, now he could see Mr. Jenkins' ghastly face, hideously marred and disfigured on the side that had been pierced by the shards of glass of Mrs. Sharpe's office windows, with a leather patch covering the eyeless socket.

"Revenge is sweet," breathed out Mr. Jenkins haggardly, his nostrils flaring and his wide chest and belly heaving, as if he was a crazed, snorting bull striking hooves on ground in readiness for an attack.

And suddenly, the hefty muggle lunged forwards up the stairs, straight towards them, and Harry knew something was not right.

It was not the stench of chewed tobacco, liquor, and unwashed body odors that reeked off the man as Harry and Tom instantly dived to a side to dodge the man's meaty fists, but rather the muggle's inexplicable swiftness in motion and even strength. Mr. Jenkins had always been a brutish hulk of a man, but not to such point as he now displayed.

"OUR ROOM!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs as he shoved Tom out of Mr. Jenkins' range.

Thankfully, his brother understood, and they both ran madly towards their bedroom. They had left everything in it, including the Norwegian gun, which was the first thing Harry went for while Tom slammed the door shut and locked it.

Ulysses was meowing and hissing, trying to get out of his closed basket, but Harry knew he had time for nothing but to get the one muggle weapon they had. Thus, he leapt towards the bed and the gun lying on it, just as a crushing noise resounded as their bedroom's door was brutally smashed.

Harry gaped, with gun in hand, as he saw Mr. Jerkins tearing the door apart with his bare hands.

"He's Imperiused," Tom whispered under his breath, standing still in the middle of the room.

Harry snapped his head around to stare at him, bewildered. "What?"

"Didn't you see his eye?" bit out Tom impatiently, looking mightily frazzled. "He's under an Imperius Curse! And someone obviously gave him potions – a Strengthening Potion, at the very least-"

"What?" Harry croaked out, thoroughly disconcerted and appalled. "Who? Why?"

"Shoot him!" abruptly roared Tom as Mr. Jenkins came plunging forward through the destroyed door like a rampaging bull.

This time, Harry didn't think about it twice and did just so, but his shot went amiss as the hefty muggle had instantly lunged at him, tackling him to the floor, making his chest ache as his lungs expelled all the air they contained with the brutal force of the impact.

Harry cried out in pain as Mr. Jenkins tore the gun from his hand with such violence that he heard his wrist breaking.

For a moment of wild, fearful panic and incoherence, he thought the muggle was going to aim gun at him and kill him, but Mr. Jenkins pocketed the gun as he then wrapped his meaty fingers around Harry's throat, spitting enraged, "Gonna snap yer neck like a twig for what ye did to me, boy!"

"_We must do as I did with Mrs. Sharpe!"_ Harry heard Tom's voice hissing in Parseltongue as he kept trying to wrestle the man off with frantic kicks and punches, as he struggled for breath against the oppressive fingers that were choking him, but he understood nonetheless.

Hence, he was ready when he saw Tom looming over them with a chair raised in the air, and he kicked off the floor as the chair came crushing down on the muggle's head.

Mr. Jenkins roared like a wild beast, jumping back, palming his bloodied head, just as Tom rushed towards the man, ramming into him, Harry one step behind doing the same as he tried to protectively cradle his injured wrist.

It was enough to make the muggle stumble out of the room, into the corridor, towards the flight of stairs, as Harry and Tom kept pushing with shoulders and heads on either sides of the man, putting all their effort and strength into it.

"_One last shove!"_ hissed Tom from under one of the muggle's fat arms.

Harry mustered the little strength he had left and pushed with all his might, as he tried to avoid the man's meaty fists that were trying to pummel them down.

With deep relief, he heard Mr. Jenkins crying out as he tripped over the first step, saw him swaying trying to regain his balance, saw him about to topple over down the stairs-

"Get out of the way!" yelled Tom in alarm, but Harry understood the danger too late as Mr. Jenkins had already shot out a hand, grasping him by the hair.

Harry yowled as he was pulled along, his injured wrist throbbing unbearably, his scalp burning as hairs tore off, as he smashed into Mr. Jenkins' sweat-drenched chest, as the man then grabbed him by the arm and twisted hard as they tumbled together down the stairs.

It felt as if every step of the stairway was ramming into different parts of his body, until he finally landed on top of the hefty muggle, cushioning his last fall.

Mr. Jenkins looked winded and half unconscious, certainly having taken many blows to the head, though Harry wasn't doing much better himself, feeling aches and bruises all over, as they laid sprawled by the smashed entrance door of the orphanage.

"Must kill," mumbled Mr. Jenkins incoherently, his one eye looking crazed as Harry suddenly saw a hand shooting out and wrapping around his neck before he could even gather back his wits.

"Tom!" Harry choked out, as he clawed at the thick fingers tightening around his throat, as he attempted to struggle against the man's iron-like hold.

He caught a brief glimpse of his brother, standing on the first floor landing of the staircase, looking down at them with a frown on his face, appearing as if he wasn't about to do anything to help him.

"Very well, then," he distantly heard Tom muttering, but it was then when he saw his brother whipping out his wand, when he saw his brother's dark blue eyes gleaming with glee, anticipation, and excitement, as he aimed and intoned with relish, "AVADA-"

"NO!" choked out Harry in utter horror and fear from his squeezed throat, frantically wrestling against the muggle, desperately trying to put a stop to it. "The - wards!"

"-KEDAVRA!"

Harry didn't know what happened next, as a green beam of light that looked so very familiar, as if he had seen it a thousand times before and yet he had not, struck Mr. Jenkins, as he suddenly saw as if in a dream a woman of long, beautiful ginger hair, as though a foggy recollection, her screams, a cackled high-pitched bout of laughter, the red eyes of his nightmares, it all seem to incomprehensibly flood into some part of his mind as he saw Mr. Jenkins heavily slump on the floor in absolute stillness, as something was wrenching and rising and hurting inside of him, as his scar suddenly felt on fire, an agonizing pain flaring, even a screech from somewhere within, he thought, but he couldn't really think or understand, because then everything went dark.

* * *

"Wake up, you idiot!"

Someone was angrily shaking him, so brutally that Harry jerked into consciousness with a cry of pain as his injured wrist was jostled.

Tom was towering over him, brusquely shaking him with a hand, and Harry finally realized that he was still sprawled on top of Mr. Jenkins, yet -

"He's dead," Harry whispered numbly as he stared into the muggle's lifeless eye, and for a moment, not a thought could cross his shell-shocked mind.

Tom violently shook him again, as he snarled demandingly, "Why did you faint? Tell me! Why did you faint?"

Harry glanced up at him, utterly baffled, his confusion only increasing when he saw his brother's face.

He had never seen such expression on Tom before, his face was drained of all color and there was fear in his eyes, as he kept rubbing his chest for some reason, as he kept staring at Harry – no, staring at his forehead, with a look that turned increasingly puzzled and alarmed, and then maybe even suspicious and intrigued.

"What is it?" mumbled Harry distractedly, a hand instinctually shooting up to touch his forehead.

It was throbbing, he certainly had a terrible migraine, but he could not understand it at first when he touched something wet, when he finally brought his hand down and saw that it was drenched in blood.

He blinked up at his brother. "My scar is bleeding?"

"Yes!" spat Tom thunderously, giving him another hard shake. "Tell me why you fainted! Tell me what you felt!"

"I –" Harry stuttered feeling dizzy, disoriented, and dumbfounded. "I – don't know. I don't – remember –"

"Something happened!" snapped Tom ill temperedly, still rubbing his chest, his face turning paler by the second. "When I cast the Killing Curse, I felt something…"

His brother trailed off into silence but it was then when Harry gazed up at him with wide, horrified eyes, as he croaked weakly, "Tom, you've killed with magic, in the orphanage. The wards – The Ministry- The Trace-"

"It is the wards you should be concerning yourselves about."

Harry glanced around, utterly bewildered, jumping to his feet as best he could, his whole body aching and throbbing as he cradled his broken wrist to his chest, yet he whipped out his own wand nonetheless.

Tom was as still as a statue, wand aimed – to a wall, Harry realized the next second, blinking and then gaping when he saw something rippling and distorting the surface of the bricks, as a figure began to somehow fuse out of the wall, as the grave, German-accented voice continued, "Your Traces do not work in the orphanage, since the Ministry already has wards on it for that same purpose."

Harry gawked, and instinctually took a step back as a wizard was finally fully revealed – coming out from the wall, his mind was still trying to wrap itself around that.

He could only stare at the man, as Tom was doing as well, though in his case inspecting the stranger closely, while Harry could only see that it was a wizard richly clothed, with sharp, elegant features, icy blue eyes and very short sandy blonde hair, impeccably and strictly groomed.

Harry tensed when the wizard aimed a wand at him, muttering something under his breath. However, he then breathed with relief and pleasure when all aches suddenly vanished from his body, when his abused throat stopped hurting.

Though in the next second, he cried out in pain when the bones of his wrist snapped back into place with a cracking sound.

Tom shot him a glance, as if to make sure that the wizard had done him no true harm, before he lowered his wand, and intoned cordially with an arched eyebrow, "Konrad Von Krauss, I presume?"

"What?" snapped Harry, staring from one to the other as he rubbed his wrist, the name ringing a distant bell though he felt as if he had left half his brains splattered on the stairs. "Who?"

"I am Von Krauss," acknowledged the wizard, giving Tom one brief and curt bow of the head.

"_He is the Dark Lord's Right Hand,"_ hissed Tom loudly, clearly wanting to display his Parselmouth ability to see the wizard's reaction.

But Harry didn't take notice of the results, because at that information, he had blanched. Abruptly, all the pieces jumped into place, suddenly, he could think straight as understanding dawned on him.

"You're the one who sent Jenkins here!" he roared angrily, jabbing his wand's tip into the wizard's chest, sparks shooting out of it. "You're the one who Imperioed him – to kills us!"

"Not to kill," said Konrad Von Krauss calmly as he patted a spot on his robes that had caught on fire, "but to test, to create a situation-"

"I see," interjected Tom coolly, his eyes narrowed at the wizard. "State your terms then, and do not waste our time."

"Terms?" Harry frowned at him. "What terms?" His eyes widened before he pierced Von Krauss with his gaze, as he breathed out, "You. It was you who did something to Dumbledore's wards!"

"What did you say?" snapped Tom briskly, glowering at him.

Harry gestured frantically with his hands. "Before, I saw some Ancient Runes in the wards that shouldn't have been there!" His jaw clenched as he griped sourly, "I was going to tell you, I was going to look into it but-"

"What does your modification do?" demanded Tom harshly, rounding on Von Krauss, ignoring Harry though he certainly felt his brother's fury in the way his scar began to throb again.

Konrad Von Krauss assessed them stoically, before he spoke, "It delays. You have five minutes to decide. If you are wise and do as you are told, the English Ministry of Magic will never know that you killed a muggle. If not-" he shot Tom a grave look "-I will allow the wards to function as originally intended, and the Ministry will be notified. You will be judged by the full court of the Wizengamot on charges of murder, breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and use of the Dark Arts and one of the Unforgivable Curses."

Harry lost all color of his face, feeling faint with the enormity of it all, so deeply fearful, horrified and dismayed, that he had to clutch the banister of the stairs.

Tom eyed the wizard closely, then nodding and intoning nonchalantly, "I understand. Again, what are your terms?"

"Sign this," said Von Krauss as two rolls materialized from thin air with the wave of his wand, "and no one will ever know what transpired here."

Snapping into action, Harry instantly snatched the roll closest to him, unfolding it and then staring with wide, apprehensive eyes. His gaze frantically roved over the muggle document again, taking notice of the name, of the date-

"This is what Mrs. Cole drew up for Alice and Hutchins!" Harry clenched it in a fist, as he glowered furiously at the German wizard, swiftly aiming his wand once more. "These are muggle adoption papers – what have you done to Mrs. Cole!"

"She is alive and well," replied Konrad Von Krauss curtly.

"I don't believe you," spat Harry angrily, waving the document in front of the wizard. "She would have never allowed someone else to sign these! Who is Lord Alistair Ashcroft anyway?"

"That would be me," said Von Krauss coldly. "My muggle persona identity." He shot him a pointed look as he added impassively, "Lord Alistair Ashcroft made the acquaintance of Sarah Jones many years ago-"

"Alice's sister?" mumbled Harry disconcerted.

"- who kept insisting for Ashcroft to adopt some boys from an orphanage she knew of," continued Von Krauss, as he then waved a hand dismissively. "Now, your Mrs. Cole is under the impression that 'Lord Ashcroft' has been visiting your orphanage with some regularity, taking a shine to you, and you to him. And of course-" he shot Harry a cold look "-after the accidental demise of one of your caretakers and her fiancé, Mrs. Cole was more than happy to allow Lord Ashcroft to adopt you, and provide for you."

"You tampered with her memories," gritted out Harry angrily.

"Thus, after the fortuitous encounter of 'Alistair Ashcroft' and Mrs. Cole in the docks of London, where she related the events of the tragic death of your parents-to-be and finally agreed to allow Alistair Ashcroft to take charge of you, the Matron of your orphanage boarded her ship very contently, under the impression she had done a good deed for your sake."

Konrad Von Krauss merely paused to given them a hard look. "Now, it is only necessary for you to sign the papers, agreeing to become Lord Alistair Ashcroft's adopted sons. The muggle document will be submitted to the proper authorities and your Ministry of Magic will be appraised of the situation by the officials they have working in the muggle government." A corner of his lips curled upwards. "Given the laws of your Ministry, the document is valid and cannot be contested."

"Then why this?" demanded Tom, gesturing at the parchment he had taken into his hands, which he had evidently revised thoroughly while Harry had been concerned with the muggle adoption papers.

"What is it?" Harry said anxiously, shooting the parchment a narrowed-eyed look. He could only tell it was magical, given the way it emitted a dim golden glow.

"A magical contract," replied Tom sharply, "that makes us Konrad Von Krauss' wards."

"To be signed," interjected the German wizard, pulling something thin and silver from his robes' pocket, "with this instrument."

Harry stared at it aghast, recognizing it from the things Alphard had once told him. "That's a Blood Quill! We aren't signing a magical contract with our blood!"

"What are you doing?" he then cried out in alarm when Tom instantly took the quill with clear intentions of using it straight away. Harry immediately grabbed his brother's wrist tightly. "Tom! If you sign a magical contract in blood-"

"I know exactly what it means," snarled Tom impatiently, yanking his wrist free from Harry's hold. He scowled at him darkly, lowering his voice as he hissed, _"This would have always happened somehow, sooner or later."_

Harry frantically shook his head. _"This is exactly what I feared, brother! If we sign all these, we'll be forever under Grindelwald's thumb! We'll be at his mercy, he will be able to do anything he likes to us-"_

"_Remember our pact,"_ hissed Tom sharply. _"We can take advantage of this-"_

"_I don't want to, not like this!"_ snapped Harry in exasperation, jerkily carding his fingers through his hair. _"This is entrapment and extortion, Tom, and we don't need to fall into it."_ His eyes suddenly glowed with hope. _"We can explain to the Wizengamot what happened! We can tell them that you killed Mr. Jenkins to save my life, it was self defense-"_

"_I used the Killing Curse,"_ interjected Tom with vast annoyance. _"They won't forgive that, no matter our age or reasons."_ He glowered at him, as he spat acidly, _"And I won't put my life and freedom in the hands of those old codgers of the Wizengamot."_

"_Then Dumbledore!"_ pressed Harry desperately. _"He can help us, I know he would-"_

"_Dumbledore,"_ hissed Tom poisonously, his eyes mere furious slits, _"never."_

"Perhaps," said Konrad Von Krauss who had been gazing at them hissing at each other with unflappable patience, "I should mention that there is much more at risk besides your lives." He glanced at Harry at this, as he continued loftily, "Indeed, Mrs. Katherine Cole and the orphans under her care are embarked in a steam passenger ship bound for Canada. The SS City of Benares, I believe." He arched an eyebrow at Harry. "And it would not be surprising if a German submarine in the Atlantic decided to torpedo a British ship, would it? I need only give the order."

Paling, Harry stiffened at once, before he spat through gritted teeth, "You bastard."

"I have been called worse, I suppose," said Von Krauss indifferently. "Yet I must remind you that time is ticking away." He flicked his wand, muttering "Tempus!" and eyed the glittering red numbers that appeared floating in the air. "Indeed, you have one minute left. You must decided now. Azkaban or me."

Harry could do nothing as Tom signed both documents, feeling a galling sense of powerless impotence. When his turn came, he would have scrunched his eyes shut if he could, to not see himself committing such foolishness. Indeed, he felt as though he was signing his own death sentence as he jerkily scribbled down his name, as gnawing as it was.

Konrad Von Krauss flicked his wand and healed the cuts the Blood Quill had inflicted in their palms, to then calmly approach Mr. Jenkins' corpse.

With another flick and a muttered spell, it became a small bone that Von Krauss picked from the floor with an expression of utter disdain as he then pocketed it.

"Make haste and bring whatever belongings you wish," the German wizard commanded curtly as he tucked the rolled documents in the folds of his rich robes, a look of profound satisfaction on his stern features.

* * *

With satchel hanging from one shoulder and Ulysses' basket in hands, Harry entered the expensive-looking, shiny black motorcar that awaited them outside the orphanage.

"Start the engine, Peterson," Konrad Von Krauss snapped imperiously once they were all comfortably seated at the back.

The muggle chauffeur obeyed at once, merely shooting Harry and Tom curious looks, while Von Krauss – well, 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' better said, since the German wizard had wasted no time in casting glamours on his face and robes before stepping outside the house- glanced out the windows with a most irritated expression on his face.

"Horrid city," the German wizard muttered under his breath with disgust and contempt, though Harry wasn't paying him much attention.

As their motorcar made its way out of town, he noticed that there hadn't been a single German airplane in the skies. Yet he had no doubt that The Blitz would recommence once they were gone.

Indeed, things seemed to have been carefully planned for their 'abduction', and Harry couldn't help wondering and suspecting whether what had happened to Alice and Hutchins-

"What is the matter with you?"

Harry scowled as he turned to look at his brother.

"What d'you think?" he bit out mordantly.

"This is for the best," stated Tom in his most arrogant and superior tone of voice, giving him a dark, reproving look.

"Right," Harry mumbled bitterly as he went back to stare out the windows.

Crumbled buildings gave way to countryside not much latter, until the motorcar left the road to enter what looked like a private path.

Meanwhile, Harry tried to recall everything he had ever overheard his housemates saying about a Von Krauss, though he just remembered the basics. That the wizard was one of the Dark Lord's so-called Haupte Kommandaten, that he was Grindelwald's Right Hand, his closest follower and most trusted, and that he was the father of the girl Abraxas Malfoy was betrothed to.

Sour thoughts about Malfoy only led to become distressed about his friend Alphard Black. He had no idea what had happened to the boy, especially given the way Alphard had called out his name in the middle of Platform Four and Three Quarters, for everyone to hear.

Harry sighed wearily, rubbing his face, as their motorcar soon entered a pebbled park, surrounded by a wide estate of grass, trees, and beautiful gardens, the surface of a lake sparkling from some distance away under the moonlight.

In another other circumstances he would have gawked at the gigantic, sprawling, old fashioned English Manor they halted before. Instead, he merely eyed it resentfully – was that to be their gilded cage?

"Remember," whispered the glamoured Konrad Von Krauss sternly, "you are Lord Alistair Ashcroft's newly adopted sons. In a few days, we will leave. Until then, act the part."

Harry shot him an irked look. He had been hoping the wizard would make some mistake.

In fact, had been waiting for him to cast some magic since pureblood wizards seemed unable to restrain themselves in their usage of magic for every little thing. Though it was obvious to him by then that Von Krauss was no fool. From what he had gathered thus far, he would even go as far as calling the wizard a superciliously cautious man.

There was little chance that Von Krauss would forget himself and cast magic around Harry and Tom who had the Trace Charm on themselves. Just as he had seen the wizard doing something to Dumbledore's wards before leaving the orphanage, surely vanishing any traces of the modifications Von Krauss had once made.

"I will introduce you."

And indeed, the wizard did. A whole party of people were waiting at the pebbled park, forming two lines before the grand stairway that led to the manor's entrance.

Servants, Harry soon realized, given their liveries, as the names of the butler, housekeeper, footmen, valet, chambermaids, cook, and kitchen maids flew over his head.

"I am relying on you to see to their comfort, Mr. Brunton," said the glamoured Konrad Von Krauss at last, as he amicably addressed the butler, his brisk German accent long having been replaced by a posh, British one, "and aid them in their transition to their new situation in life."

"Certainly, Lord Ashcroft," solicitously said the old muggle man, who looked like nothing but a stuck-up snob, given that Harry noticed the surreptitious scornful look he and Tom were shot.

The withered, old butler, with shoulders and spine as rigid as a rod, his uniform just as heavily starched and stiff, soon expressed his less than sincere welcome as he then began to bark orders.

"The footmen will see you to your rooms," they were informed at last.

And with that, Harry and Tom were herded into the manor, with two other footmen trailing behind them, supposedly carrying 'their trunks' from the motorcar.

Though he had never set foot on a place like that, he wasn't interested in the luxurious rugs, the chandeliers sparkling from the high-arched ceilings, the delicate vases and busts, the portraits of impressive Ashcroft ancestors, the coats of arms and swords, the silky settees and ottomans, or the wood floors with beautiful decorative patterns, but rather in the fact that he didn't see a single glow of magical wards.

If it weren't for Mrs. Cole and his friends of the orphanage, Harry knew he could have made an easy escape from there.

They were led into one wing of the manor, soon to be separated as Tom was escorted to a different room.

Harry entered his with a feeling of utter depressed indifference. He saw it was vast, and nothing more, as he plopped himself down on the large, fluffy bed, setting Ulysses' basket to one side.

He didn't dare let out his Scorcrup yet as a footman was busying himself with the trunk, unpacking posh muggle clothes that Harry realized were meant for him.

"What's that?" Harry muttered a mite alarmed, as the footman carefully unfolded a black frock with ridiculously long coat tails. "Are we expected to go to a ball or something?"

"Ball?" The young muggle man blinked at him, before he chuckled under his breath as he gently hung the frock inside a large, ornate wardrobe. "This is your evening attire for supper. The Ashcrofts keep to the old traditions." He paused as he gave Harry a pensive look, before he said excitedly, "Say, you'll be needing a valet, won't you? To help you get dressed like a proper young gentleman. You could put in a good word for me with the Lord. I've always wanted to be a valet!"

"Um, yeah, sure," mumbled Harry. "I suppose I could-"

"I'm O'Higgins," said the young man animatedly, as he finished with his task and then lowered his voice to add amicably, "but you can call me Georgie if you like."

Harry nodded dully. "I'm Harry."

Georgie beamed at him. "I know. Mr. Brunton told us your names." He shot him a sheepish look. "Loads of things have been said about you – we like to gossip downstairs." He seemed to hesitate, before he smiled widely. "Not all of us think the same, but I, for one, am glad that Lord Ashcroft decided to adopt sons." He sighed deeply as he sadly shook his head. "Terrible business what happened to him."

Harry frowned at the muggle. "What happened to him?"

"Well, you must already know all about it!" said Georgie, staring at him. "Lord Ashcroft only comes back to England to visit your orphanage, doesn't he?" He shook his head disparagingly. "He certainly never sets foot on this house, not even for his father's funeral of a few months ago."

"Erm... right..."

"What does he do in America anyway?" Georgie gazed at him with head cocked to a side. "We all wonder, you know. He's been away for over three years, and we know that he has business overseas but then there's also his wife-"

"Wife?" Harry's eyebrows shot upwards before he pinned the young muggle man with an interested look. "Von – er, Lord Ashcroft has a wife?"

"Of course." Georgie blinked at him. "Haven't you met her?" He frowned as he mumbled to himself, "I would have thought that he must have taken her to see you in the orphanage, though given her condition perhaps-"

"Is she here? Can I see her?" said Harry instantly, feeling hope bubbling inside him. If Von Krauss had brought his wife to keep up with the charade of being muggle aristocracy, then perhaps he would have a chance of winning someone to his side. Perhaps the woman could help them in some way.

Georgie tensed, casting glances around as if worried someone might overhear him.

"I dunno," then whispered the muggle worriedly. "She's not quite right in the head, you see." He bit his lip, before he released a deep sigh. "But I guess it's only right for you to meet her. She's your mother now, after all."

Harry nodded repeatedly, as he said effusively, grinning widely, "Yes, exactly!"

"Alright," breathed out Georgie, waving him over. "Come along then. Let's be quick."

They dashed down the hallways until the footman unlocked a door at the very end of the manor's wing.

"We must be quiet, loud noises startle her," whispered the young muggle as he held the door open for Harry.

With a very ominous sense of foreboding, Harry entered the dimly lit room. All the curtains were drawn shut, a sole lamp casting some light in the gloomy surroundings.

He frowned apprehensively when he saw a woman seated before a small boudoir table filled with brushes, powders, and perfumes, apparently looking at her own reflection in the mirror set on it.

"One of the chambermaids takes care of her," whispered Georgie by Harry's side.

It was then, though, that Harry realized that the woman wasn't staring into the mirror at all. In fact, she didn't seem able to focus on anything, and much less posses any smidgen of comprehension. Her mouth was hanging agape, drool dribbling from one corner, and half her head was cleanly shaved, displaying a large scar.

"What happened to her?" breathed out Harry horrified.

"It was very sad," murmured Georgie, mournfully shaking his head. "When young Lord Ashcroft returned to England, we were all very happy. The Old Lord thought that his son had died in the Great War, you see? So when the young Lord returned with an American wife … well, the Old Lord wasn't too happy about the marriage, had wanted his son to marry an English lady as was only proper." He shot Harry a pointed look. "But she's from some rich American family, and the Old Lord finally accepted her. But I always thought there was something very strange about her. She used to have this odd, dull look in her eyes-"

"Dull?" mumbled Harry, blanching as he realized that the woman before him was certainly not Konrad Von Krauss' wife but rather some poor girl that the wizard must have picked up from who-knew-where and held under an Imperius Curse for ages.

"Yes," said Georgie, nodding, as he tapped one side of his head. "Always knew she wasn't quite right up here. Some say she went mad because she couldn't bear children." He shuddered as if in remembrance. "She used to scream in the middle of the night, waking up the whole house ." He gazed at Harry with wide eyes. "I even saw her once, clawing at her own head, as if wanting to rip something out." He lowered his voice, as he whispered anxiously with a hint of fearful superstition, "Her chambermaid says that she screamed about hearing voices inside her head –voices that haunted her and turned her insane."

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling quite ill. "I see."

"In the end," whispered Georgie, "the Old Lord decided to help her, and he sent her to a clinic. The doctors there said that she was suffering from depression and schizophrenia, and treated her. They did a lobotomy." He tilted his head to a side as he musingly stared at the catatonic woman. "But it didn't work for some reason."

"I doubt that lobotomies ever work," mumbled Harry under his breath, his face tinged with a sickened, greenish hue. After all, from what he knew, Healers in the Wizarding World didn't resort to chopping off half a person's brain in cases of mental illnesses.

"But even though Lord Ashcroft spends most of his time overseas," interjected Georgie, a proud look on his face, "he must love her greatly still, don't you think?" He gestured at the drooling woman, as he whispered quietly, "He has legal cause to divorce her without causing scandal, but he's never done so. Instead, he chose to adopt you."

He beamed at Harry, as he added cheerfully, "He must be a great man. You must like him a lot."

"Sure," muttered Harry, giving the friendly muggle a strained smile.

* * *

"Von Krauss is a monster," stated Harry two days later, fidgeting with the stiff collar around his neck – the white silk bowtie was even worse, and he gave up in trying to knot it correctly.

He had already told his brother about 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft's wife', though Tom had been wholly unconcerned by it.

Indeed, even now, his brother looked utterly untroubled. Seated on one of his bedroom's divans like some prince in lavish surroundings that befitted his station in life, eyeing Harry critically.

"You are doing it wrong," said Tom in an aggravated tone of voice, as Harry once more fumbled with his bowtie. "Do you want me to ring for the valet?"

"No," snapped Harry peevishly. "I don't like the servants here except for Georgie."

"Georgie?" sneered Tom scathingly.

"Yup, he's one of the footmen. He's nice." Harry scowled at him. "The others just look at me as though I was dirt on their shoes."

"Perhaps," griped Tom acidly, "it wouldn't be so if you tried to dress properly. Instead of insisting on wearing your clothes from the orphanage-"

"I like my clothes, they're comfortable," bit out Harry grumpily, as he tugged on the coat tails of his frock. "Not like this stuff. Why must we wear these silly clothes, anyway?"

"Because we're having supper with Von Krauss again, as you well know. And we must keep up appearances."

Harry shot him a dirty look, and harrumphed. It seemed to him that that was all they had been doing, having meals and keeping up the charade with 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' for the servants' benefit. He didn't understand what they were doing there, and his wariness had only increased with the days.

To add insult to injury, Tom seemed to be having a jolly good time. The servants certainly didn't look at his brother as they looked at him.

On the contrary, Harry had seen several maids shooting Tom admiring looks, blushing and coyly smiling. He had even heard the gossipy chatter of two maids declaring to be pleasantly surprised that at least one of the 'street rats' was so very handsome, courteous, and polite.

"Let me do it," snapped Tom impatiently, as he rose to his feet and took hold of the ends of Harry's bowtie.

As his brother effortlessly worked on his stupid bowtie, Harry gazed up at him fretfully, as he murmured, "Tom, what if Von Krauss doesn't let us return to Hogwarts? What if he sends us to Durmstrang instead?"

"He won't," said Tom shortly, as he finished arranging the bowtie with a flourish. "See? That's how it's done."

Harry didn't even glance down to check. His brother had always been a vain git, and it didn't surprise him one bit that Tom had learned how to tie those stupid things so quickly.

"You don't care," he spat accusingly, narrowing his green eyes at Tom. "You want to go to Durmstrang!"

"Why would I want to go there?" sneered Tom irritably, abruptly dropping his hands away from trying to enforce some measure of order in Harry's hair. "Durmstrang has nothing to offer me. It wasn't founded by my ancestor, it has no Chamber of Secrets awaiting for me to find." He waved a hand dismissively as he added in a lofty, superior tone of voice, "And whatever Dark Arts their professors could teach me, I'm already learning by myself – much more efficiently and thoroughly than if taught by imbeciles."

Suspiciously, Harry eyed him closely, until he saw that his brother had been sincere.

"Alright, then," he grumbled under his breath. "Just wanted to make sure."

Tom shot him an irked look, but didn't have the chance to retort as there was a knock on the door, followed by a maid timidly entering Tom's room.

"Begging your pardon, sirs," said the girl quietly, curtsying awkwardly in the threshold, "but Lord Ashcroft requests your presence in the study."

Harry sighed as they followed the girl into the hallway.

"Clara," Tom was quick to intone softly, as he stepped closer to the maid, "can you tell us what it is regarding?"

The girl blushed, as she stuttered, "Y-yes, of course, my lord-"

"Please," interjected Tom, shooting her a bedazzling, gorgeous smile, "I've already told you to call me Tom."

Harry rolled his eyes in supreme annoyance and exasperation when the maid went pink and giggled.

"Yes – Tom," said the girl, her cheeks now rosy with pleasure, before she lowered her voice to a whisper, "Well, two very strange chaps came asking to see you and Lord Ashcroft. At first, we thought they were peddlers or theatre folk asking for coins." Her eyes widened, as she added, "They are dressed very oddly. Mr. Burnton tried to drive them away! But they refused to leave until they had seen you. They're waiting for you in the study."

They all remained in silence, following the maid into a wing of the manor they had never been before, until she halted in front of a heavy oak door, and declared with relief, "Here we are."

The moment they stepped inside, Tom briefly grabbed Harry by the arm, as he whispered sharply into his ear, "Do not try anything stupid. Only speak if addressed."

Harry soon understood why, as he saw the glamoured Konrad Von Krauss standing behind a grand desk, two other men in the middle of the room eyeing their surroundings with either interest or puzzlement – men in robes. Wizards.

"Here they are," said Konrad Von Krauss brightly, as he waved them over to take a seat.

"Good," said one of the wizards curtly, shooting Tom and Harry a hard look. "Let's see…" He trailed off as he plucked out a piece of parchment from his robes. "Messrs. Tom and Harry Riddle, I take? Formerly of Saint Jerome's Orphanage, under the tutelage of a…" He checked his scroll of parchment once more "…Mrs. Katherine Cole."

The wizard arched an eyebrow at them, and Harry quickly nodded.

"It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic," said the wizard sternly, "that your orphanage is no longer operating-"

"A Ministry!" cried out 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' excitedly, clapping his hands together as if in delirious raptures of happiness, before he shot Harry and Tom a soft, chiding look. "Why, boys, you didn't tell me that your sort had a government!"

Harry had to hand it to Von Krauss, he had never seen such a brilliant actor except for his brother. The German wizard played the part of an eccentric, rich British muggle aristocrat to perfection.

"Their sort?" jumped in the other Ministry official instantly. "So you have been apprised of what they are?"

"Of course!" said the glamoured Von Krauss, looking as if in the throes of thrilling events. "Wizards! They have told me all about it – about that schools of theirs with speaking portraits, and little green creatures, and moving staircases-"

"Well, there's much more to Hogwarts than that," groused one of the wizards.

"-and their incredible lessons, making things float about and the sort," kept rhapsodizing Von Krauss, before he paused looking concerned. "They did no wrong in telling me, did they?"

"Um, no," conceded the Ministry official irritably. "But you must understand, sir, that this situation is highly unusual. We are aware that you have adopted them, but you must be warned that for a muggle to raise magical children is no easy undertaking-"

"Muggle?" The glamoured Von Krauss blinked at him. "Oh, yes! I've heard that funny little term before." He glanced at Harry and Tom, beaming. " 'Non-magical people', was it? Like myself!"

"Indeed, sir," said one of the wizards flatly. "Must I understand, then, that you do not wish to recant your adoption of them?"

"Of course not!" 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' smiled widely. "The boys are very dear to my heart, and I'm terribly fascinated with this whole Magical World discovery."

The Ministry officials shot the alleged 'muggle' an exasperated look, before one of them stated sternly, "Very well, then you are henceforth bound to the laws of our Ministry."

He dropped a thin, glossy booklet on Von Krauss' desk, with the title of 'A Muggle's Guide to the Wizarding World'.

"You'd best read that carefully, sir," continued the wizard, "and I'm sure your adopted sons will fill you in with the rest." He shot Tom and Harry a hard look. "Especially regarding the Statute of Secrecy."

"We will," instantly intoned Tom politely.

"Then our job here is done," said the Ministry official, turning to address Von Krauss, tipping his bowler hat. "Have a pleasant evening, sir."

The moment the wizards left the room, the glamoured Konrad Von Krauss dropped his act, and urged curtly, "Go get your belongings packed. The maids will aid you. We're leaving at once."

Harry jumped to his feet, glowering at the wizard, as he gritted out, "Where to, this time?"

Konrad Von Krauss shot him a hard look that appeared out of place in the pudgy face of 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft', as he replied coldly, "Germany. Hereafter, that is your home."

At that declaration, Harry was swept by such overpowering dread that he had to force himself to look out from one of the vast windows of the study, so that Von Krauss wouldn't see his pale face, so that he wouldn't have to observe how Tom was smirking with self-satisfaction, how his brother's eyes were gleaming with triumph and anticipation.

To him, it felt like the beginning of the end. It was a bizarre sensation, the certainty he felt, almost as if forebodingly prophetic, like that of a trapped animal that could sense that its freedom was at an end, that its fate was no longer under its control but rather under that of a foe, and knew it was doomed.


	56. Part I: Chapter 55

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

I hope you enjoyed all the festivities!

I did myself *chuckles* but at last I'm finally posting the update! To make up for the long wait, this is a juicy chapter that I hope you fully enjoy.

Thanks to all reviewers of last chapter too, you always keep me motivated! ;)

Now, it seems only one issue needs to be clarified. What happened when Tom killed Mr. Jenkins with the Avada Kedavra Curse was that his soul was split for the first time. This is what the Horcrux in Harry felt, that's why Harry felt such things in reaction – the Horcrux within 'recalling', so to speak, and relating the experience to the one of the day when it had been created, making Harry see flashes of Voldermort killing Lily Evans, the green light, the red eyes, etc, etc. The pain Harry experienced was the remembered pain of the Horcrux, since surely having been ripped apart from Voldemort's soul couldn't have been a pleasant experience.

Furthermore, what Tom felt was his own soul splitting for the first time, at the same time that he witnessed Harry's reaction, so now he's suspicious. We know he realized at some point that Harry's scar and the way it reacts to Tom, means that it is a magical scar, the remnants of some curse, though Tom has tried to find explanations in books and has failed. Even though he now suspects much, and knows about Horcruxes since his first trip to Diagon Alley, for him to jump to the conclusion that there are two timelines and that Harry is the horcrux of his other self in the future, that's quite a stretch of the imagination that Tom won't be making in some time.

**Warning:** Slight slash content. Don't like, skip.

**Note:** As always, anything in _Italics_ is a foreign language, namely, German and Parseltongue in this chapter.

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 55**

* * *

"Where are we?" breathed out Harry perplexed as he found himself before wrought-iron gates depicting two battling dragons.

A few moments ago they had been standing in the midst of fleeing crowds in the docks of London, saying their goodbyes to the chauffeur Peterson. It was evident that the servants had been told that 'Lord Aschcroft' and his two newly adopted sons were travelling to America, to begin their education regarding Ashcroft's businesses in that continent.

Apparently, that was the cover story for their departure from England. Yet before they could even step into a ship bound for America, the glamoured Konrad Von Krauss had taken hold of Harry and Tom and they had been pulled into a Side-Along Apparition.

At present, Harry found himself in what looked like the middle of a dense forest of pine trees, before a gigantic dome of wards that glittered before his eyes, shooting up to the skies, spreading to either sides, covering an immense area, as if protecting and hiding a whole town it seemed, with only the wrought-iron gates visible at front, as if incrusted in the dome.

Harry couldn't really tell what was inside, as powerful and ancient as the wards looked, glowing so brightly that nothing could be seen through them.

"We are near Berlin," replied Von Krauss curtly, all his glamours dispelled, as he raised a hand. "This is the main Von Krauss estate. Henceforth, your home."

At that motion, the iron-wrought head of a dragon creaked as it turned to face the wizard, unfurling from the gate as a spiked tongue shot out from the figure's maw.

The German wizard didn't even flinch as the palm of his hand was cut by one of the metallic protrusions of the tongue that licked it.

A second later, Von Krauss dropped his hand as the dragon merged back into the gate as it opened.

Harry blinked, bemused, as they followed the wizard inside the dome of magical wards. The first thing he saw was a carriage awaiting for them, drawn by magnificent, white winged horses, in the middle of a meandering path surrounded by trees.

At that, Harry excitedly entered the carriage with satchel and Ulysses' basket in hands, as he eyed the Pegasi at front with much interest and giddy excitement.

Alas, their carriage moved forward along the pebbled path once they were settled, the winged horses pulling it with a dainty trot instead of going airborne as he had hoped.

Although disappointed, his interest was soon captured by the scenery. They were crossing a vast estate: he could see smatterings of woods at either side, which became an array of gardens as they moved forward - though they looked unkempt, with wild ferns growing here and there, the grass tall, yellowish and disorderly, many bloomed flowers withered from lack of watering, amidst several garden statues weather-beaten, stained or broken.

Everything seemed sadly neglected, even the vast castle they were approaching – because it had to be a castle, despite how it looked a tad decrepit, given how large it was, especially since it was surrounded by a moat so wide that it was worthy of being called a lake.

As their carriage came closer, a bridge lowered by itself, its rusty chains clanking noisily.

Harry noticed that Von Krauss' expression was pained and bitter as the wizard contemplated his ill-kept property.

He vaguely wondered about it as the carriage came to a sudden halt.

As the carriage faded into the distance once they descended, Harry eyed the castle before him more attentively, craning his neck back.

Its front doors were as immense as Hogwarts', though made of iron instead of dark wood. He could see countless towers and turrets, with the same coat of arms etched in stone here and there, depicting ornate V's and K's intertwined together, amongst fierce-looking gargoyles perched on every ledge and cranny – gargoyles that shifted to look down at him.

And frightful things they were, making Harry shudder as he was pierced by hideous, stone eyes. Clearly, the castle had been built to be imposing, menacing and intimidating instead of beautiful.

The heavy iron doors parted open with a wave of Von Krauss' hand, and Harry quickly trailed after the wizard.

"_Elf!"_ snapped Von Krauss in a brisk German as soon as they entered the foyer.

Instantly, an old, withered house-elf popped before them, bowing low, pressing large, pointy nose to the stone floors, as it awaited further instructions.

Harry eyed the creature curiously. It looked nothing like the healthy, well-fed house-elves in Hogwarts. It was very old, emaciated, and haggardly dressed, with a spotless yet threadbare pillowcase worn like a toga, the piteous creature looking about to keel over from weakness and starvation. There were even burns and bruises on the house-elf's sickly pale skin, Harry noticed with a wince.

"_Take their belongings to their appointed chambers,"_ commanded Von Krauss shortly.

Harry jumped, as his satchel and Ulysses' basket abruptly disappeared with a snap of the house-elf's fingers, before the creature vanished without a word.

"You have the liberty to explore and make use of my estate," began Konrad Von Krauss as he stalked down a corridor, "as long as you do not attempt to leave it. Call for a house-elf if there is anything you require-"

"What are their names?" interjected Harry as he hurried after the wizard, glancing around.

The interior of the castle didn't look as forsaken as the gardens, everything impeccably clean, though there were signs of detrition nonetheless. Vast carpets that looked frayed and greyish instead of brightly colorful, suits of armors that cranked their heads to follow their path whose metal didn't shine as if new but were rather muted and corroded, chandeliers with crystals that were opaque or broken, and countless of threadbare tapestries, displaying moving scenes like a wizard battling a dragon, another that looked to be representing some event in a Goblin War, and many having to deal with grotesquely tortured muggles, burning in pyres or silently screaming under a wizard's wand.

The only things that seemed to have been under constant maintenance and repair were the numerous portraits hanging all around the castle - portraits of undoubtedly Von Krauss ancestors given that most were blonde and blue-eyed, as they muttered amongst themselves, shooting Tom and Harry scornful looks.

Though what intrigued Harry the most were the many gold-gilded mirrors in the castle. He wouldn't have pegged Von Krauss as a vain man. The wizard was always strictly groomed but didn't seem to fancy any personal adornments or dandyish flourishes.

"Von Krauss house-elves," shot the wizard over his shoulder, his voice thick with a curt and crisp German accent, "have no names. House-elves do not need nor deserve such. Call for an elf and the most readily available one will answer your summon. Now, do not linger behind, there is someone waiting for you."

At that, Tom turned to him as they followed the wizard, sharply hissing under his breath, _"Don't do anything foolish. __Be at your best behavior with the Dark Lord."_

Harry blanched. That was who was waiting for them? He was instantly swept with dread and trepidation, not having expected to have to deal with Grindelwald that soon.

However, in the next moment, he squared his shoulders as he gave his brother a dour look. _"I'm not an idiot. I know what's at stake here." _He glowered at Tom, as he hissed through gritted teeth, _"I can be as charming as you when I want to. So, fine, I'll beam at him and kiss his arse and lick his boots if that's what it takes-"_ he shot his brother a hard look _"-but don't you forget our deal."_

"_I haven't,"_ hissed Tom harshly, darkly glaring at him, before they both fell silent.

"I believe introductions are not required," said Konrad Von Krauss as he halted in the middle of the vast parlor they had entered. "He's an acquaintance of yours from Hogwarts from what I have been told."

It took Harry a moment to realize what the wizard was speaking about, at first not catching sight of the boy amongst the ancient furniture scattered about the room.

However, when Abraxas Malfoy indolently rose from a plush sofa, Harry blinked. He found himself not all that surprised, and quite relieved as well. Though when the boy widely smirked at them, his hackles rose in remembrance.

"Well, well…" drawled Malfoy, his smirk widening as his silvery gaze flickered from Harry to Tom, and back, "…the Riddles, at long last."

Harry's hands curled into angry fists, but he knew better than to say anything before Von Krauss. Tom, on the other hand, had stiffened, gazing at Malfoy with narrowed eyes, his infuriated disappointment clear to Harry given the way his scar began to prickle uncomfortably.

"Where is my daughter?" demanded Von Krauss sternly, frowning as he glanced about the room.

"She left earlier in the morning, sir," replied Malfoy, his tone greatly changed when addressing the wizard, now sounding deeply respectful. "She said she was going to spend the remainder of her holidays with a friend of Durmstrang."

"Indeed? She was told to be here."

Harry would have missed the enraged, frosty gleam that briefly crossed Von Krauss' eyes if he hadn't been eyeing the wizard with curiosity.

Malfoy merely remained silent as he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

Konrad Von Krauss' expression hardened before he turned to Harry and Tom, informing them briskly, "At five o'clock, a tailor will be fitting you for wizarding clothes. Do not be late for the appointment. Beginning tomorrow, you will follow a strict schedule for the next two months. You will rise at seven and partake of lessons with the tutors I have hired, until six in the evening. After then, you can do as you wish with your leisure time-"

"When are we meeting the Dark Lord?" interrupted Tom, his voice polite yet with a crisp and demanding undertone.

Konrad von Krauss narrowed his icy eyes at him. "The Dark Lord is very much occupied nowadays. He wishes for you to use these months to become proficient in his native tongue and the Dark Arts." He quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at them. "As I understand, you have begun studying both and you are now required to continue doing so until the Dark Lord is satisfied." His expression hardened, as he added bitingly, "Do not expect to see him any time soon. He will not bother with the likes of you until you are well trained. You are nothing but my wards, for the time being."

Harry wondered what the wizard meant with that last phrase, his apprehension escalating, though he had little chance to interrogate Von Krauss as the wizard barely paused as he turned to Malfoy.

"I leave them in your hands, Abraxas. I have other business to attend to."

Harry knew his brother well enough to realize that Tom was left seething when Konrad Von Krauss stalked out of the room without another word or backward glance. However, he had other thoughts in his mind and Tom's crushed expectations weren't one of them.

"I am to serve as your guide," drawled Malfoy once they were alone, smirking nastily at them. "And I dare say, you have much to learn. It is not surprising that the Dark Lord wants nothing to do with you – you'd be nothing but a source of embarrassment for him, considering your muggle upbringing-"

"How did you know?" snapped Harry furiously as he advanced on the boy, no longer able to contain himself.

Abraxas paused to stare at him, arching an eyebrow. "Know what, Riddle?"

"You know what!" bit out Harry angrily, now fruitlessly attempting to tower over a boy that was taller than him. "What you said to me in Platform Nine and Three Quarters-"

"I said nothing to you," intoned Malfoy deadpanned, eyeing him as if he had lost his mind though Harry saw the glimmer of malicious, taunting enjoyment in his eyes.

"You know what I mean!" Harry glared at him, as he then gritted out, "Even before, you once said to me we were going to spend a lot of time together-"

"_Whatever you are on about,"_ hissed Tom suddenly, piercing Harry with narrowed eyes, _"do not keep asking him questions here."_

Harry turned to look at him, frowning. _"What? Why?"_

"_The walls might have ears, little brother,"_ hissed Tom impatiently. _"Do you really believe that Von Krauss left us unobserved?"_

Harry gave his surroundings a wary glance before he intently stared at his brother. _"You think the house-elves might be listening? That they understand English?"_

"_The house-elves,"_ hissed Tom coolly as he gestured about the room, _"the portraits or anything else. We should always assume the worse."_

Blanching, Harry nodded, remaining silent, only then noticing that Abraxas had been watching them with a fascinated expression on his face, his silvery eyes glowing covetously. Though when the boy noticed Harry's attention, he instantly changed his expression to one of deep annoyance.

"It is very disrespectful," said Malfoy icily, glaring at them, "to carry a conversation in a language that is not understood by all in attendance-"

"You are our 'guide', correct?" interrupted Tom curtly, before he smiled pleasantly at Malfoy as he gestured at the view displayed by the windows. "Then perhaps you could show us the estate. I see a rather charming patch of overgrown lawn over there. Shall we take a stroll?"

Malfoy's pale eyebrows crinkled before a brief expression of dawning comprehension crossed his features.

"Indeed," the boy drawled placidly, "I do fancy a bit of fresh air myself."

* * *

They had been meandering along the pebbled paths weaving through the gardens for about half an hour in absolute silence, the castle a mere dark shape in the distance, when Tom suddenly halted before a beautiful fountain displaying a nymph combing her hair with a branch of coral.

The stone statue shifted to peer at them, to then ignore them as she scowled at the waterless basin of her fountain.

"A bit further still, I think," murmured Tom pointedly as they followed him into a patch of trees, leaving the fountain behind.

In the hopes they were finally well out of hearing range from any statues, elves, or whatever else, Harry wasted no time in rounding on Malfoy.

"Alright, Malfoy," he snapped crisply, glowering at the boy. "Spill the beans. How did you know beforehand that Von Krauss was going to kidnap us-"

"Kidnap?" Abraxas sneered scathingly, dropping the tree branch he had been indolently playing with. "Is that what you call it – for Von Krauss to have taken you under his wing, making you his wards, changing your fortunes in a way you certainly do not deserve-"

"Answer the question," said Tom, who had been gazing at Malfoy and Harry with narrowed eyes, his voice now that soft, quiet tone that would inspire fear and trepidation in anyone who knew him.

Yet, Malfoy obviously didn't, as the boy sneered contemptuously at him, "Surely you do not expect me to reveal my source of information, Riddle."

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits, before he shot Malfoy a pleasant smile, a calculating glint suddenly gleaming in his eyes. "Tell me, how many of our housemates know that Harry and I have become Von Krauss' wards?"

"Not many," replied Malfoy acridly.

Tom nodded, then vastly disappointing Harry when he simply turned around to contemplate the view of the gardens with the moat and castle in the distance.

"I want you to write to them, Malfoy," continued Tom quietly, not moving an inch from gazing pensively at the castle, "and apprise them of the news-"

"Why would I?" Abraxas pierced Tom's back with narrowed eyes. "What's in it for me?"

Harry gaped from one to the other, before he snapped angrily, "Brother, you are negotiating with _him_? Why-"

"Quiet," hissed out Tom sharply as he turned around to briefly glare at him before his gaze fell on Malfoy once more. "You will do as you are told, Malfoy. I want it to be known-"

"You stand to gain much more than I do," interjected Abraxas sharply, as he then slowly smirked at Tom. "Why should I grant you another favor?"

"Because you are in the unique position of spreading the gossip," retorted Tom dryly. "And our housemates will come to you to learn more about it."

Abraxas scoffed snidely at that. "That is not enough. I want-"

"I believe I already know what you want," said Tom sharply, before he arched a mocking eyebrow at him, "but did you really think I would consent to do it in exchange for nothing?"

"Nothing?" said Abraxas frostily, his silvery eyes glowing with fury. "You owe me much already, Riddle."

"Ah, yes." Tom waved a hand dismissively. "For having kept Harry's blood when you should have not-"

"I did more than that," snarled Abraxas. "Dorea Black made the golems but it was my idea-"

"And for bearing witness to the fact that we are Slytherin's heirs," continued Tom drolly, "when we find the Chamber of Secrets." He fulminated Abraxas with a scathing look. "Did you really believe those favors would be enough to have us in your clutches? To bribe us to dispose of a wizard for you?"

"Dispose?" Harry gawked at them. "What? Who? What wizard? And what do you mean, exactly, by dispose-"

"How did you know?" bit out Abraxas, his body stiff and rigid as he speared Tom with incensed, narrowed eyes.

Tom softly chuckled under his breath. "Why, Malfoy, it was plain for anyone to see. And hardly surprising given the things I've heard regarding your relationship with him."

"With who?" blurted Harry, increasingly nonplussed and alarmed.

He scowled when they blatantly ignored him once more.

"Tell me, Malfoy," said Tom pleasantly, as he gestured around them, "when will you inherit this?"

"When Konrad Von Krauss dies, of course," said Abraxas in a chilly tone of voice, "as well as all his other properties."

Tom smirked at him. "It will be so because you're bound to marry his daughter. However, according to rumours I've heard in Slytherin House, the Von Krausses do not have a knut in their vaults."

"Kasimira does," interjected Abraxas sharply, narrowing his eyes at Tom. "Her mother died recently. She was the wealthy one. Her Russian fortune is now Kasimira's."

"And given the state of this castle," intoned Tom calmly, "she's the one controlling the purse strings." He quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy. "Making her father beg for money, is she?"

"I believe so, yes," replied Abraxas shortly before he shot Tom a frosty look. "What is your point, Riddle?"

"That a lot of ifs must happen before you inherit anything," retorted Tom coolly. "You must first become of age and marry the chit for her fortune to bolster the Malfoy vaults. You must wait for Konrad Von Krauss to kick the bucket before inheriting his estates through your marriage with his daughter. And-" he shot Abraxas a nasty smirk "- all the while, you must wait for your grandfather to drop dead before any of it can be yours. And from the few times I've laid eyes on him, he doesn't appear to be infirm." He let out a feigned, aggrieved sigh. "A pity that wizards can live for nearly two centuries, is it not? A pity that your grandfather looks to be brimming with good health."

"I see," muttered Abraxas under his breath, paling, before he shot Tom an assessing look. "Is that how you discovered what I would ask of you?"

"Why not do it yourself?" Tom demanded, spearing him with gauging, narrowed eyes.

"Because I cannot," griped Abraxas sourly. "He saw to that."

"What are you talking about!" snapped Harry highly irked and exasperated.

"Something Malfoy will surely fully explain when the time comes," replied Tom loftily, his gaze still pinning the boy as he nastily smirked at him. "Yet, Malfoy should know that the price will be a hefty one-"

"I understand," interrupted Abraxas crisply, narrowing his silvery eyes at Tom before he sniffed contemptuously. "Very well, I will write those letters-"

"And you'll continue doing anything I ask of you as well," whispered Tom softly, his smirk widening and becoming venomous. "Won't you, Malfoy?"

"Within certain boundaries," said Abraxas in a chilly tone, his jaw clenching, a look of frustration and ill temper on his pale face, "perhaps."

Tom shot him a wide, charming smile that nonetheless had a lingering sense of taunting menace. "Good."

* * *

Konrad Von Krauss had not been lying. The weeks passed by in a flash, as constantly occupied as they were with their lessons.

"I don't understand it," griped Harry bitterly one day, as he exhaustedly plopped down on an armchair, his robes drenched in sweat. "Can't they see that we already know all that stuff?"

"I believe our tutors are reporting back to the Dark Lord," pointed out Tom briskly, narrowing his eyes at him. "Thus, we can't disappoint."

Harry could only glower at him, because they certainly couldn't have 'disappointed' at all. At Tom's insistence, they always put a good show of how very 'talented' they were, though it was hard to tell with their tutors' stern expressions if they managed to impress and amaze them as much as Tom wished.

The tutor that pounded German vocabulary into their heads hour after hour was bad enough, but the other two –Harry suspected they were Durmstrang professors, to boot- were even worse. Not even with Tom had he trained that hard. Granted, they now disposed of much more time to do so than in Hogwarts, but even so, the pace of their Dark Arts practice lessons was sometimes worrisome.

Harry shot his brother a dirty look as he groused, "Does Grindelwald want us to learn what – years worth of Dark Arts in two months!"

"He wants to know if we've been studying from the books he sent us," remarked Tom impatiently.

Harry sat up straight, shaking with anger. "It's much more than that. They're teaching us curses that are as bad as the Unforgivables – and some even worse!" He glanced around warily before he lowered his voice and gritted out, "If anyone knew what we've been practicing, we would be carted off to Azkaban!" He shot his brother an apprehensive look, as he gestured wildly. "What if our lessons have been recorded somehow? What if Grindelwald uses that as blackmail material-"

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed out Tom snidely.

Harry glared irritably at him, but remained silent. So much had happened lately that he didn't know what to think of it. They barely saw Konrad Von Krauss at all. The wizard left before sunrise and rarely returned before midnight – doing who knew what for the Dark Lord.

All the while, Tom spent his free time ensconced in the castle's library while Harry had to put up with Abraxas Malfoy trailing after him wherever he went. Apparently, according to Malfoy, Von Krauss had asked the boy to teach them pureblood traditions, social etiquette, and whatnot.

Why Malfoy always had to pester him with that – droning on and on about pureblood ideals and such rubbish – and not Tom, Harry didn't know. Though he certainly failed when attempting to escape from Malfoy. There weren't many places he could go to, at that.

He had already seen that Konrad Von Krauss' library held no books regarding wizarding Healing, and he couldn't continue his studies on Ancient Runes – not without spurring Malfoy's curiosity. And he certainly didn't want Malfoy nor Von Krauss, and much less Grindelwald, to know about his Magic-sight ability, or that he and Tom were planning on using Ancient Runes to create a spell that could counter their Trace Charms.

After all, one of their tutors had mentioned that they had nothing to worry about in practicing Dark Art curses during their holidays. Obviously, the dome of wards that encompassed the Von Krauss estate saw to that. Nevertheless, the Trace Charm was still a problem for them because Harry certainly didn't plan on forever remaining a prisoner.

Indeed, Von Krauss Castle was as much of a cage as Ashcroft Manor had been, with the added disadvantage that Harry and Tom couldn't freely speak to each other unless they communicated in Parseltongue.

At least that had served to make them agree on one point: to never show that they could wield wandless magic.

Though now Harry found himself missing his lessons with Tom, because his brother was a rather good teacher, strict yet also patient, and when they had been in Hogwarts he had begun to learn how to control his 'innate magic' as Tom called it. Furthermore, Tom was so excellent in wielding his own that Harry knew he had much catching up to do. It bothered him that his progress was thus curtailed since he couldn't continue practicing it in Von Krauss Castle.

The smothering, oppressive sense of being ever watched and trapped was further increased by the fact that they were completely isolated from the outside world. There were no wizarding newspapers to be had, no wizarding wireless either, and their only source of information was Abraxas and the letters the boy received from his grandfather.

Of course, Malfoy always became unbearably smug as he lorded it over them, and sometimes Harry wished the boy didn't share the grim news at all.

"Italian and German forces have begun moving into the Middle East and the North of Africa," drawled Abraxas superiorly one day during breakfast, pocketing his grandfather's letter after having read it with much relish. His eyes glinted as he smirked at them. "The Dark Lord will soon reign over all."

"The Middle East?" murmured Harry under his breath, frowning, before his eyes lighted with hope. "Hang on, weren't the Arabs one our side during the Great War?"

"Our side?" sneered Abraxas frostily.

"On England's side, I mean," amended Harry quickly, letting out a hallow laugh. "Of course that I don't want the Dark Lord to lose! But…"

He trailed off, because given the look Malfoy was shooting him it was obvious he wasn't believed.

Nevertheless, he ignored the boy and swiftly turned to Tom, feigning concern instead of hopeful giddiness. "So maybe the Arabs will help the British once more, and the Dark Lord's muggle forces might be overwhelmed by their numbers-"

"The Arabs won't lift a finger to help England in any way," cut in Tom coolly, before he gave Harry an annoyed look as he added in a hiss, "_Don't you recall Alice's history lessons? The Arabs drove away the Turks, defeated them, in fact, during the Great War, allowing England and its allies to thus defeat the Ottoman Empire in the European front. Nevertheless, the Arabs were promised many things for their aid – their independence, foremost. However, Britain reneged on its promises. The Arabs weren't even included in the negotiations of the Treaty of Versailles. Britain betrayed them. Hence, don't expect the Arabs to help them now_."

"Oh," mumbled Harry downcast, his shoulders slumping as it became clear to him that his own country's list of possible allies was running scarily short. He dearly wished that Tom was right about the Soviets, at the very least, even if Hitler turning against Stalin hadn't yet happened and there were no signs thus far of any ill feelings growing between them.

An instant later, he nearly jumped out of his seat when a house-elf popped into existence right before their breakfast table. It was taking him a while to get used to having house-elves suddenly popping in to serve them at all times.

"_Master is sending this for young masters," _the house-elf mumbled in a soft German as it bowed so low that the tips of its flappy ears swept the floor.

With a snap of its long, knotted fingers, several things appeared on top of the table, and Harry blinked as the house-elf vanished.

"Our Hogwarts letters," he then breathed out as he grasped the envelope by his dish of scones, feeling mightily relieved and joyful.

However, he scowled as he caught sight of the words written in bright purple ink.

_Harry Riddle–Ashcroft_

_Third bedroom by the stairs, East Wing, Ashcroft Manor_

_Winchester, England_

"How did he do that?" he grumbled peevishly under his breath, wondering how the meticulous Konrad Von Krauss had managed to trick whatever it was that told Hogwarts' professors about the whereabouts of their students. Although Von Krauss himself couldn't have done it, it would be too risky for the wizard to even attempt to get into Hogwarts... Was there a new spy in Hogwarts to supplant the dead Tilly Toke, then?

He forcefully vanished the grim thought from his mind, taking one look at the list of supplies and textbooks they would be needing for their Third Year, and then at the stack of books right before his plate, becoming clear to him that Von Krauss had done all their shopping for them. They wouldn't even be allowed to go to Diagon Alley.

Harry's aggrieved sigh was interrupted by Abraxas' outrage.

"Slughorn made _you_ the Slytherin Prefect?"

Harry glanced up, seeing Malfoy looking stiff and furious, only realizing what it was all about when he caught sight of something shiny in Tom's hands. It was, indeed, a silver badge.

"Of course he did," intoned Tom arrogantly as he caressed the badge with a thoroughly self-satisfied expression on his face, smirking widely at Malfoy.

Abraxas looked thunderous as he drew his chair back, instantly rising to his feet to then leave the breakfast room in brisk strides.

"That will teach him his proper place," said Tom viciously chuckling under his breath.

Harry shot his brother a perplexed look. "I thought Prefects were chosen on their Fifth Year-"

"Obviously they've changed that rule," retorted Tom nonchalantly. "Not surprising since the war with Grindelwald means that the student population at Hogwarts needs to be more closely monitored for their anxieties to be controlled." He paused, his eyes gleaming as he pinned Harry with his gaze, then grandiosely waving his badge. "You do realize what this means, I trust?"

"That your plans are progressing exactly as you wished," mumbled Harry in a monotone, his shoulders slumping further.

"Precisely."

Tom's smirk was so insufferably smug that Harry, too, left the room quickly thereafter, in a high dudgeon himself.

* * *

"Unlike Samhain, Walpurgis Night has long been considered by dark purebloods to be a festivity of-"

"Look, Malfoy," snapped Harry crossly, as he rounded on the boy that had been trailing after him along one of the pebbled paths of the gardens, "won't you ever talk about anything else? I'm tired of having to listen to you harp about purebloods' this and purebloods' that-"

"I am trying to instill in you," hissed out Abraxas tetchily, lifting his chin up, "some degree of pureblood culture, civility, and customs-"

"Von Krauss asked that of you," bit out Harry waspishly, "not me. And I'm not interested." He glowered at the boy, waving him away. "Why don't you go nag Tom with this stuff, for once!"

"Because your brother," sneered Abraxas scathingly, "as he's clearly a social-climber doing his best to emulate his betters, undoubtedly already knows 'this stuff', as you so churlishly put it."

"Fine," gritted out Harry short-temperedly, before he pointedly gestured at his clothes. "But I didn't agree to put these stupid things on just to spend another day listening to your blabbering. So what gives? What did you want to show me?"

Indeed, he still felt most uncomfortable and ridiculous walking around with a top hat, something that looked like a velvety blazer with coattails, and tight breeches. A 'riding habit', according to the house-elf that had laid the attire on his bed that morning, informing him that it was Young Master Malfoy's wish for Harry to done those clothes.

"We are almost there," replied Abraxas shortly, before he briskly sauntered past Harry and continued along the winding path.

Harry soon realized they were approaching some sort of stables, and his eyes widened with excitement as he caught sight of the glossy, white winged horses.

"The Pegasi!" he said joyfully as he ran up to them.

"Pegasi?" sneered Abraxas contemptuously, his silvery eyes narrowing with anger. "That is what muggles call them in their inane mythologies. The proper wizarding term is Abraxans-"

"Same difference," said Harry distractedly, flapping a hand dismissively before he beamed at the nearest beautiful horse.

Up-close, it was enormous, and he shot Abraxas a quizzical glance, grinning at him. "So you're going to teach me how to ride one, right? But how am I supposed to get on it?"

"Are you a wizard or not?" bit out Abraxas acidly, as he coolly flicked his wand, instantly conjuring some sort of footstool.

Harry beamed at him excitedly. "You're really going to teach me?"

"Of course," drawled Abraxas pompously. "Purebloods wealthy enough to afford them, are taught how to ride such creatures by the time they are ten. It's only proper for you to learn-"

"Not yet!" Abraxas barked a second later when he saw Harry eagerly trying to use the footstool to climb on the winged horse.

Mutinously, Harry halted his attempts, as Malfoy then proceeded to show him how to best choose a saddle, how to set them on the Abraxans, how to hold the reins and tuck the knees under their wings, and such.

"With a tap of your boots on their flanks, you can direct them," continued drawling Abraxas superiorly, once they were both on their winged horses. "Furthermore, they are rather intelligent creatures that can somewhat understand voiced instructions. If you utter the Latin phrase-"

"Up!" instantly urged Harry, whispering into his Pegasus' flickering ears, reckoning that what worked with brooms had to work with the creatures too.

A moment later he whooped with joy as he shot into the skies, his horse's wings powerfully flapping in the wind, making them zoom at such speeds that Harry's heart was beating loudly with thrilled happiness as he flattened himself on the creature's back, reins forgotten as he urged the Abraxan to go faster and faster.

"Come back! Riddle – you fool – where do you think you're going!"

Wholly ignoring Malfoy's alarmed shouts, Harry laughed in uproarious joy. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed flying, how he had missed it, the sensation of utter freedom and reckless carelessness, of adventure, as they weaved through clouds, higher and higher until he saw the domed, glimmering wards of the Von Krauss estate but a few feet above them.

It would be so easy to encourage the Abraxan to fly over them, to cross them, to make their way to England, to Hogwarts and Dumbledore even. He could taste it in his mouth, the certainty that true freedom was just a whispered urging away.

"You cannot leave the wards!"

With hair whipping his face, Harry shot a glance over his shoulder, seeing that Malfoy was doing his best to catch up with him on his own Abraxan. The boy's expression was one of anxiousness and fear as he kept yelling at him.

For a moment, Harry truly had to battle the temptation, yet his flight to escape and freedom was dashed as he remembered about Tom still in the Von Krauss Castle, about Mrs. Cole and his friends of the orphanage, somewhere in Canada but nonetheless easily reached by Konrad Von Krauss if the need arose to make his threats a reality.

"Let's go down," murmured Harry dispiritedly into his horse's ear.

The creature neighed, sounding disappointed itself, as it began to turn around, batting its enormous white wings as it coursed through the skies, flying lower and lower until it descended by the entrance of the castle.

The moment it halted its leisurely trots, Harry jumped off the Abraxan, patting its muzzle in gratefulness before he swiped his drenched forehead with a sleeve.

It was a sweltering hot summer day and he didn't think about it twice as he caught sight of the immense moat surrounding Von Krauss Castle.

By the time Abraxas Malfoy finally descended with his own Pegasus, Harry had already discarded all his clothes, running into the water with only his undergarments on.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy's voice demanded in a high-pitch, sounding scandalized.

Harry joyfully sank into the clear, chilly water, sighing with pleasure as he swam in the depths, feeling weeds caressing his legs, even catching sight of a school of small, silvery fish darting away from him as he kept frolicking in the water. He exuded in the feeling –a nice change from the tedium of his 'holidays'- making him even regret that the Grey Lady wasn't possessing him so that she could enjoy with him what had been her favorite pastime when alive.

Feeling utterly refreshed, he resurfaced to catch his breath, only to catch sight of Malfoy standing stiffly by the edge of the moat, looking thunderous.

"This is most improper," spat Malfoy at him, glowering and looking as if he was sucking a sour lemon, as if his fastidious sensibilities were being unpardonably offended by Harry's boorish behavior. "Come out from there!"

"I won't," piped Harry contently, basking in his pleasant state of utter relaxation. He joyfully kicked his legs and splashed some water around him, as he cocked his head to a side to contemplate the boy. "Why don't you come in?"

"In there?" Malfoy sneered snidely, shooting the moat a thoroughly disgusted look as if expecting it to be filled with germs, vermin, and other slimy, revolting things. "Absolutely not. It must be infested with-"

"There's nothing here but some fish," said Harry placidly, before he shook his head and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "No one's looking, Malfoy. Who'll know if you take a dip in the water?"

Malfoy's lips curled in revulsion, evidently about to contemptuously tell him just what he thought of the idea, though suddenly, the boy glanced upwards before he eyed Harry with glittering eyes and a wide smirk on his face.

"Very well," he drawled placidly, surprising Harry a bit when he then proceeded to carefully undress, piece by piece, neatly folding his clothes on top of a large boulder by the bank of the moat without any need of further encouragement.

By then, Harry had already gone back to swim around the moat, sighing with pleasure as water lapped against his skin, as the hot sunrays caressingly stroke him, the mix of heat and chilly water clashing together so pleasant that his muscles went limp and relaxed as he floated on the surface of the moat with outstretched limbs.

Startled, he spluttered when a splash of water doused him, nearly making him choke as he flailed his arms and legs to keep his sinking head above the water.

"Malfoy!" he sputtered angrily as he finally saw the cause of the disruption, seeing the boy's face right before his, as Malfoy smirked at him and kept indolently waving his hands around to make his body float upright in the water. "You prat, there was no need for-"

"Tell me, Riddle," intoned Abraxas as he swam closer to him, their wet faces becoming inches apart, "do you know why Von Krauss has taken you as his wards?"

Harry frowned at that, as he kept kicking his legs to maintain his balance in the water. "What do you mean?"

"Obviously," drawled Abraxas nonchalantly, though his tone was belied by the keen gleam in his silvery eyes as he pinned Harry with an intent gaze, "Von Krauss is acting under the Dark Lord's orders. Thus, what does the Dark Lord want with you and your brother?"

"We're Parselmouths," retorted Harry curtly, a stony expression shuttering down on his features, since he certainly wasn't going to tell the boy that he and Tom had no clue regarding the matter. That in fact, they knew there had to be some underlying, powerful reason and it filled them with misgivings and dread – well, at least it filled Harry with that. "He's interested in us because we're Slytherin's descendants-"

Abraxas let out a scornful scoff, before he tutted mockingly. "Surely, Riddle, even if you are such, the Dark Lord would not go to such lengths just to acquire two Slytherin descendants." He pointedly shot him a smug smirk. "No, the Dark Lord's motives are much more… profound and riveting."

Harry's green eyes widened at that, as he breathed out, "Do _you_ know, then?"

"I do," said Abraxas quietly, his smirk widening.

"Then tell me!" Harry urged vehemently, drawing closer to the boy, his heart pounding fast with hope.

"I might," drawled Abraxas coolly, before he skewered him with a pointed look. "If you give me something in return."

Harry harrumphed at that, scowling peevishly as he snapped, "Fine. What d'ya want?"

Abraxas' eyes gleamed as his lips quirked upwards. "Why, a kiss, of course."

"What?" squawked Harry in a high pitch, flailing his arms around and splashing to get away from the loon as quickly as could be.

Before he had any chance of escape, though, an arm curled around his waist under the water, pulling him back against Malfoy's chest. He could feel the press of their warm skin against each other's, the boy's breath on the back of his neck as Malfoy's murmured softly in his ear, "Surely I'm not asking for something too onerous for you." Harry could almost feel the smugness rolling out from Malfoy's lips as the boy continued silkily, "After all, you have proven before to be affected by me and-"

"Let go!" roared Harry angrily, feeling his cheeks burning with mortification and embarrassment, recalling just what instance Malfoy was speaking about.

He was suddenly released, making Harry think he was free at last, just to be spun around, being forced to be nose-to-nose with Malfoy... Malfoy, whose silvery eyes were suddenly glowing, whose wet, platinum hair seemed to be shinning beautifully, strands floating and curling in the water, sparkling under the sunrays, whose skin seemed to become ethereal with an entrancing inner light, who was closing the distance between their faces while Harry's eyes widened, as he felt utterly mesmerized and enthralled by the breathtaking beauty before him, making him even want to know if the lips curling with self-satisfaction were as soft and warm as they looked, how they would taste and-

Just before a stabbing pain pierced his scar like countless sharp needles.

Harry blinked, feeling utterly dizzy and disoriented, almost sinking under the water before he caught himself in time and angrily kicked his legs to resurface.

"You did that Veela allure thingy!" he spat furiously, his whole body thrumming with rage as he glowered at Malfoy. "I told you to never try that again!"

"My Veela powers are growing," drawled Abraxas coolly, looking utterly unrepentant. "I must practice my abilities on someone and you make the perfect subject." He shot him a pointed look and a wide smirk. "After all, you are attracted to your own gender, so why not please each other when we have both something to gain-"

"I'm _what_?" sputtered Harry incredulously, gawking at him. "You're mad, Malfoy! I don't-"

"You do," snapped Malfoy impatiently, narrowing his eyes at Harry as if suspecting he was being hoodwinked. "My Veela allure wouldn't affect you if you didn't fancy-"

"I don't fancy boys!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs, going pink at the deranged, outlandish accusation, horrified and angered, leaving him gobsmacked and bizarrely uncomfortable, to boot.

"You lie," bit out Malfoy, scowling at him before he smirked smugly. "You got all flustered, flushed, and bothered when I pressed you against me-"

"I didn't!" choked out Harry, utterly dismayed and aghast, going as white as a sheet.

"- and you never even glance at the girls at Hogwarts," continued Abraxas curtly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. "Not to mention that you're turning fourteen this year, are you not?"

"So what!" snapped Harry truculently, gathering back his wits as he glowered at him. "Neither of those things mean anything!"

And surely they didn't! And he liked girls just fine! He liked Felicity Prewett's long, shiny red hair, and he knew she was beautiful, and Amy Benson was pretty too – everyone had said so. So what if he didn't leer at girls like Neron Lestrange, or salivated and ogled like Thaddeus Avery, or flirted with anything that moved like Orion Black, or tried to convince girls to let him feel them up like Eric Whalley had done in the orphanage!

Alphard Black didn't do any of those things either, after all – thankfully, because Harry wouldn't enjoy it if his best mate spent all their time together in waxing poetry about this girl or that- but that didn't mean that Alphard was bent! Surely! He was just like Harry, a boy not yet troubled by such issues.

"At our age, we have natural urges and needs. To feel sexual attraction is normal, and you certain don't feel such for witches-"

"I don't feel it for anyone!" shouted Harry at the end of his rope, Malfoy's pontificating, snottily drawling voice jerking him out from his frantic thoughts. "I'm just a- a- a late bloomer! That's all!"

That was it, exactly! There was nothing to be concerned about. Alice herself had told him once that he was a late bloomer, after all-

Harry blanched instantly, the mere thought of her suddenly sweeping him in grief. He was energetically swimming back to bank of the moat a second later, all joy and intentions of having a relaxing, good time vanishing.

"Where are you going?" demanded Abraxas abruptly, grabbing Harry by an ankle, pulling him back. "We had a deal-"

"Geroff!" spat Harry ill-temperedly, as he swished around with every intention of kicking the git in the face. "There's no deal at all! You were bluffing - you know nothing about Grindelwald's motives." He fiercely glowered at the other boy, utterly incensed. "And even if you did, find yourself another 'test subject' for your Veela abilities!"

When Malfoy merely smirked at him, not letting go of his ankle but rather pulling him back again, Harry flung his other foot out, disappointed when Malfoy dove to a side in time to avert it.

"Riddle!" shrieked Abraxas indignantly, spluttering as he resurfaced, looking like a drowned peacock.

An obstinate one at that, who certainly felt entitled to toy and play with him because Malfoy made another lunge at him, and suddenly Harry was feeling woozy and light-headed again, suddenly Malfoy was gloriously handsome once more, impossibly so, glowing and mesmerizing and so compelling that Harry felt himself go weak as he was pulled into arms and a bare, lean, hard chest.

And his breath hitched in awed wonder as the beautiful face got closer, as silvery eyes looked straight into his, a mere inch apart, as lips parted ready to be poised on his own, as his whole world narrowed, his sight zeroed in on the face before his, feeling such maddening need that he felt about to explode with desire-

Harry groaned and huddled forwards as his head suddenly felt as though splitting apart, the pain flaring in his scar so potent that he gasped, his eyes tearing as he frantically clawed at his forehead.

"Stop that, Riddle!" said a loud voice, sounding alarmed and even slightly concerned. "What is the matter with you?"

Harry cracked his eyes open as a hand restrained his own, as he caught sight of Abraxas staring at him with a frown on his pale face, as he realized that the only thing keeping his head above water was Malfoy's arms around him.

Yet the flares of pain in his scar didn't relent, and this time, Harry gritted his teeth as he tried to soothingly rub his forehead, while he glanced around in puzzlement because he knew what the only cause could be.

He finally caught sight of a shape high up in a tower of Von Krauss Castle. A silhouette, a shadow was seen through the windows so far up, as Harry realized who it had to be. Of course! Tom was always in the library, and apparently his brother had caught sight of them through the windows, and was now staring down at them.

Wincing, Harry groaned irritably as he rubbed his scar once more, squinting up at Tom's shape. Well, he couldn't see his brother's face from such distance, though it was clear that his brother had to be glaring, scowling, or both.

"Yes, he's there. He has been watching us for some time," said Abraxas' voice, sounding highly pleased. "Very telling, is it not, how he always seems to be so very possessive of you?"

At that, when Malfoy's arms around him tightened as if making some point to their audience, Harry violently pulled away to stare at the other boy, as he snorted loudly and said matter-of-factly, "Yeah, because he's a git who's envious when I have fun with others. Because he doesn't have friends of his own and I do." He instantly glowered and added bittingly, "Not that you and I are friends! And won't ever be after what you tried to pull-"

"You think he's jealous of you because you have _friends_?" interrupted Abraxas with a sneer as he shot him a disbelieving look. He then gave Harry a contemptuous look, as if being before such a fool that it couldn't be borne, as he added tartly, "I think your brother has something else in mind." He smirked nastily at him, as he drawled slowly, "After all, incest is quite common in wizarding lines."

"Incest?" Harry echoed numbly, gawking at him, before he let out a strident guffaw. "You're nuts, Malfoy! And I'm leaving!"

And he did just so, swimming so forcefully, violently, and furiously that the other boy didn't have a chance to catch up with him – not this time, not ever if it was up to Harry.

He was on his Pegasus before Malfoy even managed to get his clothes back on, and left him in the dust as he flew back to the stables.

* * *

The following hours became unbearable with the strained tension between the three boys that had to share the castle.

Harry's foul mood only heightened after his experience with Malfoy, after the prat's words made him doubt himself, whether it was abnormal that he didn't fancy girls yet, as most boys he knew of did, whether there was some truth to Malfoy's assertions that the boy's Veela allure wouldn't affect him if he wasn't interested in boys in a physical sense, whether Tom was jealous of Harry because he had friends or something else – but it was all too horrible to even contemplate, and he hated Malfoy for having stuck such ghastly, worrisome thoughts in his mind.

And it had been just when he had thought that perhaps Abraxas Malfoy wasn't that bad, that the boy had some redeeming qualities even though he tried to 'educate' Harry in pureblood traditions – brainwash him with pureblood prejudice, more like– since at least Malfoy had taken time to teach Harry how to ride a Pegasus. And then, Malfoy went and proved that he was the insufferable git Harry had always pegged him as, always drawling and smirking and enjoying in making Harry feel awkward and uncomfortable.

Indeed, Harry's ill temper only increased as the day progressed and Malfoy took every chance to lay a hand on Harry's arm or back, lingering too long, always in Tom's presence, always shooting sly smirks at Tom as well, as if purposely riling him up – which Harry came to understand that Malfoy's intentions were precisely those, surely to get revenge on Tom for having been chosen a Prefect when Malfoy must have wanted the position for himself.

It didn't help matters that though Tom acted thoroughly indifferent to Malfoy's touchy-feely displays with Harry, Harry knew better because his scar didn't stop hurting for a moment.

His irritation and bad temper at both his brother and Malfoy, whom acted as if Harry was some plaything to be yanked to and fro between them in a silent tug of war, escalated to such point that he yelled at them both –saying who knew what– as he stomped away during the middle of dinner.

That night, he curled under his bed sheets, closing his eyes as he brought up to the forefront of his mind the image of every pretty girl he knew of.

He was determined. He would dream of girls, like he knew that most of his roommates in Slytherin House did. He would dream of Felicity Prewett and Amy Benson and he would imagine what it would be like to cup their faces in his hands and feel their lips on his - and even grope a boob if that was what it took!

_He was flying, his heart surging with joy and exhilaration as the powerful wings of the Pegasus flapped in the skies, he felt the creature's strong muscles under his thighs, the sounds of his own laughter and Alphard Black's, who rode the Pegasus with him, behind him, clutching him tightly around the waist as their soared through clouds._

_Everything was perfect, just as it should be, carefree and enjoying himself, with not a worry in the world, as he was flanked by two other Pegasi. Tom and Abraxas Malfoy on the one at his right, Santi and Julian Erlichmann on the one at his left, all giddy and happy, all together riding through the skies. __All friends, all his most loved ones, and he didn't even wonder why it was that those disparate people were such._

_There were all together in peace and that was what mattered, enjoying themselves, alive, laughing, utterly free._

_He gasped though, as suddenly the Pegasus shot down, diving towards some distant land, when he abruptly saw that all the others had disappeared and he landed on ground as his Pegasus suddenly vanished in a puff of white smoke._

_Abruptly, he was running, ecstatic and thrilled, filled with such wondrous joy as he had never felt before. He was laughing, awe-struck, mesmerized by everything he saw around him, yet there were mere blurs and glimpses to Harry, a town – a beautiful town of white columns, promenades, and spurting fountains, of brightly, colorfully cobbled streets and glittering statues– he was rushing through a marketplace, an exotic bazaar where he saw countless creatures milling about, ancient races he had never laid eyes on before, yet their casual display of powerful, innate magic made his eyes grow large with fascination and contentment._

_His eyes... his widening eyes that were silvery and glowed, because somehow he could see himself as well. And for a moment Harry was struck speechless, for a moment he thought he was dreaming about being an older version of Abraxas Malfoy, tall and lean, with flowing platinum hair and silvery eyes. Yet he was not. Some features were different and yet so very familiar – like those of the beautiful woman of his dreams that used to sing Alice's lullaby to him. _

_He had her lips, the shape of her eyes, her beautiful bone structure heightened by Abraxas Malfoy's straight nose, high cheeks and fine jaw line, and somehow, Harry knew that he had never seen such incredible handsomeness before. He felt further breathless as his features glowed, as he saw that his skin was gleaming with golden specks, like Santi's did. _

_And both his enthrallment and puzzlement only grew as the silvery eyes turned to the vibrant green hues of his own, to then change into the sheer, milky, glittering ones of Santi, as if it was only natural for his eye color to change with such ease when he was feeling joyful and unrestrained._

_He didn't stop running, knowing there was no danger, knowing he was invisible to the eyes of all around him, stretching out his arms to the skies as he reveled in the feeling, as he kept taking deep breaths, inhaling the very essence, the golden dust like dandelion fluff that floated through the air, carried by soft breezes, the very same fluff that sparkled in the water spurting from the fountains all around him, in the very dishes of mouth-watering food displayed in the stalls of the bazaar, as though it was spice, because it was everywhere around him, in the water supply, in the soil he crunched under the soles of his dragon-hide boots, in the very air he breathed._

"_Antares!" yelled a panicked voice, horrified, alarmed, so very fearful, that Harry had to turn around. _

_It was Santi rushing towards him, a stricken expression on his translucent face, a face shrouded inside a magical bubble._

"_Your Bubble Head Charm!" croaked out Santi, his milky eyes wild as he gazed down at Harry, gripping his shoulders, shaking him forcefully. "What did you do? I told you the air here is poisonous! Why did you cancel it!" _

"_Because she told me to," said Harry in a voice so lilting and melodious that it sounded almost like a soft singsong, as his lush lips quirked into a wide smirk. _

"_What?" choked out Santi, looking thunderstruck, before he pulled himself up to his full height. "She did not!"_

"_Inside my mind, when you took me to see her," said Harry coolly, arching a pale eyebrow. "She told me to... breathe."_

_He knew, even before a terrified expression spread over Santi's translucent features, even before Santi raised his hand with ball of light glowing on his palm, he knew of Santi's intention and instantly whipped out his wand._

_Harry clucked his tongue, tutting reproachfully as a beam of light shot from his wand and struck Santi._

_A wand that was so very familiar and comfortable in his hands, a wand he had only seen once before in his life, so very briefly, and yet had made such an impression on him that he had never forgotten. Glowing as though with a power of its own, so very compelling and enthralling... _

_And for a moment Harry even thought he saw something etched in the base of the wand's handle – a symbol of some sort, perphaps, though he didn't get the chance to eye it closely. Nevertheless, the revelation that struck him left him gobsmacked, because he had seen that wand in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic._

_It was Gellert Grindelwald's wand!_

_The silvery eyes of the dream-Harry suddenly widened as he glanced around, as he mouthed in puzzlement, 'Grindelwald's?'_

_Abruptly, as realization dawned on him, he laughed in triumph, as he swirled around, as he stared as if seeing some ghost that wasn't there, but he was staring at himself._

"_You are seeing this," breathed out the dream-Harry, staring right at him, his silvery eyes gleaming. He chuckled under his breath exultantly. "Yes, I remember that I dreamt this! It works, of course! So long I've wondered how to communicate with my past… Harry."_

_He said the name slowly, as if rolling and tasting it in his mouth, as his silvery eyes glinted fervently. He raked long fingers through his silky platinum hair, a wide grin stretching on his beautiful face. "Through dreams I can now speak to you! Just like I saw Mother in dreams when I was you."_

_He cocked his head to a side, peering out as his grin became a smirk. "I remember it all now, you'll be pleased to know. My life as you."_

"_Antares!" roared Santi's voice._

_Harry turned around at that, his lips pursed in a taunting, petulant pout as he saw Santi struggling against the magic that held him in place. _

_Santi's expression was filled with trepidation and uneasiness, though he knew that Santi understood perfectly well what he had accomplished - and what was happening as well, though Santi had never allowed himself to experience the latter. The coward._

"_Let me go!" snarled Santi, his milky eyes flashing with rage, however there was also fear in them, Harry was pleased to notice. "And stop breathing the-"_

"_It's not poisonous, you fool!" snapped Harry impatiently, scowling at him, before he tipped his head back and laughed with joy. "I can feel it in my blood stream now, in my flesh, in my soul, in my mind… just like she wanted me to…"_

_Santi's expression, if possible, turned even more frantic and horrified, as he struggled once more to be fred. "Stop it!" he howled desperately. "Please, Antares, stop it from happening!" _

_Harry shook his head lethargically, as if drugged, as he said slowly, "It cannot hurt me, Santiago." He closed his silvery eyes, inhaling deeply, pleasure coursing through him as he breathed out, "They sing to me, thrumming… still showing me everything and now I finally understand it all."_

_And Harry did, something had been happening, floods of impressions filling his mind, because surely they could only be described as such, not images, certainly not voices or words, but just... knowledge, it seemed. Unclouding, unfogging, unraveling slowly... and though he knew that the one he was in the dream understood, the Harry asleep did not - his beffudlement and apprehension only increasing with each passing second._

"_Who knew that Salazar Slytherin had been right all along," he said jovially as he cracked his silvery eyes open, gazing intently at a despairing and bound Santi. He chuckled under his breath. "Only that he had it the other way around!"_

_Santi drastically paled as he kept staring at him with beseeching and horrified eyes, as he croaked pleadingly, "Antares-"_

"_I know now," said Harry softly as he came closer to Santi, trailing a finger down the man's cheek to the cords of muscle straining in his throat, "for instance, that they chose you first. You do realize that at least, do you not?"_

_Santi shook his head violently and furiously, seemingly the only part of his body he could move. _

_Harry sighed in deep aggravation, as he kept trailing his fingers around the man's neck, as he said pleasantly, "It is the truth. The truth you should have known eons ago if you hadn't been blinded by fear, rage, sorrow, despair, and loneliness."_

"_You don't know what you're speaking of," gritted out Santi fiercely. _

"_But because you failed," continued Harry conversationally, before he speared Santi with livid, silvery eyes, "they had to make me instead."_

_He saw Santi blanching and flinching, reaction that instantly filled him with cruel enjoyment._

"_Oh yes," Harry breathed out nastily, his fingers tightening around Santi's jaw, brusquely forcing him to stare down at him. "You, my very own 'secret, invisible friend' since I was an infant, turned to be nothing but a failure." He chuckled sharply, his grip on Santi's face turning hurtful. "She promised you me, to make you find me. But she lied by omission, you see?" He cocked his head to a side, contemplating the being before him. "Now I know that I'm not the Fate's Companion. I would have been, if you had succeeded, but since you did not…"_

_He trailed off as he smirked and waved a hand encompassingly. "Well, you surely get the idea. Our roles are reversed because I dared do what you did not." His smirk widened with triumph, as he breathed out exultantly, "Now, it's you who is mine. It's you who is the so-called Fate's Companion in the end."_

"_This is not you speaking, Antares," croaked out Santi frantically. "Release me and-"_

"_I see I'll have to show you, then," bit out Harry impatiently, as he swiftly pressed himself flush against Santi's chest, tilting his head upwards to whisper silkily into his ear, "Enjoy this, because it will be the last time I will ever kiss you."_

_Certainly, a cruel taunt, a lie, for Harry would never release Santi now that the magnificent being was finally truly his, yet he had always enjoyed playing with and tormenting Santi, one of the two people in his life that he loved, as much as he hated. Indeed, Santi who always trailed after him like a needy, love-sick puppy, for all his power and uniqueness, always so desperate to please, to earn Harry's affection, and Harry did, of course, ocasionally throw a bone at him, reveling in the power he held over such a being._

_Santi's eyes widened, agitated, horrified, fearful, yet he could not struggle against him when Harry's silvery eyes glowed, when his beautiful face became ethereal, rendering the features even more entrancing, astonishing, and striking, like – like what happened to Malfoy's face when the boy used the Veela allure thing!_

_Indeed, Santi's eyes became unfocused and dazed, his body turning limp inside the spell that was holding him caged and upright, and Harry felt himself smirking in smug self-satisfaction as he finally pressed his lips against Santi's._

_He didn't waste a second in prying the pliable mouth open with a darting tongue, in feeling pleasure as he tasted the warm, moist inside of Santi's palate, as he indolently rolled his tongue caressingly, as he finally let it loose as it had wanted all along. _

_Streams, it seemed, of golden light flowed between their locked mouths, as Harry felt something within flooding out, as Santi's body arched as though being filled, as Santi's eyes suddenly widened in horror, in agony, for Harry knew the fool was battling against it, but soon, Santi would be defeated, what began coursing through flesh and blood and soul would prevail against the shields of the mind. _

_Indeed, as Harry intensified his kiss, swallowing Santi's screams, the milky eyes suddenly rolled upwards into unconsciousness, Harry's knees nearly buckling under the weight of catching Santi's body in his arms as he dispelled the magic that had bound him. _

_Suddenly, Harry peered down at Santi, contemplating him as a smirk of contentment and possessiveness spread across his features, a softness and tenderness shinning through as he kept regarding the unconscious man, before he snapped his head up. "Exquisite, is he not?"_

_Harry's smirk widened, as he clutched Santi closer to himself. "Now that I know how it's done, expect to see much more of me… Harry." His expression sobered, turning grave as he added curtly, "Beware, though. Your time is running short. You have few years left before death. You must find It!" _

_He was suddenly beaming a gorgeous, bedazzling smile, his eyes abruptly turning a vibrant green, his platinum hair becoming a disorderly mess of black, as he added jovially, "And you already know what I'm referring to, Harry, because I remember this, I remember figuring it out. Now wake up!" He chuckled with cheerfulness as he winked, his green eyes gleaming. "You have a visitor. Someone is waiting for us. You'll finally meet her! Wake up!"_

Harry gasped loudly as he jerked awake, his head pounding, his heart beating frantically, as he felt hot and flushed and bothered... something was very strange, something was tight and full and deliciously painful and throbbing…

In the next second, his face went scarlet as he peered down at himself, as he noticed the tent in his bed sheets, as he realized that he was – aroused!

Harry choked on his own tongue, spluttering incomprehensively to himself, almost in a panic because _that_ had never happened to him in his life! He instantly realized what had caused it, and he utterly cringed and paled as he brought fingers to his lips, because could still feel the taste of Santi in his mouth…

"It was a dream!" he desperately cried out loud to himself, profoundly horrified and aghast… and still throbbing – damn it all to bloody hell!

"A bizarre dream," Harry weakly mumbled to himself under his breath, bunching the bed sheets down on his lap with white knuckles, attempting to flatten away his mortifying arousal, trying to gather back his wits, trying to not panic and howl like a terrified animal, because he knew that he had liked it, not only Santi's taste – Santi, of all people! he shuddered in horror, his mind wanting to shy away from it and the implications- but also the cruelty, the taunting, the dominance, the taking by force, the reveling in the power he had had over poor Santi.

And yet, Harry increasingly paled when he realized that he still remembered everything with full clarity. It was not fading away, it was staying put as though it were a memory!

Moreover, no common dream would leave him with the taste of someone else's mouth on his lips – because surely that was what he was feeling inside his mouth! As if it had all truly happened, watching like a witness yet also feeling everything as if he was truly that Antares person – _Antares!_ What he was always called in his dreams by that beautiful woman that used to sing Alice's lullaby.

"I'm going mad," muttered Harry with true fear and dismayed trepidation, his face as white as a ghost's.

"I do not believe you are," said a female voice, accompanied by a bout of girlish, high-pitched, nasty giggles. "Evidently, you were simply having quite a wet dream."

Startled out of his life, Harry spun around in his bed so wildly that he became entangled in the bed sheets, flopping stupidly to the floor, gawking and gaping as he finally caught sight of his 'visitor'.


	57. Part I: Chapter 56

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers!

Now, answering some fears and comments, Harry will never act meek and 'submissive' in any of his romantic relationship, even that with Tom. He's stubborn, short-tempered, and has a strong personality. That he isn't ruthless, vicious, and cold-hearted like Tom doesn't mean Harry will become his doormat.

To those who aren't happy about Harry's future entanglement with Santi, as Antares, keep in mind that I've already said that Harry/Tom is the main pairing. And what we saw of Antares' attitude has a lot of background story behind it, some that we can already imagine and understand. Nevertheless, don't fear, he isn't deranged.

That said, Enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 56**

* * *

Gobsmacked, Harry stared at the girl that was seated on the plush sofa next to his bed, looking as if she had been there for quite some time – creepily observing him while he had been sleeping?

She was bathed in the dim moonlight that speared through the heavy curtains of his bedroom, allowing him to take notice of her features. She looked to be a couple of years older than himself, quite petite and svelte of body, a willowy figure of long, slender limbs, tiny waist and small breasts, all accentuated by the fact that she was wearing a very flimsy nightgown, plunging cleavage revealing the swell of her small breasts, thin straps displaying her milky white shoulders, scandalously short, lacy hem displaying her thighs and legs.

With a mane of long sandy blonde hair, icy pale blue eyes, and delicate features, she looked very familiar to him, he realized the longer he stared at her. Indeed, it was not only her coloring, but her cheekbones, her lips, her nose, every little thing resembled Konrad Von Krauss' facial features, except that they were much more delicate, and feminine, of course, yet the resemblance was unmistakable.

"Kasimira Von Krauss?" he breathed out, blinking, thoroughly disconcerted.

"I am," said the girl coolly, before her icy eyes narrowed to slits, her gaze sharp and piercing. "And you are Harry, I presume? Harry… Riddle?"

"Um, yeah," said Harry as he gathered back his wits, rising to his feet, clutching along his bed sheets and feeling mightily relieved to notice that his previous arousal had instantly vanished at the sight of her.

"Shall I call you 'brother'?" Kasimira uttered softly, cocking her head to a side as she contemplated him keenly, though there was an underlying tone of vicious anger.

Indeed, the smile she then gave him, displaying perfect, pearly-white teeth, had a sense of menace to it - an upwards curl of the full lips that belied her friendly tone, like that of a wild, feral animal about to pounce and strike at its prey.

"Do you like what you see?" she added silkily, as one of her small, delicate hands travelled down her body, slender fingers then playing with the lacy hem of her nightgown, increasingly revealing more skin as the hem crept further up her thighs.

Harry's gaze automatically followed her hand's journey, to then snap up to her face as he realized what she had said.

He scowled at the girl, plopping down on his bed as he grunted, "Not really."

"Ah, I understand," said Kasimira in a knowing tone of voice, dropping her hand m,away from her splayed thighs as she then let out a bout of giggles – giggles that would have sounded silly and simpering in any other girl, but in her case sounded strident and abrasive, grating his ears.

"You understand what?" snapped Harry ill-temperedly, instantly bristling and feeling defensive, before he shook his head at himself, feeling too tired and out of sorts after his bizarre dream and his reaction to it - and after finding her, of all people, in his bedroom in the middle of night.

He certainly didn't feel up to the task of following Tom's plan. Indeed, his brother had been most adamant about how they should treat Konrad Von Krauss' daughter when they met her.

Tom was of the idea that he would use his 'charming ways' to make the girl become besotted with him, while Harry was supposed to gain her friendship, all because Tom deigned that the girl was someone who could be of some use and worth to them, given their precarious situation.

Regardless, Harry was too much in a sulky, grumpy mood for politeness, hence he frowned at the girl as he demanded curtly, "What are you doing here? Aren't you spending your holidays with some school friend?"

Kasimira laughed viciously at that, as she sneered contemptuously, "I have certainly made sure that both my _dear_ father and husband-to-be believe such." She abruptly halted in her chuckles to skewer him with narrowed eyes, as she spat in a heavily accented English, "Nevertheless, my true whereabouts are none of your business."

"Right," bit out Harry impatiently. "Well, then, if you don't mind, I'm going back to sleep." He gestured briskly towards the door as he informed her shortly, "Malfoy's staying in the room across the hall."

Kasimira quirked an eyebrow at him. "I am well aware. Do you believe I'm in your chambers because I made a mistake?" She scoffed, before snarling acidly, "Oh no, I already spent the first week of my holidays getting acquainted with my betrothed. That is as much as I can stomach for the time being." Her eyes flashed as she narrowed her gaze at him. "I'm here to see _you_."

Utterly bewildered, Harry stared at her. Of course, given the things he had heard and the way Malfoy behaved regarding the subject, he had known that theirs was to be an arranged marriage of convenience, mutually beneficial to their respective families.

Though he had certainly assumed that the girl had sneaked into the castle to spend some alone time with Malfoy anyway – that was the sort of things that engaged couples did, wasn't it?

"To see me?" muttered Harry, shooting her a quizzical look before he cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure your father will introduce us at breakfast-"

"I'm not staying," Kasimira interrupted sharply, narrowing her icy blue eyes at him, her expression turning hard and threatening. "Indeed, my father better not hear a word about this… visit. He is not to know that I have returned for even a second."

Before Harry could open his mouth to question her, she was already on her feet to then sit down on the bed right next to him, not leaving an inch between them.

Harry instantly stiffened, the close proximity feeling uncomfortable. There was just something about the girl that made him feel on edge – something wrong or not quite right about her, some glint that had appeared in her pale eyes, something that made him feel that she was a tad unstable… dangerous.

His wariness increased when Kasimira immediately took hold of his face between her delicate hands, feeling the scrape of her long, sharp fingernails against his cheeks.

"There is something about you that reminds me of him," she breathed out slowly as she bore her gaze into Harry's, observing him closely. "You've suffered a great loss recently. Yes, I can see it in your eyes, your grief, your sorrow-"

Harry jerked his face away from her grasp, glaring angrily at the girl as he spat scornfully, "I doubt you can see anything in my 'eyes'." He heaved a deep breath, attempting to rein in his bad temper as he jerkily carded his fingers through his disorderly locks of hair. "Look, just say whatever it is you came to say and sod off-"

"Not that you're even worthy of wiping his shoes," continued Kasimira in a musing tone of voice, as though her inspection of him hadn't been interrupted at all, while her lips began to stretch into a nasty smile, "and yet there are some similarities between you."

"Between me and who?" snapped Harry crisply.

The girl cocked her head to a side, her gaze still fixed on him, evidently still turning deaf ears to his words, as she murmured, "Yes, there's still innocence in you. As there was in him." Her icy pale blue eyes gleamed. "Of course, there's not much left of it in him now, however precious it was to him, however much he priced it, and guarded it, and treasured and protected it…"

Abruptly, she let out a bout of sharp giggles, as she arched a mocking eyebrow at him. "I wonder how long yours will last. Given your current situation, I dare say that it won't survive for much longer. It happened to him, it will happen to you."

"What are you babbling on about?" Harry shook his head impatiently. "And who's 'him'?"

"My lovely-"

The soft slap she dealt him on the face caught him completely unawares, and Harry stared at Kasimira, blinking.

"-sweet-"

The second slap, mild yet still much more forceful than the first, made him jerk backwards, startled and deeply wary.

"-broken-"

He almost managed to dive away when he saw the third slap coming, though Kasimira instantly leapt at him, striking him so hard that the force of the slap made his face snap to a side, her sharp fingernails raking the skin of his cheek.

"-Julian."

Harry had scrambled to take a hold of his wand on the nightstand, just to turn around, utterly surprised and befuddled as he heard that name, to then instantly stiffen as he found a wand aimed at his chest.

He stared at Kasimira Von Krauss with wide eyes, as he felt small beads of blood oozing from the scratches on his cheek.

Any expression of deranged playfulness had vanished from her pretty face, to be replaced by a look as hard as stones, her wand – he didn't even know where it had come from, especially given that the girl was scantily dressed in a flimsy nightgown- now poking him in the throat.

"Tell me, Harry," the girl whispered venomously, her icy eyes narrowing to slits, "from where do you know Julian Erlichmann?"

Instantly masking any lingering sense of astonishment, knowing how very dangerous the situation had turned, Harry blinked at her dumbly. "Erlichmann? You mean…" He trailed off, staring at Kasimira with wide green eyes as he rushed out excitedly, "Oh, I've heard plenty about him! Who hasn't! Yet I still haven't had the honor of meeting him in person-"

"Do. not. lie. to. me," hissed out Kasimira, so very slowly, sharply and enraged, her icy eyes flashing as her wand stabbed Harry's throat painfully. "Julian mumbles your name in his sleep." She jabbed him again with the tip of her wand, as she snarled, "And given that 'Harry' is such an ordinary, filthy muggle name, yet uncommon for a wizard, and given what I know of you, you are the only Harry whom Julian could possibly have any association with."

Harry blanched at that, agog, incredulous, even strangely pleased, and all around so surprised that he could have been knocked over with a feather. "Erlichmann says my name in his sleep?" He frowned with utter puzzlement the next second. "Hang on, how would you know? What are you saying? That you and he-"

"Very telling, is it not?" interjected Kasimira as she chuckled happily under her breath, though she didn't remove her wand from Harry's throat. "That in whatever level of awareness, Julian feels so very safe and comfortable in my arms, as to reveal so much when he is asleep." Her icy eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Indeed, only with me does he dare be so unguarded and vulnerable. Certainly, if he did the same when he shares the Dark Lord's bed, he would have already been killed, would he not?"

Staring at her, and paling, Harry swallowed thickly. "Are you saying that you and he-"

"I'm saying that Julian is now _mine_," bit out Kasimira crisply, "although the details of the nature of my relationship with him is of no concern of yours. I am here to get answers regarding _your _relationship with him."

"There's no relationship whatsoever," said Harry, sighing heavily with exasperation. "I've never laid eyes on the bloke."

"You lie," declared Kasimira flatly, before her lips curled and her eyes gleamed savagely. "Very well, little boy." She trailed the tip of her wand down to his chest, jabbing him pointedly as her smile turned vicious with anticipation. "I dare say that when you feel the power of my Cruciatus Curse it will loosen your tongue."

Harry stiffened at once, shooting a desperate look at his wand barely a few inches away on his nightstand, before he turned to face the girl once more, glowering at her, sitting upright on his bed and squaring his shoulders, as he spat, "Go ahead. Try your best. I will say nothing because I know nothing."

Kasimira shot him a long, gauging and considering look, before she dropped her wand and sharply smiled at him – and it was a nasty, scary thing at that.

"Good boy," she murmured softly, as she then pocketed her wand in some fold of her nightgown – magically spelled, for certain, since there was no bulge left, as if the wand had been swallowed by the clothes.

Nonetheless, Harry didn't feel at all relieved or relaxed, but rather even more wary and suspicious than ever.

"What are you playing at?" he demanded angrily, his green eyes narrowing to slits as the girl's smile widened, making her look feral.

"Are you aware," intoned Kasimira loftily, yet skewering him with a keen gaze, "that Julian is a member of the Order of the Phoenix and Albus Dumbledore's spy in the Dark Lord's ranks?"

Harry would have choked on his own tongue in alarm if it weren't for the fact that nothing coming out from the girl's mouth seemed to surprise him anymore.

"What?" he immediately spluttered incomprehensively, gawking at her. "The what order?" He shook his head vehemently as he let out a bout of barking laughter. "And a spy? I don't know where you get your information from, but-"

"From a very reliable source," interjected Kasimira sharply, before shooting him a viciously smug smirk. "Julian told me himself. Indeed, his trust in me is such that I have become not only his source of comfort but also his confidante."

Harry shot her a jaundiced look, as he said tartly, "From what I've heard about him, I doubt Erlichmann would be so stupid as to tell _you_ – the daughter of the Dark Lord's most trusted follower- anything at all." He grimaced, as he added discomfited, "Even if he's shagging you, like you've implied."

"Well, perhaps I have exaggerated," intoned Kasimira airily, waving a hand dismissively. "Nevertheless, I have my ways and means, and I do know the truth." She tittered and giggled in a strident, high-pitch. "I know more about Julian than he does himself!"

Suddenly, she gripped Harry's face forcefully, bearing down her body against his, nearly straddling his lap, as she hissed out sharply, "It will be your task and mine to protect him, will it not? Even from his own idiocy. I have waited too long to have him, and now that I have him, I will not relinquish him. I will allow no one to take him from me, not even the Dark Lord!" She tightened her clutch on his face, nearly sinking her fingernails in his flesh, as she spat, "We will not let it happen, will we? Julian will not be killed-"

"Killed?" Harry gaped at her, highly alarmed, as he tried to disentangle her from himself. "What do you mean? What do you know?"

"You and I can be great allies, little boy," breathed out Kasimira, her icy, pale blue eyes glinting as her fingernails sharply embedded themselves on Harry's cheeks. "I posses information that would be invaluable to you, and you are in a unique position from which you could aid me in furthering my aims."

Harry stilled, his green eyes narrowing at her. "And what aims would those be?"

Kasimira released him as she abruptly rose to her feet, flicking her long, sandy blonde hair over a naked shoulder. "In holidays to come, I'm sure, we will have many occasions in which to hash out the details of our allegiance." She shot him a wide, feral smirk. "Julian is currently warming my bed, and spending another second away from him is already paining me much. Now turn around."

"What?" Harry shot her a disconcerted look.

"Face that wall," snapped Kasimira impatiently, pointing a finger at the one the headboard of his canopied bed was pressed against. "I'm leaving and do not wish for you to see the means I employ to get in and out of my _home _undetected." Her voice dripped with bitterness and hateful despise on the last words, before she bit out angrily, "Turn around!"

A tad flummoxed, Harry automatically did so, just to hear the soft, muffled falls of dainty feet on the rug, before he glimpsed a flash of glowing light from the corner of his eyes.

Instantly snapping his head around, he blinked as he caught sight of a swish of sandy blonde hair and a flicker of the lacy hem of the girl's nightgown sinking into the full-body gilded mirror hanging from the opposite wall of his room.

Harry instantly stood up and approached it, staring at his own reflection in the mirror, bemused. Kasimira had clearly vanished into it.

Experimentally, he tapped the surface of the mirror with a finger, and wasn't at all surprised when nothing happened.

He stared at it musingly, as he dropped his hand. She had wanted him to know about it - for sure, or else she could have stupefied him before leaving. Perhaps to tease him with the possibilities, because he had certainly taken notice of the countless mirrors scattered and hanging all about Von Krauss Castle – doors of sorts, then, into a network of secret passages, most likely. Which allowed the girl to go to and fro the Von Krauss estate 'undetected', as she had said.

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Konrad Von Krauss himself couldn't know about it, then. Well, that was certainly interesting – and downright useful to him, if only the girl would someday deign to tell him how it worked.

Kasimira Von Krauss was a mad, strange, alarming, and dangerous girl, no doubt. He didn't think he liked her much, at that, he concluded as he touched the scratches on his cheeks, feeling the dried smudges of blood.

Nevertheless, he did begin to entertain the notion that being 'allies' with her wasn't that bad of an idea after all.

* * *

"You've been acting strangely lately," Tom sneered venomously at him, slamming his Dark Arts textbook shut, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits. "Do not tell me you miss him."

"What?" Harry blinked at his brother, jerking out from his dazed contemplation of Tom's face.

For once, he didn't feel his cheeks burning as had happened during the last weeks when Tom caught him in the act of staring at him.

Instead, he snorted, as what Tom said sank into his mind, and rolled his eyes. "No, I don't miss Malfoy. Good riddance, I say."

The last weeks of their holidays had flashed by, more quickly than ever, since Harry spent most of his time hiding from Malfoy.

It was cowardly and shameful but he had decided that it was the wisest thing he could do. It was either that or leap at Malfoy from some shadowy corner to beat him to a pulp – and he hardly thought that such would go unpunished by Konrad Von Krauss. Even if Malfoy did deserve to be thoroughly trounced and clobbered.

Naturally, Harry fully laid all the blame on Abraxas Malfoy and his fat mouth.

It was the things the boy had said to him that had put such ideas in his head, it was because of Malfoy that Harry found himself staring at Tom at the oddest of moments, for the first time noticing that all the simpering, adoring words of praise regarding Tom's handsomeness were true, for the first time finding himself appraising and appreciating his brother's good looks.

It made him feel ill, sickened, horrified and ashamed of himself, worsened when he was caught in the act and Malfoy shot him nastily taunting, knowing smirks.

At least Tom looked completely clueless about the thoughts swirling in Harry's confused and appalled mind.

His brother would quirk an eyebrow at him when he noticed Harry staring at him for too long, or frowned, or even scowled since it took Tom to call Harry's name several times for Harry to snap out of it.

Nevertheless, Harry thought that he was handling it quite well. Oh, he would feel his cheeks burning and the tips of his ears turning red, but he was always quick to glare and angrily snap something or other to his brother. His innate fiery temper was even more short-fused than ever, defensively so, which ultimately meant that he ended up bickering heatedly with Tom about the silliest of things.

In the past, getting into arguments and fights with his brother had always felt strangely satisfying. Alas, for some reason it had stopped being so.

Hence, Harry had finally resorted to fleeing from the castle as soon as his lessons with Tom at the hands of their private tutors ended. Most evenings, he took Ulysses along into the unkempt, overgrown gardens, at last making good use of his spare time.

He couldn't directly work on studying Ancient Runes to come up with a way in which to disable their Trace Charms, but at least he could surreptitiously investigate the wards of the Von Krauss estate.

Pretending to have suddenly developed an artistic flare, he took parchments, ink, and quill, sat crossed legged as close to the wards as he dared, and made of show of doing nothing more than sketching – drawing views of the castle and moat, of Ulysses playing with weeds and withered flowers, even of Tom and Malfoy.

Granted, he had never been very good at sketching, his drawings always looking like stick figures or amoeba-like blobs, but they served their purpose.

It was the perfect excuse for him to eye his surroundings for as long as he liked, without showing that the wards glowed before his naked eyes, that he could see every single interlinked chain of ancient runes dancing along the lattice of magic that composed the wards. And that he was in fact jotting down the symbols in the tiny spaces of the corners and margins of his awful, messy sketches.

Once he was back at Hogwarts, it would be easy to research the ancient runes, to translate them, to figure out precisely which sequence was the one that made the wards counteract their Trace Charms, allowing them to freely practice Dark Arts curses and cast magic in general without the English Ministry of Magic finding out.

Nonetheless, he found that his new pursuit wasn't as distracting as he had hoped.

It felt surreal to him that given all the important things he had on his plate, and given the danger of their grave situation -still not knowing what Grindelwald wanted from them or his motives- his thoughts turned time and again towards Tom.

That Malfoy had gone back to England to spend the last three days of holidays with his grandfather was a small mercy. That Konrad Von Krauss had not been lying and it had become evident that the Dark Lord would not be paying them a 'visit' during the summer holidays was merely a trifle. That he had had no news about how Alphard Black had been faring, or how concerned he had been for Julian Erlichmann after his perplexing first encounter with Kasimira Von Krauss, were just passing thoughts.

It was all about the things Malfoy had said to him, about fancying boys, about incest, about his own bloody brother liking him in a manner that no brother should.

Even the dream -which Harry had finally accepted that it had not been a mere dream at all, because he was certain his own imagination could not possibly be as wild, creepy, and bizarre as to have concocted such horrible, _horrendous_ things- didn't faze him much, any longer.

So, he had visions of sorts about being a bloke called Antares. So, apparently he had few years left before dying. So, he had enjoyed snogging Santi, of all people, and had been aroused by it. So, it was very important that he found 'It' – obviously only two things came to mind, the very things he and Tom had come to suspect about and wanted to find for their own reasons.

All that was fine – peachy, in fact. Harry took it all in stride and couldn't care less, actually, because all those things were driven away when he was plagued with shameful thoughts about his own brother – wondering about what Tom's 'possessiveness' of him truly meant, finding himself watching Tom at all times, seeing him with new eyes, _appreciating _Tom's good looks_… _a boy, and his _brother_.

It was utterly abominable, but also ridiculous and absolutely foolish to be constantly worried and tormented with such notions when he should be thinking about countless of vastly more important things, and it angered him beyond measure.

One more reason for which he couldn't wait to be back at Hogwarts, amongst crowds of other boys, and more importantly, girls, to have a chance to ogle _them_ instead of Tom. He would finally know peace then, and be able to make progress in his many tasks, he was certain.

"What's on your mind?"

Harry blinked and then glared at Tom who was eyeing him closely with piercing eyes.

Instantly bristling and going red, Harry spat snarkily, "What do you care? Mind your own bloody business!"

Tom arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, as he said coolly, "Something has been troubling you. I can tell, little brother."

Harry seethed, having the fleeting desire to strangle the idiot – the very cause of all his troubles, of his disgusting, tormented thoughts, really.

And there he was, elegantly poised in his armchair like an emperor on his throne, with that characteristic arrogant, superior look on his perfect face – perfect waves of dark hair, perfect dark blue eyes, perfect lips, perfect poncy way of dressing and grooming himself, 'brilliant, tall, dark, and handsome' like so many girls at Hogwarts gushed about –indeed!– if people only knew that his polite and charming ways were just a façade, if they only knew what an utter vicious bastard Tom truly was, the prat, who was now condescendingly smirking at him as if Harry had gone soft in the head and was truly the dimwit Tom frequently accused him of being, and even had the gall to patronizingly call him 'little brother' as usual, unknowingly rubbing it in, making Harry inwardly blanch and feel ill.

"Sod off!" snarled Harry in the next second, violently grabbing his books and marching out the room in brisk, furious strides.

* * *

The crowd in Platform Nine and Three Quarters looked as frantic, fearful, and apprehensive as in the day that students had rushed out of the Hogwarts Express during The Blitz.

Many parents were glancing around fretfully at the walls and ceiling, as they hastily herded their children into the train and towards the safety of Hogwarts, as if expecting that that day too London would be bombed.

Harry knew better, of course. After all, Grindelwald's newest acquisitions and Von Krauss' priced 'wards' were in the building. He doubted a single German airplane would even appear in the London skies that day – a much needed respite for the muggle inhabitants of the city, at least.

The glamoured Konrad Von Krauss stood right next to him, once more looking like 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft', and playing to perfection the part of a wealthy, eccentric muggle aristocrat, glancing around with wide, awe-struck and fascinated eyes, chattering happily about this and that casual display of magic, eyeing the students' cages of toads, owls and other pets with feigned interest and excitement, commenting on the 'dresses' adult wizards wore, the hats of witches, the 'twigs' waved around and whatnot.

Harry nodded and plastered a smile on his face when it was his cue, all the while holding Ulysses' basket in one hand and the handle of his brand new trunk on the other.

He was now the indifferent owner of several wardrobes-worth of clothes. Between the posh wizarding attires confectioned by Von Krauss' tailor and the expensive muggle outfits that 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' had before then bought for his newly adopted sons, his new trunk was filled to the brim, on top of the many German and Dark Arts textbooks they now possessed.

A new trunk to be added to his original one, that he had left like many other students in the Hogwarts Express when fleeing, which was awaiting for him in his dormitory in Slytherin House, according to a footnote in his Hogwarts' letter.

Now clothed in rich, brand new school robes, Harry determinedly refused to even glance at his brother, even when he caught sight from the corner of his eyes of the flash of silver of the Prefect badge Tom had pinned on his chest, certainly displaying it with much aloof self-satisfaction.

Indeed, he was so resolutely gazing at anything other than his brother that he noticed the unmistakable signs. The letters Tom had forced Malfoy to write and send had evidently already taken effect.

He could see it in the clusters formed by dark purebloods with their children, the parents of Slytherins, many shooting the glamoured Von Krauss sly looks and covert, respectful bows of the head, to then dart glances at Harry and Tom with glints of interest in their eyes.

Only twice did Von Krauss deign to surreptitiously return the gesture: first to Old Maximillian Malfoy, of course –with Abraxas by his side, looking more smug and haughty than ever before, making Harry scowl and glance away when the git smirked at him- and then to Pollux Black.

Pollux Black who didn't mask his narrow-eyed expression of greed and gauging curiosity as he laid eyes on Harry and Tom. Pollux Black who was surrounded by his children, most important of all, Alphard, who looked thin and gaunt to Harry's eyes. Alphard who was staring at his shoes with head hanging low, who -Harry could have sworn- shot him a brief, sidelong glance before quickly gazing back at the floor.

Harry worriedly bit his lower lip at that, only jerked out of his troubled thoughts as the glamoured Von Krauss handed over a heavy, velvety pouch.

"Your allowance for the next couple of months," informed them the wizard, to then lower his voice to a mere murmur, "The Dark Lord is satisfied with your progress thus far. You will find your recompense to be more than generous."

"Right," said Harry tetchily, in no mood to play nice as he briskly pocketed the heavy pouch undoubtedly filled with galleons.

The pudgy face of 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' looked weird when the wizard narrowed his eyes at him, as he said in a sharp whisper, "I hope it is not necessary for me to reiterate my-"

"Threats?" Harry crisply muttered under his breath. Instantly regretting it, he reined in his temper and shot Von Krauss a forced, pleasant smile. "No, of course not. I'll behave."

"You will," said the wizard sternly, one bushy eyebrow arching, in a frosty expression that looked outright ridiculous in the glamoured face, "as you are well aware of the consequences if you do not."

Mutely, Harry stiffly nodded.

He could even feel Tom shooting him a glowering, scathing look, before his brother inquired so very politely, "Sir, will we be spending our winter holidays with you?"

"It remains to be seen," replied Von Krauss curtly, before he beamed at them with his glamoured face, abruptly hugging them as warmly as any new, adoptive and soft-hearted father would do.

Clearly not one to miss a chance, the wizard hissed out sharply into their ears in mid-embrace, "If you give Albus Dumbledore any reason to even remotely entertain any suspicion regarding your true circumstances, the price you will pay will pale in comparison to any previous _threats-_" he momentarily paused to give Harry a chilling look "-I have made. Am I understood?"

"Yes," said Harry flatly as he warmly smiled up at him.

He spent most of his journey in the Hogwarts Express sequestered in a compartment with Tom, fully busying himself with writing down on a spare bit of parchment all the ancient runes symbols he had hidden in his 'sketches', wholly ignoring the many Slytherin faces that appeared on the window of their door, taking a peek and gazing at them with guarded wariness and wonder.

Tom, for his part, seemed to be satisfied in shooting their onlookers lofty, arrogant smirks or giving them magnanimous tips of the head.

"You believe the solution lies in those?" demanded Tom sharply the moment another Slytherin face vanished from the door.

Harry briefly glanced up at his brother, seeing how he was intently eyeing his jotted down runes.

"Possibly," he retorted shortly, returning to his work.

Tom made a sound of irritation and dark annoyance – for whatever reason of his own, since Harry wasn't about to pay him any mind or even look at his brother to check what the problem was- before rising to his feet.

"Where are you going?" muttered Harry, stiffening and going still when Tom moved towards the door, yet keeping his eyes glued to his parchment.

"Prefect duties," declared Tom superiorly, before he acidly sneered, "Don't expect me to return any time soon."

The moment the compartment door was slammed shut, Harry dropped his quill and sighed heavily as he rubbed his face.

He distractedly petted Ulysses as he scowled at himself. At the rate he was going –with such a strange tension building up between them after every stupid quarrel- Tom was bound to realize at some point what the matter was.

"What do you think I should do, huh?" Harry mumbled dispiritedly as he gazed down at his Scorcrup.

Ulysses cocked his head to a side, and licked his fingers, purring loudly.

"Yup, you're right," ground out Harry, clenching his jaw. "Keep to myself, keep busy, and do as planned."

And somehow find a way in which he could 'summon' Santi to appear before him. 'Dream' be damned, no matter how very awkward he was certain he would feel when meeting him now, he nonetheless had many questions to ask him – important, vital, urgent questions. He couldn't just wait around till Santi decided to make an impromptu appearance.

"Harry," breathed out an anxious voice.

Startled, Harry jerked his head up, instantly grinning widely when he caught sight of Alphard fretfully hovering by the parted door of the compartment.

"Come in!" he said effusively as he took hold of the boy and pulled him inside. "Sit, sit!"

He paused as he eyed Alphard closely, now even noticing that his friend had dark circles under his eyes.

It made him wince as he muttered apprehensively, "What happened? Your father heard you when you yelled my name, didn't he?"

Alphard frowned at him, before he said with exasperation, "It wasn't your fault, you idiot! It was my own for panicking, for forgetting myself, for not being cautious-"

"Because you were scared for me," interjected Harry dourly.

Alphard shook his head, as he said firmly, "I don't regret it."

"It seems as though you should." Harry cast him a worried gaze. "You don't look well."

"I'm perfectly fine," said Alphard with a dismissive snort.

"He did punish you, didn't he?" pressed Harry in a soft voice.

Alphard shot him a quizzical look, before he scoffed. "What, did you fear that my father held me under a Cruciatus Curse or something of the sort?" He rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't dare, not with Dorea and Cygnus around."

"So…" Harry frowned at him uneasily. "Then… what happened?"

"Nothing much," said Alphard nonchalantly. "Wanted to know why it was that I seemed to be on a first-name basis with you, wanted to glean everything I knew about you, I refused to answer his questions-" he shot him a vehement look "- you know I'd rather die than betray your trust! I told him none of your secrets, of course!"

Harry jerkily nodded his head, feeling deeply touched by his best mate's staunch, steadfast loyalty, as the boy continued with an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders, "So he locked me up in my room, only allowing house-elves to pop in to bring me trays of food."

Further paling, Harry was swept with guilt. He knew very well that Alphard was just like him, someone who couldn't stand to be indoors for too long, someone who needed to be out in the sunlight, with space and freedom.

"You spent all your holidays locked up?" he said grimly, cringing in horror.

"Not _all_," said Alphard pointedly. Suddenly looking anxious as he lowered his voice, he rushed out, "Abraxas wrote to us – to all Slytherins it seems. I wasn't allowed to receive owls but Father showed me the letter Cygnus received, and he demanded to know…"

The boy trailed off, looking half terrified and half worried out of his mind, pinning Harry with a searching gaze. "That was the Dark Lord's right hand man in the platform of the Hogwarts Express, wasn't he?" He swallowed thickly, as he added in a pained whisper, "Konrad Von Krauss?"

"Yes," said Harry quietly.

Alphard's face lost all color as he jumped to his feet, pacing in the narrow space between the opposing rows of seats.

"This is bad... this is very bad," muttered the boy looking highly distressed as he shot Harry wary glances over his shoulder. "When you told me about Grindelwald's letter and the Durmstrang books he had sent you, I thought his interest in you was solely based on the fact that you and Tom are Slytherin's descendants-"

"I remember, Al," interjected Harry in a mollifying tone of voice.

Alphard shook his head angrily. "But you thought it could be something more – you suspected and feared it and I dismissed it! But I was wrong - this proves it!" He cast him a glance filled with trepidation. "The Dark Lord wouldn't have ordered his most trusted follower to essentially adopt you if he didn't have some dastardly scheme up his sleeve!"

"Dastardly?" Harry chuckled in wry amusement before he was quick to soothe his friend, "Al, Tom and I are aware that he must want us for something-"

"But you don't actually know," interrupted Alphard sharply, "what the 'something' is, do you?"

"Well… no," conceded Harry, with a heavy sigh. "Not yet."

Alphard stared at him with anxious, big grey eyes. "You don't understand, Harry. When my father let me out of my room and told me that I was tasked with getting close to you-"

"He did?" Harry stared at him, momentarily taken aback, before he soon beamed joyfully. "But then, that's fantastic! It means that-"

"Yes, _that _is great," agreed Alphard with a happy, toothy grin. "I can openly be your friend now, and report back to my father whatever you want me to say." He shook his head abruptly, as he snapped impatiently, "But you're not listening to me. Father received a letter that day, and I have just found out from other Slytherins that many of their parents did so as well – on the very same day. It must have been from the Dark Lord, you see?"

Harry blanched, as he muttered gloomily, "With news about his plans to attack some country, I reckon?"

"That's just it," interjected Alphard, fretfully chewing his bottom lip, "I don't think it could have simply been something like that."

"Simply?" Harry scowled at him, incensed. "I hardly think that another country falling into Grindelwald's clutches is a 'simple' matter-"

"What I mean," bit out Alphard with exasperation, "is that my father has received news such as that before, and it merely made him look satisfied." He frantically gestured with his hands. "But during the past few days, Father's been downright giddy! This is something else. Something very serious is going on-" he shot him a pointed look "- and since on that very same day he told me it was my duty to 'befriend' you to learn as much as I could about you, then it evidently has something to do with you! And only you – he didn't tell me to cozy up to your brother!"

Harry blinked at the outburst, to then eye him warily. "Um… alright, so what do you suspect?"

"I haven't the faintest," bemoaned Alphard, his shoulders slumping. "I had half a mind to break into my father's study to take a peek at the letter he received-" he gave him a deeply apologetic look "- but after all the trouble I had gotten into with him, I didn't dare do it."

"That's alright, Al," said Harry soothingly. "I wouldn't expect you to risk-"

"But I should have," Alphard cut in, groaning despairingly. "I _would_ have, if I had known then that other supporters of the Dark Lord had also received letters on that day. I only realized it was something grave, that certainly involves you, just a few moments ago when other Slytherins mentioned their parents also getting letters-"

"I understand," insisted Harry in a soft voice. "But you've done plenty for me already-"

"Not enough," grunted Alphard, stony faced. "Because now I'm sure you're right, and I think you have much to fear." He heavily plopped down on a seat, shooting him an irked look. "And you should hear Abraxas! He's back there with all the Slytherins, milking it for all it's worth, basking in the attention now that he's the go-to person for anyone that wants to know more about you and Tom. He's been saying all sorts of things-"

"Things?" Harry froze, staring at him with appalled, wide green eyes. "What… 'things', exactly?"

"What he already said in his letters," said Alphard, scowling with deep annoyance, "added to his own flourishes and details, of course. He's become such a prat-"

"But," pressed Harry anxiously, swallowing thickly, "he didn't say anything… er… private, did he?"

"Private?" Alphard blinked at him, bemused. "Such as?"

Shrugging, and feeling vastly relieved, Harry shook his head. "Never mind."

"Harry," whispered Alphard, his tone suddenly grave as he leaned forward to pierce him with big, grey eyes, "I think it's vital, now more than ever before, for us to accomplish the Animagus Transformation."

"Of course," said Harry warmly, perking up and grinning at him. "I'm looking forward to it. We'll have loads of fun together."

Alphard shook his head, as he shot him a curt look. "I mean, that it is essential for _you_. It depends on whether you have the ability to become one, and the nature of your Animagus form, of course, but being an Animagus is mightily useful, Harry, when in a tight spot." He pinned him with a grim, pointed look. "Given your situation, it could even save your hide. Do you understand my meaning?"

Harry sobered up, nodding. "Sure. I'm hoping for some useful Animagus form myself." He grinned sharply at him. "Something small that, if necessary, could easily scurry away from-"

"From the Dark Lord," murmured Alphard nodding, looking pleased that they were on the same page. He then cheerfully beamed at him as he rushed out, "When I went shopping for school supplies with my family in Diagon Alley, I managed to slip away. I've already bought from Knockturn most of the ingredients we'll be needing for the tests." He shot him a proud look. "The rest, I'll buy by owl during the next couple of months-"

"Here's my contribution, then," interjected Harry, instantly fishing out the large pouch of galleons, vastly relieved when he handed it over.

Alphard frowned at him, with pouch in hands. "You don't need to give me this-"

"Alphie, it's Von Krauss money," said Harry sternly. "I owe you a lot already. I don't want it, so take it."

Alphard unknotted the silk cord, peering into the pouch before he cast him a hesitant glance. "Are you certain? There's a small fortune in here-"

"Good," said Harry shortly. "All yours."

His friend, in a usual display of implicitly understanding Harry's reasoning and feelings, clearly realized that Harry would be angered and offended if he pressed the issue, and Harry smiled at Alphard when the boy nodded and pocketed the pouch without another word.

"This will be a busy year for us," remarked Alphard contently as he stretched out his legs.

Harry grinned, nodding, for it would certainly be so, more than the boy could realize, in fact, in Harry's case.

* * *

"Hagrid, Rubeus!"

Only then did Harry notice that his housemates took an interest in the Sorting of First Years instead of shooting him and Tom surreptitious looks. Granted, he supposed he should be feeling relieved that the Slytherins' sentiments towards him and his brother seemed to have drastically changed.

Indeed, there were few the faces that held lingering doubts, hatred, or outright despise for them. Now, most had spent all the time during the Welcoming Feast gazing at him and Tom with grudging wonder, covetousness and greed to know more, thrilled excitement, and above all, great anticipation.

Tom's plot of making Malfoy write those letters had certainly bore its fruits. He could feel his brother oozing pleased self-satisfaction, at that.

Even Alphard's sister, Walburga, Harry's most nasty and outspoken enemy in Slytherin House, seemed to have ceased her blatant hostility towards him.

Although looking as if sucking on a sour lemon, the girl had glanced at him, given him a stiff, jerky nod of the head and then looked away. That her gaze then lingered on Tom for quite a while, the girl looking more fascinated than ever before, didn't even bother him that much.

No doubt, Pollux Black had ordered his daughter to not antagonize him, and that was good enough for Harry.

On the other hand, Dorea Black didn't seem to care two straws that the allegedly self-declared -and still to be proven- Slytherin's Heirs were now also the wards of the Dark Lord's right hand man – that they were apparently taken under Von Krauss' wing, part of the ranks, shooting their way up into the pureblood echelons of social and political influence and clout, right smack in the middle of things.

Quite literally, she had told him such, when the girl had pounced on him the moment Harry stepped out of the Hogwarts Express.

"... and I couldn't care less about all the promotion Abraxas is giving you," she had added crisply, as she closely inspected him with her gaze. "You look well-fed and healthy – that is what matters, for you cannot forget what you owe me-"

"I haven't," Harry had interjected dryly. "I told you I'd play Quidditch and I always keep my word. You'll have a player in 'good conditions'."

"Splendid." Dorea's whole countenance had changed once making sure that she was getting her own way. Her grey eyes gleamed with pleasure as she informed him placidly, "I'll let you know the date for the Team's tryouts."

Certainly, he hadn't dared tell her about the small setback. He had told no one about Norway and wasn't about to do so just to explain that, in fact, he didn't have the Comet 180 any longer. One of the ancient school brooms would have to do while Harry tried to come up with a solution.

"He's a halfbreed," furiously spat Priscilla Pucey at present, making Harry take notice given the violent tone of appalled hatred and disgust in her voice.

"Certainly he cannot be!" gasped out Druella Rosier, horrified. "Surely the Headmaster would not dare admit such filth in Hogwarts!"

"Look at the mongrel's size!" hissed out Capricia Carrow, her eyes flashing with outrage. "Indubitably, he has Giant blood, at the very least."

"Giant!" choked out Druella in alarm, with round eyes and a revolted and terrified expression on her beautiful face.

Harry then finally caught sight of the boy who was garnering so much negative attention from the Slytherins and students of others Houses as well, his green eyes widening in amazement.

It was clear that the boy couldn't be purely human: hulking, immense, taller even than many seventh-year students, with a tangle of thick, wiry black hair, and broad, blunt facial features. Yet, Harry thought that there was something endearing about the first year, as the boy awkwardly fumbled his way towards the stool holding the Sorting Hat.

He looked timid, thoroughly unsure of himself, and terrified, though any sense of jittery nerves and shyness seemed to sometimes disappear when the immense boy darted his black eyes all around the Great Hall, with an expression of awe, wonderment, and reverent fascination – eyeing the magnificent House banners floating high above each respective table, the lit candles swaying in the air, the transparent, high-arched ceilings displaying the late evening sky with sparkling stars – everything seemingly dazzling and enchanting him.

Harry found himself grinning at the boy's reactions, and to his amusement, the Sorting Hat barely stayed on the boy's mane of hair for a split second before roaring, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The claps from the boy's new housemates were sparse and brief – apparently not even the 'courageous' lions knowing how to react to having a half-Giant in their midst. Most were grimacing, blanching, or narrowing their eyes at their newest addition.

"He's going to be a source of much entertainment, eh?" Alphard whispered at him, chuckling as he jabbed an elbow into Harry's side. "Look at the Gryffs, they're pissing themselves in their pants, so scared they are!"

Harry scoffed at that, shaking his head. "They're going to give him a hard time. Probably more so because they _are _afraid of him."

"Better and better, then," said Alphard, sniggering under his breath. "The Giant will lash out in self-defense and we'll be playing against crippled Gryffs in the Quidditch Pitch." He shot him a jaunty wink. "Easy win."

Harry gave him a wryly amused look, though he doubted that the half-Giant would retaliate against bullies in any way. He caught a glimpse of him ducking his head low as if attempting to make himself look smaller. Quite clearly, no matter his frightening size, the boy was harmless, and too eager to fit in and pass unnoticed.

* * *

Tom indolently raised a hand in the air, making Harry inwardly groan when he saw Bathsheba Babbling blinking uncertainly at the list of students.

It was their last class of the day, and Harry's first lesson of one of the O.W.L.s elective courses he had chosen for his Third Year: Study of Ancient Runes, shared with the Gryffindors.

Professor Babbling was a young witch who had proven to be easily excited into gushing and rushing out when giving explanations, speaking so very fast and eagerly that Harry was forced to pay utmost attention to attempt to catch all her words.

And of course that his brother was the first to raise his hand to politely wait to be called on to answer the question the professor had posed.

The problem was that it was happening again.

Indeed, Bathsheba Babbling stared owlishly at Tom, saying hesitantly, "You may answer, er – Mr. Riddle?" She glanced at the roster again. "Um, Mr. Riddle-Ashcroft?" The witch shot Tom a desperate look. "Eh… Mr. Ashcroft?"

"Mr. Riddle as usual is quite acceptable, madam," intoned Tom graciously, shooting her a charming smile.

Babbling looked mightily relieved as she smiled back at Tom and gestured at him to reply to her question.

Indeed, during the first day of school all teachers seemed to have the same problem of not quite knowing how to address him and Tom. They certainly had to know that some muggle man had adopted them, since it had been filed in the Ministry of Magic. And given that they had been addressed as 'Riddle-Ashcroft' in their Hogwarts letters, it nevertheless seemed as though there were still some lingering doubts about proper formality in such an unusual case as that of orphaned magical children being adopted by a muggle.

Furthermore, all the hype surrounding Harry and Tom's changed circumstances was making the Slytherins lose their characteristic cool composure and subtlety, as they were the only ones who were aware of the truth behind it all and too willingly reveled in it.

Just then, Druella Rosier tittered, Neron Lestrange and Orion Black shared sly, knowing smirks, and Abraxas Malfoy looked unbearably smug and conceited, as if he had known from the start that the Riddle twins were no mudbloods at all and of much interest to the Dark Lord, and as though it was all the boy's doing that Von Krauss had taken them in.

Harry had already shared classes with all other Houses, and in previous lessons, their professors' uncertainty regarding which surname to call him by had already given way to much gossip among the non-Slytherin students.

Even now, he caught sight of Felicity and Felix Prewett shooting him quizzical glances.

The only teacher that hadn't stammered or hesitated had been Dumbledore, who had calmly called him 'Mr. Riddle' as always. Although it hadn't made Harry feel any less uneasy.

Indeed, he had expected for the wizard to ask him to stay behind after class, to have a private chat regarding his adoption. When Dumbledore did not, Harry was left with the certainty that the wizard suspected some foul play – even possibly the truth, to some degree.

After all, it had been Harry who had told him that Tilly Toke had been Grindelwald's spy, hence implicitly revealing Grindelwald's interest in him and Tom – proving it, even. Dumbledore was not a man to have forgotten or dismissed such an important fact.

At least, Harry dearly hoped so – Albus Dumbledore was his safety net, as far as he was concerned.

Harry spent the remainder of the lesson listening attentively to Babbling, and for once taking detailed notes. He was determined to crack the problem of disabling their Trace Charms, and wards and Ancient Runes was the key.

He wasn't all that surprised when he was ambushed by the Prewetts twins the moment the lesson ended and he stepped out of the classroom.

"Harry, a word?" whispered Felicity, her pretty mismatched eyes darting around warily.

Harry nodded, following the red-haired twins into an empty classroom nearby.

"What are all these rumors about you being an orphan," said Felicity looking pained, as soon as they closed the door, "and being adopted during the holidays and whatnot?" She shot him a searching look. "You told us you had parents! And relatives!"

Harry sighed deeply, carding a hand through his hair. "I lied." At her hurt expression, he quickly added, "Look, it was Tom's idea. He didn't… er, want people to know we were orphans – didn't want the pity, you see? So he said we had muggle parents and I went along with it."

Felicity eyed him uncertainly, as she mumbled, "But then… that muggle soldier that our cousin Ignatius managed to find information about – he was your aunt's fiancé, you said-"

"Robert Hutchins was a friend, an acquaintance," interrupted Harry, wincing. "Nothing more. I said that to give you more reason to want to help me find what had happened to him in the warfront."

"It's true, then," interjected Felix as he straddled a chair, crossing his arms on top of the backrest as his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. "You're an orphan and you've been adopted by a muggle? Some sort of nobleman?"

Harry leaned against the teacher's desk, chuckling under his breath. "A muggle 'lord', yes. Alistair Ashcroft."

Felix whistled appreciatively, as he eyed Harry's brand new robes. "And filthy rich by the looks of it – you look very dapper, for once." He waggled his eyebrows, grinning. "Already pampering you with expensive things, is he? Did the muggle enjoy the shopping day in Diagon Alley?"

"A lot," said Harry, smiling widely.

"Oh, Felix, who cares about that!" snapped Felicity impatiently, glowering at her twin. "Let's not beat around the bubotuber." She swiftly turned to Harry, her expression softening as she added apprehensively, "Harry, I wished you had trusted us as to tell us the truth from the start-"

"I'm sorry for that," said Harry softly.

"It's alright. I think I understand." Felicity gave him a faint smile, before she sighed heavily. "Nevertheless, what I'm getting at, is that it all seems very dodgy." She shot him a worried look. "Muggles don't usually go about adopting wizarding children. How well do you know this Ashcroft person? He could have ill intentions-"

"He doesn't," cut in Harry firmly, before he beamed at her joyfully. "Alistair Ashcroft is truly a great man. He's been visiting my orphanage for ages, Tom and I have known him since we were little boys." He stepped closer to her to grasp her hands in his, adding warmly, "I thank you for your concern, but truly, he saved us." He paused and quirked an eyebrow at her significantly. "You do remember that London was being bombed when the Hogwarts Express arrived at King's Cross Station, right?"

Felicity paled, as she murmured quietly, "Of course, how could I ever forget?"

"It was then when Ashcroft came looking for us at our orphanage, worried sick about our safety," continued Harry adamantly. "When he asked us if we would finally consent to be his sons, we didn't think about it twice and gladly agreed." He squeezed her hands before releasing them, as he smiled widely at her. "Ever since, we've been safe, living with him. It has been great."

Felicity bit her bottom lip, eyeing him uneasily. "But, Harry, you weren't there."

Harry frowned at her, as he said cautiously, "Where?"

"What my sister is trying to say," interjected Felix, shooting his twin an exasperated look, "is that Dumbledore went looking for you." He rolled his eyes. "Don't know why he decided to stick his nose in your affairs, but-"

"Dumbledore didn't 'stick his nose'!" bit out Felicity bristling, glaring angrily at her brother. "He was understandably _worried_ about Harry." She huffed proudly. "He takes great interest in ensuring his students' wellbeing, which denotes just what a great wizard and teacher he is-"

Felix snorted loudly at that. "Harry's a Slytherin, Lissy. And I've never seen Dumbledore caring about the snakes-"

"Of course he does!" snapped Felicity incensed, her brown and blue eyes flashing. "He's not a prejudiced man-"

"Please! He's our Head of House – a Gryffindor through and through, and-"

"If we could get to the point?" interjected Harry loudly, raising his hands to catch their attention, knowing that if he didn't cut short the twins' bickering they could go on for hours.

"As you must know, Dumbledore is the Deputy Headmaster," said Felix flatly, turning his face around to stare at him, "and as such, it's his task to send the Hogwarts letters. When he was doing so, he saw that your name and address had changed-"

"He was very puzzled and concerned, Harry," interjected Felicity swiftly, fretfully clutching her hands. "He asked our father to look into it, and Dad found the records of your adoption in the Ministry of Magic-"

"And Dumbledore," continued Felix with a roll of his eyes, "went to pay you a visit to your new home-"

"But he didn't find you there!" cut in Felicity, staring at Harry with large, anxious eyes. "The servants were very rude to him, apparently, and wouldn't tell him where you or Tom or your new father were. Dumbledore has been very worried ever since, according to Father." She shot him a stern look. "And so were we! We didn't understand anything!"

"That bit is very true," piped in Felix, giving him a gauging glance, frowning. "Where have you been?"

"America," said Harry instantly, casting them a thoroughly perplexed look of wondering what all the fuss was about. "Alistair Ashcroft took us there to show us the ropes, you know? He has businesses over there."

The ginger-haired twins blinked at him.

"America?" echoed Felicity, startled, before her mismatched eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where in America, exactly?"

"New York," blurted out Harry, the first name that popped into his mind.

"Really?" said Felix, perking up with interest and excitement. "Is it really as great as everyone says? Cousin Ignatius is always talking about the trip he had to take there for work, and he loved it and said that-"

"How is it, New York?" demanded Felicity, still eyeing him with a scrutinizing look.

"Er, very grand, yeah," said Harry, thinking fast and hard about every little thing he had ever overheard muggles or the radio saying about the foreign city. He gestured with his hands eagerly. "Filled with tall buildings – those skyscraper things, and filled with all sorts of people! It was a lot of fun!"

"Truly?" intoned Felicity slowly, arching an eyebrow at him. "And was the Wizarding Quarter to your liking?"

"Wizarding quarter?" Harry blinked at her, with the stupidest, most innocent expression he could muster. "Er – Ashcroft is a muggle, so he didn't take us to any wizarding venues."

"Oh, right," muttered Felicity under her breath, scowling. "I suppose that would explain your lack of knowledge, if the man is truly a muggle-"

"Look," interrupted Harry testily, frowning deeply at them with an offended look on his face. "What's all this about?"

Felix snorted as he leaned forward from his chair to pat Harry. "It's not your fault, mate. Sorry for questioning you. It's Dumbledore." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I've always said that he's a tad barmy-"

"He's not!" snapped Felicity heatedly, instantly rounding on him. "Harry's adoption sounds very fishy to me as well. Dumbledore is just looking out for Harry-"

"Looking out how?" interjected Harry coolly, although piercing them with his eyes attentively.

"He acted a bit frantic over the holidays, if you ask me," scoffed out Felix, an irritated expression on his face. "Popped into our house to ask our father for help, asked us loads of questions about you-"

"What questions?" demanded Harry shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, glowering.

"He knows we are your friends," replied Felicity quickly, her tone soft and mollifying. "He just wanted to make sure we would remain being so-"

"Please!" snorted out Felix loudly, before he gave Harry a pointed look. "He thinks you've turned dark or something of the sort. He thinks something's afoot. He thinks your adoption is some sort of cover-up, and-"

"We don't know that!" bit out Felicity, glaring at her brother. "Dumbledore didn't say any of those things to us-"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" snapped Felix impatiently at her. "Why else ask us to invite Harry over to stay with us during the next summer holidays? It's clear that he doesn't trust this Alistair Ashcroft fellow! It's clear that he wants to take Harry away from the muggle! And I don't see why Dumbledore has to butt in-"

"_If _he is a muggle!" yelled Felicity furiously. "It seems to me that Dumbledore doubts it. So he's right to meddle, isn't he? Professor Dumbledore is acting according to his suspicions, as I see it, and Dumbledore is hardly ever wrong, is he?"

"He's been wrong plenty of times! I'd just wish you would someday stop singing his praises at every turn!"

Harry left the Prewett twins bickering once more amongst themselves, his spirits high. Indeed, he couldn't have been more pleased by the revelations.

To know that Dumbledore suspected much felt like a soothing balm. To understand that the wizard hadn't asked to see him in private because the man knew there could be eyes watching, was a relief. After all, Harry himself suspected that there had to be a new spy at Hogwarts, and evidently, so did Dumbledore.

The wizard was being cautious, and Harry was thankful for that. He had to give the impression to whomever was Grindelwald's new spy that he had not only meekly resigned himself to being under the Dark Lord's thumb, and that he was taking Konrad Von Krauss' threats on Mrs. Cole and his friends' lives seriously, but also that he was warming up to the idea of being on the 'dark side', seeing nothing but its many advantages.

Nevertheless, he hardly thought that Dumbledore could do a thing to contest their adoption by 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft' – Konrad Von Krauss had been too thorough. It didn't mean, however, that it could prevent Harry from directly asking Dumbledore's help if the need ever arose. He knew how to get into the professor's office undetected, away from spying and prying eyes, after all.

Knowing he still had Albus Dumbledore on his side, in a sense, did much to allay his worries, and the months passed swiftly as autumn turned to winter.

Keeping constantly busy had proven to be the answer to his conundrum. He had begun the next stage of searching for an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, with The Three Musketeers' Map and Alphard and Ulysses along for the ride, on the fifth floor of the castle, he continued on his own his studies of Healing, progressed with deciphering the ancient runes of Von Krauss Castle's wards, and had been taking all his classes very seriously, in preparation for the future O.W.L.s examinations.

"You're becoming quite a bookworm," observed Tom one day, his tone sounding dryly pleased. "You've finally acquired some maturity-"

"I know how to do it!" snarled Harry, violently wrenching his wrist away from Tom's fingers, who had been showing him how to perform the required wand motions.

Harry didn't see why Tom had to touch him so much for it, why his brother had taken hold of his hand in his, mimicking the required wand movements for the curse they were practicing.

Nowadays, he always did his best to keep a safe distance between him and his brother, anything else bothered him in the extreme, not liking how it made him feel.

It was another day in which they spend all their leisure hours progressing in their studies of Occlumency and Legilimency, wandless magic, German, or the Dark Arts, ensconced in the Room of Requirements, this time their surroundings imitating those of the Dueling Chamber of Slytherin House.

Already, once before, Tom had commended Harry's surprising new attitude. Little did Tom know that when alone with him, Harry always sat with nose stuck in books, concentrating in learning, because the alternative was to stare at Tom like an ogling idiot.

"Prove it," hissed out Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at him, dark with irritation.

"Displodum!" snapped Harry, swishing his wand in the air at the fleshy dummy before him.

In an instant, a purple beam struck it, making the dummy burst into tiny bits, completely dismembering it, thick splashes of blood-like liquid and fleshy substance staining the floor.

"Not bad," remarked Tom coolly.

"Not bad?" bit out Harry, scowling though not looking at him, as he rubbed his scar that was tingling pleasantly, as always whenever he used Dark Magic. "Bloody brilliant, I'd say! That was a sixth-year Durmstrang Dark Arts curse, and I cast it perfectly."

Tom hummed under his breath, noncommittally, and Harry hazarded a quick glance. Somehow, his brother was managing to look both satisfied and irked at the same time, for reasons only known to himself.

"Where are you going?" demanded Tom harshly the next second when Harry swiveled around and stuffed his Dark Arts books into his satchel.

"We're done for the day," said Harry gruffly as he proceeded towards the door. "We've been at it for hours and I've got a date."

"A date?"

Tom's tone was so soft, quiet, and venomously filled with spite, that Harry shot him a look over his shoulder, hand on doorknob.

"Study date with Felicity Prewett," Harry clarified flatly, grinning nastily when Tom's eyes narrowed to slits. "She's very clever. She's been helping me much in preparing for our OWLs in advance."

"_I_ am tutoring you on that," hissed out Tom in a very low, ominous voice.

"So is she," retorted Harry airily before he swept away, wholly ignoring the flare of pain in his scar.

As he trotted down a corridor, he didn't feel an ounce of guilt for spitefully enjoying so much riling up his brother.

It was a vindictive sort of pleasure he felt when he was obvious in his attentions to Felicity Prewett. Indeed, as planned, he had taken to look at her during meals in the Great Hall, to eye her pretty face and red hair, to wonder when her cheeks blushed as their gazes met, to smirk when he felt his scar flaring.

Oh, the latter not because he gave any credence to Malfoy's assertions that Tom's possessiveness and jealousy were caused by 'incestuous' feelings. He doubted his brother could hold such emotions for anyone at all, as highly as Tom thought of himself and so little of everyone else – much less for a boy, and even less for his own twin.

Tom was twisted and jaded, for sure, but not in that way. Lust and urges and physical needs had never seemed to affect him, and least of all, sentimental, sappy feelings.

Nevertheless, that Harry enjoyed spending time with the Prewetts and Alphard had always angered and bothered Tom, and Harry considered it payback.

Payback, indeed, not only for being the cause of Harry's appalled thoughts, but also for being an utter prat, who had milked their new circumstances for all they were worth.

Many curious and gossipy students of other Houses had come to Harry asking questions about his 'adoption', and he had simply replied in the same lines as what he had told the Prewetts. However, he had left the Slytherins to Tom, at Tom's insistence.

And of course that his brother had made a grand show of it, elegantly poised in a armchair in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by avid listeners, as he coolly explained his own version of events.

Aloof and arrogant, Tom smoothly told all Slytherins of how he and Harry had supposedly discovered during the first months of their First Year that they were Slytherin's Heirs, of how Tom had then secretly contacted the Dark Lord, after having heard so much of the wizard and his aims for a better world.

"What do you mean?" had demanded Capricia Carrow, frowning at Tom, suspicion and querulous doubt on her face. "There is no way in which any of us can contact the Dark Lord, and much less you-"

"I have my ways and means," Tom had interjected softly, smirking as he feigned to distractedly toy with the pendant hanging from within his parted school robes.

Tilly Toke's pendant, Harry had seen, with the symbol they all believed to be Grindelwald's mark. Tom was still insistently tinkering with it, certainly because he did want to have a way in which to contact Grindelwald directly and was sure that the pendant had to be a magical device of some sort.

All Slytherins' gazes had zeroed in on the pendant, eyes widening and gasps ensuing when they recognized the mark etched on it.

No matter how much they asked how Tom had acquired it, Tom always responded with silence and a superior, self-important smirk, shrouding himself in even more mystery, lending more fuel to the sort of legend that Tom was quickly becoming in Slytherin House.

And now they all believed that Grindelwald had known about them from the start, had somehow magically detected the existence of Salazar Slytherin's 'lost heirs', had approached them in person, had given Tom the pendant, had made them Von Krauss's wards because of their great importance and because Tom had demanded to be given a proper place in the Dark Lord's ranks, as befitted an heir of Salazar Slytherin - that Tom, in essence, had Grindelwald wrapped around his little finger, vying to please him.

Slyly, Tom had said none of those things outright, but cunningly implied them, letting the Slytherins' imaginations run wild and fill the gaps of his story - to his advantage.

Abraxas Malfoy, the only one in the audience well aware that Tom was spouting utter nonsense, hadn't even beeped a word. Oh, the boy had looked constipated, surely seething because Tom had so thoroughly stolen all the limelight away from him. Yet Malfoy hadn't dared go against Tom's words.

Harry, for his part, had inwardly sighed with irritation, not looking at his brother, and merely proceeded to carry on with his plans.

Indeed, becoming wholly concentrated in his many tasks and studies helped to distract and avert his attention away from Tom, and once he began playing Quidditch, it would serve him even more to be so busy.

It was a pity that Dorea Black and the rest of Quidditch Captains had spent the autumn convincing the Headmaster to let the students watch or participate in the sport. Apparently, Armando Dippet had been about to cancel Quidditch for the year, deigning it too risky to have all students gathered outside the castle in the Quidditch Pitch, given the war with Grindelwald.

One of the few professors to insist that, precisely due to the war, it was imperative for Hogwarts to conduct business as usual -to give the students an excuse to have some fun, a sense of normalcy, and take their minds away from the war outside- had been Dumbledore.

In the end, Dippet had yielded and the Teams' tryouts and Quidditch season would be commencing after winter holidays. There wouldn't be much time for training before the first match and that would only make it more interesting.

Harry was very much looking forward to it, though he had been torn with warring feelings when he and Tom had received a letter signed by 'Lord Alistair Ashcroft', informing them they were 'granted permission' –which they had had no way to ask for, and in Tom's case, no intention of doing so- to remain at school for Christmas.

On one hand, Harry couldn't have been happier to be spared from spending another two weeks in Von Krauss Castle, under the oppressive feeling of being ever watched. On the other, it could only mean that their legal guardian was far too busy as to keep an eye on them in Germany – Grindelwald had to be planning to attack some country soon.

Grim thoughts that the latter arose to a side, there was also the matter of getting a date for the upcoming Yule Ball.

It would be curious and funny, the chain of events and coincidences -he would later muse- that led to make it a night he would never forget – the very beginning of one of the greatest, most astonishing, dangerous, and important discoveries of his life.

One he should not have shared with Tom, if he had only known of the consequences beforehand.


	58. Part I: Chapter 57

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy this chappie. I'll be posting the next one in a week at most, hopefully ^.^

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 57**

* * *

_What is troubling you, boy?_

Harry attempted to ignore the Grey Lady's voice in his mind. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was sprawled on a patch of snow by the bank of the Black Lake, using his school robes as a mantle, after having spent several hours swimming in its chilly depths wrapped in a Warming Charm.

Ever since returning to school, he had found the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw in a bad mood. At first looking forlorn and dejected, as if their months of separation had greatly affected her, then to be as short-tempered and unstable as in the day he had met her for the first time.

Only after several 'Possession Days' of doing what she had enjoyed the most when alive, did she seem to acquire a better disposition.

"You already know what," grunted Harry, closing his eyes as he let the wintry sunrays dry the drops of water on his chest.

Early in the morning he had already paid Nagini a visit in the Forbidden Forest, finding her as thin as ever though grown in length, now nearly as long as his outstretched arms. And seemingly having had a blast during the holidays, with her nest of worshipful male snakes that shared their home with her in that scorched clearing in which Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had dueled, according to Helena.

Nagini had barely paid him any mind, at that, solely demanding to know when Tom would deign to visit her.

_I have already told you_, said Helena Ravenclaw's voice testily, _that I do not know how you can make Santi appear before you._

Harry cracked his eyes open, his scowl deepening when he glimpsed several dark clouds gathering in the sky - it would be hailing heavily soon.

Although it was not only the weather that made him grumpy, but the urgent need to see Santi once and for all.

Harry had begun suspecting that perhaps Santi had an inkling that he had had that 'vision' dream thing – because Harry certainly had a lot of questions to demand answers for, and Santi had yet to show himself.

_Yuletide is approaching, _said the Grey Lady's voice, sounding so taciturn that it instantly made Harry narrow his eyes in suspicion.

"It's in a week," he said pointedly, before he grinned triumphantly. "And then, according to our deal, you'll have to keep your end of the bargain."

_I will tell you about myself – in full_, she said tartly, _as long as you provide me with one last experience. _

"Alright," Harry said carefully, as he sat up. "What do you want?"

_The terms of our deal includes the night of Yuletide,_ she remarked sharply_, if you'll remember._

As he pulled his arms into his robes' sleeves, Harry cocked his head to a side. "You want to possess me during the Yule Ball, is that it?"

_Precisely, _said the Grey Lady's voice with much satisfaction, before her tone became filled with desperate longing_. I wish to dance, to feel arms around my waist as I'm swept on my feet, to feel the warmth of another human being, the caress of a lover on my cheeks-_

"A lover?" Harry choked in alarm, before he vehemently shook his head. "Look here, I don't have-"

_I already know that you do not have any lovers, child, _snapped her voice impatiently. _But you will have a partner for the Yule Ball, I assume?_

"Yeah," exhaled Harry, relaxing as he stood on his feet, flicking his wand and casting a charm to thoroughly dry his undergarments as he then proceeded to yank his trousers up his legs.

"I'm asking Felicity Prewett to go with me," he added proudly as he finally pulled his school robes tightly around himself.

Something he planned on doing that very same day. He had already heard that she had turned down many boys that had asked her weeks in advance – she had become quite popular from what he could see. And he had begun to suspect that the many times she blushed when in his presence could mean that she did fancy him to some degree.

The dawning realization had surprised him at first, but then thoroughly pleased him. He liked her. She was fun, mischievous, and clever - sometimes too nosy and nagging, but always when she was worried about him in some way.

And he liked her hair, too. Red hair seemed to have always held some sort of strange fascination over him and he was prepared to explore it fully, at that.

Everyone else already had their dates for the Ball. Tom was unsurprisingly going with Olive Hornby –fact that Harry always pushed away from his mind- and Alphard was escorting pretty Lucretia, more as a bodyguard for his cousin to make sure that no 'unworthy' boys would dare ask her for a dance.

_That will not do, _said the Grey Lady flatly.

"Hmm?" said Harry distractedly as he finally draped his Slytherin scarf around his neck, up to his ears.

_Do you think I'm interested in dancing with a girl?_ the Grey Lady snapped tempestuously. _I want a man! To experience a man's touch, a man's caress, a man's love-_

"A man?" Harry croaked, going as white as snow, before he boomed outraged, "I'm not snogging a professor! I'm not doing anything with any men! I will not-"

_I am not asking you to 'snog'_, Helena Ravenclaw's voice interrupted harshly, _a professor._ _Merely dancing will do – with an older boy, if you wish. I can grant you that much. I do seem to recall a very handsome one who is quite to my taste, whom I have seen around in my House. Marcus MacDougal, I believe his name is._

"MacDougal?" strangled out Harry, paling further. "The Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain?"

_That's the one_, said the Grey Lady contently.

"He's a boy!" thundered Harry in the next second, as he finally gathered back his wits.

_And?_ she demanded mildly, before releasing an aggrieved sound. _I do sometimes forget that you are muggle-raised_. She sighed deeply as she added in very slow, condescending, and lecturing voice,_ In the wizarding world-_

"I already know," snarled Harry like a wild beast, instantly bristling at her tone and the very subject under discussion, "that things are different here! It's not about that – I'm not asking a boy to be my date for the Yule Ball, and that's that!"

What was with everyone telling him he should be pairing up with boys, he would like to know! First Malfoy, then his own traitorous thoughts, and now a bloody ghost, to boot!

"I'm going with Felicity!" he spat as he quickly sped towards Hogwarts - the sooner he got inside, the sooner the Grey Lady would have to shut up about it.

_If you refuse to please me in this_, she said warningly, her voice as hard and grave as grinding stones, _our deal is over._

"I've done everything you've asked of me," hissed out Harry, so furious he could barely think straight. "You owe me!"

_I owe you nothing!_ she spat irately. _The information I posses is invaluable, what you've done for me is merely a trifle in comparison! I will tell you nothing unless you grant me this last favor._

Seething and utterly incensed, Harry lowered his voice to a mere whisper as he finally sped past Hogwarts' entrance doors, gritting out through clenched teeth, "Then let's see who'll help you. I haven't forgotten. Santi said you needed me. You yourself called me 'your savior'."

_I've waited for a thousand years_, said the Grey Lady testily. _I can wait for a thousand more._

"You do that!" snapped Harry viciously. He would not yield to the blackmail and demented demands of a bloody ghost. She could rot in her accursed existence, for all he cared now.

"Harry!"

Harry nearly jumped in the air in mid mad dash through the corridors of Hogwarts when a girl pounced on him.

"Gulping gargoyles, Myrtle, you scared me!" Harry panted out, clutching his pounding chest and staring at the girl who had seemingly been hiding in a shadowy nook.

Myrtle Mimbletinon tittered as she sidled up to him.

"Sorry," the girl then said not looking at all apologetic, her bespectacled gaze glimmering in a ominous way as she suddenly grabbed his arm.

_Get rid of her,_ said the Grey Lady's voice sharply. _You and I have much to discuss-_

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"Let's get in here – it looks nice…" said Myrtle as she swiftly opened a door and shoved Harry inside.

"Er- Myrtle," said Harry bemusedly as he glanced at their small, narrow, and cramped surroundings. "We're in a broom closet-"

"Snug and cozy, isn't it?" Myrtle simpered as she instantly wrapped herself around Harry's arm, peering up at him with wide eyes.

Harry shot her a frown, feeling uncomfortable and awkward in the reduced space as the girl kept pressing herself against him. "Um, Myrtle, what do you want?"

"To express my gratitude," said Myrtle tittering sharply, as she wriggled closer to him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she peered up at him, letting out a fluttery, worshipful sigh. "Oh, Harry, you saved me! From all those nasty bombs in London - you were so brave and heroic-"

"It's fine, Myrtle," interrupted Harry quickly, trying to flatten himself against the shelves at his back to keep distance. "It was nothing. Now, if you don't mind-"

_I do not like this,_ remarked Helena Ravenclaw waspishly. _I demand that you take us out of here and-_

"Shut up!" snapped Harry ill-temperedly, as he distractedly tried to disentangle himself from the girl and her groping hands.

"SHUT UP?" shrieked Myrtle in a strident high-pitch, her pimpled and plain face souring with an angered look, her bespectacled eyes flashing.

She immediately released him, glaring, as she spat furiously, "Because _Moaning_ Myrtle has no feelings, right! Because Moaning Myrtle is stupid and never has anything smart to say! Because Moaning Myrtle-"

"No!" said Harry immediately. "I didn't mean-"

"I was going to do this nicely," bit out Myrtle, glowering at him. "But you leave me no other choice." The grin she shot him was nasty, her eyes sparkling triumphantly. "I know what I saw, and I will tell everyone if you don't do what I say. I'll go to the Headmaster!"

_What have you done to this girl?_ said the Grey Lady, sounding curious and vaguely amused.

Harry shook his head, gritting his teeth, and letting out a breath of exasperation as he finally stared back at Myrtle, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"I looked into it!" declared Myrtle, her bespectacled eyes gleaming. "That pendant that your mean brother was wearing – that symbol! I know what it is, now." She grinned sharply at him, as she whispered, "Your brother is a dark wizard. And he supports that evil man everyone's talking about!"

_Indeed?_ muttered the voice in his head, sounding both appalled and morbidly interested.

Harry paled dramatically, staring at the girl, speechless. He sometimes forgot that Myrtle was a Ravenclaw. He hadn't expected for Myrtle to pursue and_ research_ the matter. Not that the ghost's voice constantly yapping in his mind was helping any – he even felt a looming migraine as he attempted to think straight.

_Oh, is she in my House?_ the Grey Lady intoned, sounding half bemused and incredulous as if coolly assessing the girl through his eyes, no doubt taking notice of her uniform. _Though she doesn't seem particularly bright to me-_

"Look, Myrtle," said Harry hurriedly as he gathered back his wits, trying his best to utterly ignore the pesky voice in his head. "I can explain! It's not what you think. Tom isn't dark-"

"If you don't want me to tell anyone," interjected Myrtle, apparently not at all fazed by her discovery, or scared, but with a rather sly gleam in her black eyes, "you'll take me to the Yule Ball."

It took Harry a moment to grasp the meaning of her words, just as Helena Ravenclaw's voice began spitting and hissing in his head like an over-boiling kettle.

_This will not do – not at all!_

"To the Ball?" Harry echoed, flabbergasted.

"Yes," snapped Myrtle impatiently, before she shot him a thin-lipped smile. "I know you haven't asked anyone yet-"

_You'd better not yield to this most ignominious extortion!_

"Actually," gritted out Harry with immense exasperation, "I was on my way to Gryffindor Tower to-"

"You will take me," interrupted Myrtle sharply, narrowing her bespectacled gaze at him, "or I will tell about your brother-"

_I will not spend the Ball dancing with this slip of a girl! I absolutely refuse-_

"-and you'll both be in so much trouble!" continued Myrtle, chuckling vindictively under her breath.

"I thought you were grateful to me!" bit out Harry angrily, glaring at her. "Because I helped you in London-"

_- to be saddled with dancing with a little girl! _

"Oh, but I am, Harry," said Myrtle in a buttery tone of voice, shimmying up to him and trailing a hand over his arm, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes, though her expression wasn't one of foolish adoration but cold calculation. "That's why I'm willing to keep my silence, in exchange for my dues-"

…_I want to feel a MAN's arms around my body, a MAN's touch and warmth-_

"-that will show Olive Hornby!" spat Myrtle, her face contorting with rage. "That nasty hag, going around mocking me, saying that I can't get a boy to ask me to the Ball-"

-_ if you want the information I possess, you will do as I asked! You should not heed this girl's-_

"- but this will show her! I'll go with you and she'll have to eat her words-"

…_hence, you better get your priorities straight, boy, because I'm not willing to subject myself to-_

"-and everyone will see me coming into the Great Hall, with you as my escort and date-"

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" boomed Harry at the top of his lungs, nearly tearing out his hair at the dual rants, his head and eardrums throbbing.

"Agreed, then! Pick me up at six o'clock!"

"No, Myrtle, I didn't mean-" Harry began in a flustered panic, just for the door of the broom closet to be slammed on his face as the girl rushed away triumphantly.

_Well! You've made your choice!_ spat the Grey Lady's voice enraged.

"No! Wait, I-"

Harry nearly keeled over as his body suddenly arched, the ghost instantly flowing out of him, leaving him weak-kneed and exhausted. He saw her materializing before him just for her to sweep away and sink into one of the walls.

"Wait!" he bellowed frantically, but it was a moot point. Both had left him behind, alone in the cramped broom closet, dismayed and stunned.

Harry groaned as he finally recovered his bearings, wearily rubbing his face.

"Ravenclaws," he groused under his breath – and ones that should have been sorted in Slytherin House instead, in his view, if it weren't for the fact that Myrtle was a muggleborn and the Grey Lady the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw herself.

He scowled darkly as he finally made his way back to his dorm, rather than to Gryffindor Tower as previously planned.

Girls, in all shapes and forms, were really a lot of trouble.

* * *

A week later, Harry was inspecting himself in the full-body mirror in his dorm's bathroom.

"Will you finally tell me who are you going with?" Alphard pressed, eyeing him with curiosity, perched by the sinks as Harry finished grooming himself.

He was half-way decent, Harry surmised as he glanced at his reflection once more, donned in one of the formal dress robes that the Von Krauss tailor had made for them, of a deep dark green with silver-thread trimmings. And of course that Tom had insisted they should wear them, for the Slytherin colors they displayed, and what it represented – the message to their housemates more than clear.

"You're fighting a lost battle there," observed the face of the enchanted mirror, guffawing once more at Harry's attempts to make his hair lie flat.

Harry shot it a dour look before he gave up and glanced at his friend.

Alphard was already set to go, the two of them the last in the dormitory as everyone else had left to get their dates for the Yule Ball. Even down there in the dungeons, they could hear the muffled sounds of excited, festive voices and the dim string of music coming from the Great Hall in the floor above.

"Well?"

Harry sighed as he turned around to face Alphard, mumbling under his breath, "I'm going with Myrtle."

For a week he had managed to dodge questions about 'his mysterious date', despite Alphard and Tom's efforts to get him to spill the beans. Tom, certainly, because he wanted to make sure that Harry would be going with someone 'worthy', that would make them both look good, and Alphard because the boy seemed to be inordinately interested in the subject of whom Harry had chosen, more curious and persistent than ever, for some reason.

Of course, Harry had not wanted to say because he knew what the reaction would be. Even more so in Tom's case. He didn't want his brother to know just how Myrtle had managed to make him go with her. He didn't doubt that Tom would be prepared to take drastic measures to ensure that the girl kept her discoveries to herself.

Not that the past week had been a walk on the park. He had been subjected to Felicity Prewett's glances, at first hopeful, then puzzled or impatient, and finally looking hurt and vastly disappointed, making him feel rotten. He had even had to endure the day in which Algie Longbottom had asked the girl to the Ball for the umpteenth time, just for him to beam and gloat when Felicity had finally reluctantly accepted, filling Harry with bitterness.

Alphard blinked at him. "Who?"

"Myrtle Mimbletinon," Harry clarified curtly.

Alphard shot him a confounded look. "Um… who?"

"Moaning Myrtle!" snapped Harry impatiently.

Alphard gawked at him, staring with round, grey eyes. "What? _Why?_"

"What do you mean – why?" retorted Harry truculently, scowling darkly.

Alphard moved his mouth, looking like a stranded fish, before he apparently managed to find his voice as he cast him a confused glance. "It's just that you could have gotten any girl in our year to go with you –" He instantly rose a hand at Harry's disbelieving and doubtful snort, rolling his grey eyes. "I know you don't believe it, but it's the truth." He dropped his hand and shot him a discombobulated look. "So why did you ask _her_?"

"Because Myrtle is… nice," grumbled Harry, as he finally strode back into their room.

"Nice?" he heard Alphard's voice saying, sounding mystified, as the boy trailed after him. "Are we talking about the same girl here?"

Harry swirled around to glare at him, wholly ignoring the quip, as he said testily, "Isn't your cousin Lucretia waiting for you in the common room?"

"Yes," said Alphard slowly, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, before he gave him a weak smile. "Right. See you at the dance!"

The boy instantly turned tail and ran away, surely cottoning on the fact that Harry was in a very short-fused, foul mood.

Ignoring all lingering students, Harry finally made his way to the Astronomy Tower, attempting to smooth his grumpy, sullen expression into one of thrilled happiness.

The previous day, Myrtle had been most adamant that it was his duty to convincingly play the part of a besotted 'suitor', that he had to show her a good time, and most importantly, treat her with utmost gallantry and flattery before her housemates.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, and he still had to find a way to mend matters with the Grey Lady, who had shone for her absence the last few days.

Finally on the fifth floor, Harry took a spiral staircase hidden in a cranny, by the end of it at last standing before a door without a doorknob or keyhole, but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle, which sparkled in a lattice of blue and coppery light before his eyes – it was one of The Three Musketeers' latest discoveries, as he, Alphard, and Ulysses had found the entrance to the Ravenclaws' common room during their exploration of the fifth floor in search for an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

He could hear merry voices coming from the other side of the door, and he stared at the eagle knocker uncertainly.

Just when he was about to take a hold of it, the beak of the figure opened, letting out a deep, grave voice, "What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?"

"What?" said Harry disconcerted, staring at the knocker, before he scowled. "Look, I just want to go inside-"

"Answer the riddle correctly and you will," intoned the bronze eagle sternly.

Harry sighed, impatiently carding a hand through his messy hair. "Fine. Can you say it again, then?"

"What can run but never walks," repeated the metal figure in bored monotone, "has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?"

Harry scratched his head, tilting it to a side. "Um… a river?"

"Correct," said the eagle knocker curtly, before the door parted open.

Harry had barely taken a step inside, taking notice of the wide, circular room with a midnight blue carpet, furnished with countless bookcases, a marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, a domed ceiling painted with stars, and large, arched windows partly draped with blue and bronze silks, displaying lovely views of the school grounds, the greenhouses, and the lake, when he nearly stumbled with a couple on its way to the door.

He stared at his brother, who struck quite a figure with the Slytherin dress robes on his tall frame and his perfectly groomed waves of dark hair, only taking notice of Olive Hornby dangling by Tom's arm, looking very pretty and smug, when he felt her heated gaze on him.

"Harry." Tom halted in his tracks, staring back with narrowing eyes. "Whom are you here for?"

"Um… well…" Harry began hesitantly, glancing away as he shifted on his feet.

"He's here for me!"

Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved or not when Myrtle suddenly elbowed her way through the crowd of people – Olive Hornby's flock of girl friends with their respective partners.

Nevertheless, he did stare at the sight of her, surprised.

"You look nice," he said awestruck, both playing his part and being sincere, for he had never seen Myrtle like that before.

She had evidently made an effort, though he knew it wasn't truly for his benefit. Her plain face was unblemished, her eyeglasses gone, her hair picked up in what looked like a complicated hairdo, and she was wearing a very pretty, light blue muggle dress, silky and posh.

"_You_ are Myrtle's date?"

Harry glanced at Olive Hornby, who was gaping incredulously, her eyes darting between them.

"I told you a boy had asked me!" crowed Myrtle triumphantly, instantly latching herself to Harry's arm as she shot Olive and her friends a dirty look. "Harry is taking me to the Ball because we are dating!"

"Dating!" Olive Hornby exploded into a loud guffaw, her friends sniggering at her back.

"Indeed?" murmured Tom quietly.

At that, Harry shot him another quick glance, because it wasn't anger what he had detected but rather a suspicious tone in his brother's voice.

"We are," said Harry instantly, not liking the turn of events, yet trepidation filling him at his brother's reaction, for Myrtle's own sake even if he wasn't particularly fond of the girl after what she had pulled.

"What have you bribed him with, Myrtle!" jibed Olive Hornby nastily, still guffawing, accompanied by the chorus of mocking sniggers and chuckles of her friends.

"I haven't bribed him with anything!" shrieked Myrtle in an earsplitting high-pitch, stiffening by Harry's side as he felt her fingernails sinking into his forearm.

"She didn't," said Harry hurriedly as he saw Tom's eyes narrowing further. "We are seeing each other-"

"Then," interrupted Olive, smiling sharply, "you should at least see _what _you'll be dancing with."

In a split second, the girl whipped out her wand, muttering under her breath, her eyes gleaming as a beam shot towards Myrtle.

It all happened so fast that none had a chance to react, cruel and mocking laughter erupting a moment later, just when Harry blinked and managed to catch a glimpse of Myrtle. Myrtle who suddenly had her thick, large eyeglasses on her face, whose hair abruptly looked like limp weeds, whose face filled with popping pimples and zits, whose nice dress no longer looked new and glossy but ragged, patched, and haphazardly sown together.

Myrtle let out a strident wail of utter horror and mortification, instantly fleeing through the door.

"Bloody hell!" snapped Harry angrily, rounding on Olive Hornby. "Was that necessary!"

Olive stiffened, as she bit out mordantly, "She deserved it! She was using spells and glamours-"

"So what!" spat Harry hotly, glaring at her.

"She's always giving herself airs," retorted Olive harshly, glowering back. "Trying to convince us all that she's oh so very rich and that her father is some sort of muggle bank manager and-"

"She wasn't lying-" Harry began before he clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth as he realized it was pointless.

Olive Hornby was a pureblood, little could she know that even if Myrtle came from a well-to-do family, the muggles had to have been enduring living in a London constantly under assault with The Blitz and the rationing of food and the scarcity of clothes. And whether Hornby's bullying cruelty was born from ignorance or not, he nonetheless knew that Myrtle was no meek, innocent victim either.

Thus he merely glared at them, even at Tom, the prat, who was looking darkly amused himself, before he turned heel and chased after Myrtle.

"Going after your run-away 'date'? Leave her!"

"You'd best try in her loo! She always goes there!"

The taunts and other jibes soon faded away as Harry kept running down the spiraling staircase, into a corridor, around a corner, as he caught glimpses of Myrtle, far ahead, bowling over couples leisurely making their way towards the ground floor and the Great Hall.

It was more the sound of her sobs and wails that allowed him to follow her than anything else, as he jumped unto a moving staircase, panting as he tried to catch up, suddenly realizing that for some reason they had entered the second floor of the castle.

Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming shut and being locked, made him realize just where Myrtle had gone into.

A moment later, he halted before the door of a girls' lavatory, hearing Myrtle's distraught moans, sobs, and wails from within.

Harry tentatively knocked. "Myrtle, it's me-"

"Go away!" she shrieked.

Harry sighed. "Don't be silly. We're going to miss the Ball-"

"I don't care!" she wailed at the top her lungs. "You just want to make fun of me, like all the rest!"

"I don't," snapped Harry in exasperation. "I don't care about your dress, your hair, or your face. Open up!"

"NO!"

Half an hour later, he was seated on the floor, still outside as he cursed his bad luck under his breath, and sulked.

Myrtle hadn't yet come out, no matter the many arguments and persuasions he had tried to employ. All the while not ceasing her wails, moans, and lamentations, as he heard the muffled sounds of the Headmaster giving a speech to commence the Yule Ball, as the distant clattering of goblets and plates of the feast, and then songs and dancing tunes, reached his ears from the ground floor.

"Are we going to spend the whole Yule Ball like this?" he finally yelled peevishly at the door.

"Leave me alone!"

Harry scowled, having had enough, and swiftly rose to his feet, plucking his wand from a pocket.

"Alohomora!"

The door clicked open as soon as he cast the charm, and he grumpily stepped into the lavatory, not caring if anyone saw him sneaking into a girls' loo, of all places.

"Look, Myrtle," he said testily, before he froze in his tracks, mouth hanging open, dumbstruck.

It wasn't the sight of Myrtle sprawled on the floor of a stall, hugging a toilet, looking disconsolate, which filled him with such astonishment that he could have been knocked over with a feather.

"Harry?" Myrtle wailed despondently as her face surfaced from her arms. Though all choked sobs and piteous moans suddenly halted as she glared at him when realizing he wasn't paying her the least bit of attention. "Harry!"

However, her voice sounded as if coming from far away, as Harry kept staring, speechless, at the sinks in the middle of the bathroom. Sinks that were glimmering in Slytherin's colors before his eyes – Slytherin's magic, glowing, in a girls' loo!

Harry laughed. He laughed so hard, so triumphantly, so gloriously and joyfully, that he clutched his ribs, and kept laughing.

"Brilliant!" he breathed out in between chortles, because it was just that. Because there could have been no other place so ridiculous, undignified, and inglorious, for the entrance of the _great_ Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets but a girls' loo, and precisely due to that, so thoroughly unsuspected, inconspicuous, and perfect – for he had no doubt at all that it _had_ to be the entrance, the very same one he had been looking for during the past three years.

"HARRY!" shrieked Myrtle angrily a second later when he immediately turned heel and ran out of the bathroom.

* * *

The Yule Ball was in full swing, Harry noticed as he made his way through the Great Hall will all the cool composure he could muster, no matter if his heart was giddily thundering in his chest with excitement.

The dance floor was packed with swirling couples, under the enchanted, high-arched ceilings showing the moon, twinkling stars, and drifting snowfall, candy canes and wreaths of garlands and holly floating all about, with twelve enormous Christmas trees beautifully decorated, buzzing with glowing fairies, where the Staff's Table usually stood, banners of all Houses floating intermingled in the air, in a festive representation of imaginary house unity, added to the countless round tables surrounding the dance floor, with the remains of what had surely been a plentiful and delicious feast.

Harry caught sight of the only Slytherin sitting at a table, and made a beeline for him.

He had already known, after all, that most Slytherins had stayed behind to spend Yuletide at Hogwarts –forgoing to participate, as they had always done before, in the purebloods' so-called 'Winter Season' with their families. And he knew that it was because of him and Tom, since surely Pollux Black had not been the only parent to tell his children to keep an eye on Konrad Von Krauss' wards and report back whatever information they gleaned.

Abraxas Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him as Harry plopped himself down on a chair, his green gaze immediately flickering through the dancing crowd. He caught sight of Alphard giving Lucretia Black a twirl, and further ahead, Tom with Olive Hornby.

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip musingly, yet he knew he couldn't let the opportunity pass, not when all the professors and students were so advantageously distracted by the Yule Ball, not when his own excitement made him so impatient.

"You are quite late, Riddle," drawled Abraxas crisply. "It is most uncivil and uncouth to-"

"Malfoy," Harry breathed out, blinking at him, as if seeing him in a brand new light of spanning possibilities.

Abraxas frowned as Harry kept staring at him with gauging, calculating eyes, yet Harry shifted uncomfortably on his seat at the idea that had struck him, knowing very well that it would get him arrested and thrown into jail in the Muggle World.

Harry quickly darted one more glance at Alphard and Tom, and finally squared his shoulders and swallowed his misgivings and nervousness as he made up his mind, rising to his feet as he stretched out a hand towards Abraxas.

"A dance, Malfoy?" he said coolly.

Abraxas stared at him, looking stumped, before his silvery eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Riddle?"

"I'm just asking for a dance," said Harry shortly, pointedly and impatiently bobbing his proffered hand up and down.

"Do you even know how to dance to this?" demanded Abraxas as he gestured towards a corner of the Great Hall, where instruments floated as if being played by invisible hands. "It is a wizarding ballroom ballad-"

"I don't," interjected Harry wryly, "but I'm sure you'll enjoy teaching me."

Abraxas quirked an eyebrow at him before he widely smirked, his eyes gleaming as he grasped Harry's hand. "Very well."

A moment later, they were wrestling with each other, for there was no other word for it. It certainly wasn't pretty, as Harry did his best to force them in one direction and Malfoy tried to twirl him around, of all things.

"_I_ am the one leading, Riddle," hissed out Abraxas angrily, as he tightened his clutch on Harry's hand and waist. "I told you to follow the steps of my feet-"

"Stop groping me!" snarled Harry under his breath, as he kept shooting glances at his target, trying to move them closer.

"I'm not _groping_, you fool! This is how this ballad is danced-"

Abraxas hissed as Harry distractedly stepped on his foot once more. "Riddle, look down to your own feet if you want to learn how to dance properly! You're making a spectacle-"

Harry utterly ignored Malfoy's incensed rants, no matter if he did notice that several students were shooting them surprised looks, arched eyebrows, or glances filled with gossipy curiosity and interest – he knew he would be paying for it later, Hogwarts' grapevine was something to be feared.

Regardless, at the moment he was single-mindedly focused on his mission, and grinned when he finally made them move right behind Tom. Tom who was dancing with Olive Hornby, surely by all means and purposes looking as if he was having a wonderful time, though Harry could feel his brother's bored annoyance like a faint prickle in his scar.

Tom who still hadn't seen him and had his back to them, in a perfect position.

Harry flung out a foot, and watched as his brother tripped, staggered, and landed on the floor on hands and knees in an entanglement with his own dress robes.

Olive Hornby gasped and stared, Malfoy froze with wide eyes, and Tom snarled from the floor, apparently angered with himself, before he rose his gaze and caught sight of Harry, realization dawning on him as his expression turned murderous.

"You dared!" hissed out Tom like a furious rattle-snake. "It was you-"

"You're so clumsy, brother!" Harry instantly gushed worriedly as he crouched beside him, his eyes widening as he stared at Tom's ankle. "You've sprained it!"

"What?" spat Tom, seething and glowering, as he began to fluidly rise to his feet.

"No, no!" cried Harry concernedly as he quickly grabbed one of Tom's arms and flung it over his own shoulders, forcefully holding him up. "You shouldn't force it. Don't put weight on it, brother! I'll take you to the Infirmary!"

"I am not-"

"I don't see anything wrong," interjected Olive Hornby, frowning as her gaze roved over Tom's body.

Harry shook his head mournfully. "I should take him to the Hospital Wing anyway, just to make sure. Tom's bones are very frail, you know?"

"I beg your pardon?" spat Tom outraged, as Harry squeezed his arm pointedly and then patted him comfortingly with his free hand.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed," said Harry softly, peering up at him soulfully. "We all have our failings, brother."

Olive Hornby huffed irritably. "I do not see-"

"Here," said Harry quickly, giving Malfoy a hard shove. "He'll dance with you in my brother's absence. It's only proper. Have fun!"

"What are you doing?" snarled Tom under his breath, enraged, as Harry yanked him away, still supporting him as though he were an invalid.

"Shut up and play along, you idiot!" whispered Harry sharply, as he ignored his painfully throbbing scar and glanced around searchingly. "You'll soon understand."

It was then when his gaze locked with Alphard's, who was still dancing with Lucretia though clearly having witnessed the situation from afar, looking puzzled and curious.

Harry grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows before pointedly jerking his chin in the direction of the Great Hall's doors.

Alphard blinked bemusedly, yet Harry knew his best friend had understood the gist of his request as the boy then nodded.

The moment he and Tom left the Great Hall behind, Harry instantly ducked away from under his brother's arm and kept a safe distance between them.

"What is all this about?" demanded Tom angrily as he immediately rounded on him.

Harry held up a hand, casting glances towards the doors of the Great Hall. "Wait. I don't want to explain twice."

Tom poisonously glowered at him, as he hissed out acidly, "I will not be made to wait for explanations-"

"What's going on?"

Recognizing the voice, Harry smiled widely as he saw Alphard rushing forth towards them.

"Lucretia?" said Harry the moment his friend halted before him.

"Left her with Orion," panted out Alphard. "Told her I was tired and was going to sleep early." He shot him a quizzical look. "But why…"

The boy trailed off, his big, grey eyes widening as Harry gave him a beaming, proud grin.

An instant later, Alphard clutched Harry's shoulders as he breathed out joyfully, "You found it! Didn't you?"

"Yup," said Harry smugly.

"What?" Tom, who had been glaring at Alphard, snapped his head around to stare at Harry with piercing, narrowed eyes. "You mean you actually found-"

"I see," drawled a frosty voice, making Harry groan.

One look over his shoulder confirmed that it was indeed Malfoy sauntering towards them, with a chilly expression on his pale face.

"Thought you would leave me behind, did you? Foisting that… girl, on me," drawled Malfoy spitefully, his silvery eyes narrowing. "If we are talking about what I believe we are-"

"_We_ aren't talking about anything," bit out Harry crossly, "with _you_."

Malfoy's nostrils flared, pulling himself up to his full height, as he spat, "You need me, Riddle. Let us not forget it, shall we?" Abruptly, he smirked, his whole countenance changing into one of lofty conceit, as he drawled importantly, "Only a Malfoy could vouch for the veracity of your claims-"

"Malfoy will be coming along," interrupted Tom in a curt, commanding tone of voice, as he shot Harry a reproving glare. "Now take us to-"

"Oh!" murmured Alphard fretfully, casting Harry an urgent look. "But first we should-"

"You're right," muttered Harry perking up. "I'll get it all. Wait here with them!"

He was gone in a flash before Tom could even open his mouth, rushing towards the dungeons.

The moment he careened into their dormitory, Harry unlocked his trunk and Alphard's, fishing out their hand mirrors and small phials of phoenix tears. Finally, he contemplated his Scorcrup who was curled in his bed, peacefully dozing.

"Ulysses," he murmured softly, scratching the little creature's furred head to awake him.

The Scorcrup cracked his green eyes open, peeking at him as he began to purr loudly.

"Are you up for an adventure?" said Harry quietly. "And, um, probably danger too?"

Ulysses cocked his head to a side, before he licked his hand.

"Thanks," said Harry smiling warmly as he took him in his arms, rushing back to the ground floor of the castle as he whispered his explanations and instructions to his Scorcrup.

"And if the damned Basilisk tries to hurt us," he concluded hurriedly, shooting his familiar a grave look. "Because you know that Alphard and I believe that it is a basilisk, Ulysses. So use your lethal venom to strike it – not the paralyzing one– and hopefully it will affect it. But if you see that you're outmatched then save yourself, because we have other ways to deal with it."

Little Ulysses bobbed his head in tacit agreement and understanding just as Harry halted before the three other boys.

Tom shot the Scorcrup a contemptuous look, before he sneered tartly, "Can we get moving, at last?"

"Where to?" piped in Alphard excitedly.

"You'll see," said Harry widely grinning. "You won't believe it. Follow me!"

Marching in silence up the moving staircases, they were soon on the second floor, before the door of-

"This is a girls' lavatory," drawled Abraxas scathingly, as he shot Harry a frosty look. "Are you jesting? And what is making that horrendous racket!"

"That would be Myrtle," said Harry with a heavy sigh, his expression pinched when, just then, a loud, shrilly wail resounded through the door.

"Your 'date'?" sneered Tom contemptuously, a malevolent glint in his dark blue eyes.

"I'll deal with her," said Harry quickly. "I'll make her leave-"

"If you expect me to believe," interjected Abraxas in a chilly, offended tone, "that the entrance to the Chamber is in a girls'-"

"Wait!" Harry cried out when Tom abruptly, and clearly ignoring everyone else, turned the doorknob and strode into the bathroom.

Malfoy was soon rushing after him, leaving Harry and Alphard no other choice than to quickly follow.

Myrtle, of course, and just as Harry had feared, instantly took notice of them, still sprawled on the floor next to a toilet.

Her bespectacled eyes widened at the sight of them, her face instantly contorting as she pointed an accusing, shaky finger at Harry.

"I knew it!" she shrieked stridently. "And now you've brought all your friends to taunt me! Mock me and laugh at me-"

"Stupefy!" intoned Tom coolly, having whipped out his wand and swirled it so swiftly that it was a mere blur.

"Tom!" choked out Harry aghast as the girl keeled over, thudding loudly and painfully on the floor, unconscious. He then clutched his brother's wrist tightly as he snapped angrily, "What are you doing!"

Tom merely arched an eyebrow at him, before he shot Malfoy a pointed glance. "If you will?"

"It will be my pleasure," drawled Abraxas, his lips curling nastily as he aimed his wand and bit out, "Mobilicorpus!"

Myrtle's unconscious body was unceremoniously floated out of the lavatory, Harry's outrage heightening when he saw that Malfoy was purposely making her head and limbs bump against stalls and the doorframe.

With another flick of Malfoy's wand, Myrtle was left sprawled inside a broom cupboard in the corridor, making Harry round on him and Tom.

"We cannot leave her like this!" he said hotly, gesturing at the poor girl.

"Why not?" retorted Tom nonchalantly, rising an eyebrow at him. "She will not be regaining consciousness in some time and all students and professors will be entertained in the Ball for the next couple of hours."

Harry scowled at him, gritting out, "But she'll know that-"

"She will know nothing," interrupted Tom impatiently and with deep annoyance, "except what you tell her when you later take her to the Infirmary. Now, show us where it is."

"Fine," snapped Harry churlishly as they all went back to the girls' loo.

"If you are going to tell us that the entrance is through one of the toilets," said Abraxas, his lips twisting with utter disgust as he eyed one, "then I shall not be accompanying you-"

"A toilet?" Harry shot him a considering look, before he dryly chuckled under his breath. "That wouldn't have been a bad idea either." Ignoring Malfoy's scandalized and indignant expression, he was swift to point a finger at the sinks. "But no, it's there."

Tom was instantly before it, inspecting it closely with his gaze and hands.

"How do you know?" demanded Abraxas, his silvery eyes narrowing with puzzlement and suspicion. "Unless you have already tried-"

"This is what my brother must have found," said Tom placidly, shooting Harry a surreptitious, hard look.

"Yeah, exactly," Harry said quickly, though he didn't realize what his brother was talking about until he took several steps closer and saw what Tom's fingers were caressing - snake figures carved in the metal of one of the faucets.

"Very astute of him," Tom muttered under his breath as he kept trailing his fingers over the depicted snakes, his dark blue eyes glinting exultantly as he then glanced about the bathroom.

Harry grinned at him. "I thought so too."

Abraxas inspected the faucet as well, apparently being satisfied by the explanation, whilst Alphard –the only one other than Tom who knew about Harry's Magic-sight ability- grinned to himself.

"This is truly it, then!" Alphard then whispered excitedly, beaming at Harry.

"We shall see," interjected Tom curtly, though there was a gleam of zealousness, reverence, and greed in his dark blue eyes, as he took a step back, spreading out his arms as he then hissed imperiously, _"Reveal your entrance to Slytherin's Heir!"_

Harry had to roll his eyes at that, even when the sinks began to rotate and shift, since he was certain a simple 'Open' would have done the trick. Trust Tom to be his most pompous-self for the occasion.

A moment later, they were all clustered around a wide hole in the floor, Alphard looking fascinated, Tom self-satisfied and triumphant, and Abraxas revolted.

"Is this – a pipe?" Abraxas' lips curled in fastidious distaste, his aristocratic nose scrunching snidely. "It reeks and looks slimy."

"Just the place for you then – do make yourself useful," piped in Harry, grinning nastily as he instantly gave him a hard push.

Malfoy's long-winded shriek of "Riddle!" faded into the depths, lasting for several long moments, decreasing in volume, before nothing came out but silence.

"Harry!" Alphard gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. "What if he got hurt? What if-"

"Who cares?" Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I doubt that the fall-"

"We _do_ care," interrupted Tom sternly, glowering, "for if he broke his neck, we cannot take this way ourselves, can we?"

"He's fine, I'm sure," snapped Harry, before he peered down into the deep darkness of the gigantic pipe and bellowed, "Oi, Malfoy! You there?"

A far away, muffled string of very foul words answered him, and Harry gestured demonstratively. "See? He's peachy."

Pressing Ulysses against his chest and casting charms on his robes' pockets to protect the items inside, Harry then declared swiftly, "I'll go next!"

And with that, he jumped.

He would have whooped with enjoyment as he suddenly found himself sliding down a tube at breakneck speed if it wasn't for the fact that he was entering unknown, dangerous territory.

It was dizzying and thrilling, as he spun and turned and kept sliding down in a steep spiral.

Suddenly, there was nothing but air, his free hand and legs flailing and wheeling until he struck against something cushy, a whoosh of pained air blowing against his face.

"Get off, Riddle!" snarled Abraxas at him, as Harry found himself sprawled on top of the boy who had apparently buffered his fall, their faces inches apart, their noses touching.

He was violently shoved away, and Harry staggered and nearly fell before he finally managed to regain his balance.

Ulysses jumped from his arm as Harry took notice that they were in some sort of cavernous, round room, knee-deep in piles of bones, rotten bits of flesh, and squishy muck. The air was foul and still, a stench permeating the gloomy place, the sound of drips of water echoing from crevices.

The only source of light came from the Lumos charm that Malfoy had apparently cast, the glow issuing from the tip of the boy's wand as Malfoy rose to his feet, his pale face contorted in fury and disgust as he attempted to dust off his robes – a moot point, because they were both covered in slime, their faces and clothes grimy, Malfoy's platinum blonde hair disarrayed and entangled, looking filthy and sticky with brown smudges.

"You look very pretty, Malfoy," Harry sniggered meanly under his breath.

Abraxas shot him a venomous glower as he kept batting his palms against his dress robes, as he spat, "These were my favorite – they're ruined! Look at these stains, not even with a cleaning spell-"

Harry rolled his eyes before he found Malfoy's wand aimed at him, the Lumos nearly blinding, though he could dimly see the boy's pale face going dark with rage.

Though whatever intentions of getting revenge were forestalled when they heard a cry of surprise, the voice gaining volume the nearer it came, as Harry rose his gaze upwards, catching sight of what was undoubtedly the end of the gigantic pipe, looking like wide hole in the low ceiling.

Instantly, Harry whipped out his wand and uttered an incantation, the Cushioning Charm materializing just as Alphard came shooting out.

The boy bounced twice on the conjured bubble of air, before he rebounded and fell face-first in a pile of bones.

"Al!" said Harry instantly, trudging quickly through the muck to pull his friend up.

"Morgaine's tits - what a ride!" Alphard said with a chuckle, grinning widely as Harry helped him to his feet. "Your brother follows-"

Harry quickly tried to cast the same charm again, though it was unnecessary, since before he could manage it Tom came out from the hole, floating down to the ground as if carried by a flock of invisible fairies, evidently having cast a spell on himself beforehand, perfectly and effortlessly landing in slow motion, his superior smirk widening at the sight of their grubby, disheveled appearances.

Abraxas looked even more irritated than ever, at that, as he superciliously proceeded to quickly cast cleansing spells at himself, to regain his usual, impeccable, prim neatness, no doubt.

Neither Harry nor Alphard bothered with such things as they were occupied in inspecting their surroundings as Ulysses kept sniffing around with his fur standing on end.

"It looks like its lair," Alphard whispered tensely, wand in hand as he shot Harry a wary look. "Do you think the monster-"

"Lair? Monster?" Abraxas was before them in the bat of an eyelash, his pale face going stark white. "As in Salazar Slytherin's monster of the legend-"

"Surely you didn't think there wouldn't be any obstacles?" scoffed out Harry, shooting him a disparaging look, before he brightened. "Oh, before I forget..."

He trailed off as he fished out the items he had brought along. He kept one of the hand mirrors as he gave the other to Alphard, pausing as he considered the two small vials of phoenix tears.

At the glance Harry cast at him, Alphard sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as he muttered, "If you must."

Harry shot him a grateful smile as he handed one of the phials to Tom, who accepted it with just an arched eyebrow. Grudgingly, he then thrust the other into Malfoy's hands.

Abraxas stared at the small vial, frowning. "Are these-" He swallowed thickly the next moment, turning alarmingly pale as he gave Harry a frenzied look. "What kind of monster are we speaking about?"

"We are fairly certain," Harry informed him coolly, "that it is a Basilisk."

"Basilisk?" Abraxas croaked faintly, looking about to sway on his feet.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy, before he grinned hopefully. "If you're scared, Malfoy, you can turn around and-"

"Malfoys are afraid of nothing!" bit out Abraxas, immediately recovering his haughty demeanor as he pulled himself up to his full height and sneered at them.

"Malfoy _will_ be coming along," stated Tom in a hard tone of voice, his piercing, narrowed eyes flickering from one to the other. "Let's get moving. We have no time to waste."

"He'll just be a nuisance and hinder us," Harry whispered sharply, quickly moving to Tom's side as they took the only tunnel-like passage out of the cavernous room.

"We need him," Tom said shortly, his tone curt and whiplashing with annoyance.

Harry gritted his teeth but didn't press the matter as they proceeded forwards, Tom and Malfoy with their Lumos Charms, Ulysses sniffing with his hackles raised, while Alphard seemed to be of the same mind as Harry and preferred to keep his wand without any spells in case they needed to quickly cast a curse to defend themselves.

They were all quiet, tense, and on guard, gripping their wands tightly as they saw signs of the existence of the monster all around – more bones of small animals and their fetid remains, pools of dried blood, and clusters of shed, withered skin.

"We must be in the very foundations of the castle," drawled Abraxas stiffly, glancing about with narrowed, silvery eyes. "It looks like a sewer – some sort of underground plumbing system."

Harry had to swallow his irritation. The git sounded prickly disappointed. No doubt Malfoy had expected that the location of the Chamber of Secrets was bound to be someplace grand, lavish, and awe-inspiring, instead of dark, gloomy, and damp.

Though the only one who didn't seem to be affected by the stuffy and clammy air and the grimy darkness was Tom, who strode arrogantly as though it was his undisputed and much sought-after domain.

After walking through what felt like a labyrinthine succession of tunnels, they finally found themselves standing before an immense, round airlock displaying several iron-wrought figures of snakes, so finely detailed that they almost seemed real.

The moment Harry saw Tom raising his arms, indubitably about to spout some grandiose and pretentious nonsense, he was quick to hiss, "_Open!_"

Tom shot him a dark, irked look, but Harry paid him no mind, fascinated as the snakes began to move, slithering and turning around in the airlock, faster and faster until a loud 'click' resounded and the metal door flung open.

Tom and Malfoy instantly brought their wands forwards, to bathe the interior with their glowing spheres of light. However, nothing greeted them except vast, fathomless darkness, and a ladder going down, attached to a wall – looking to Harry like one of those small, narrow, metal ladders that he had seen in pictures in muggle newspapers, of the interiors of U-boats.

Picking up Ulysses in his arms and settling him on a shoulder, he followed the others as one by one they climbed down with their hands and feet.

When they were all standing in damp stone floors, wary and surrounded by blackness, Tom cast quietly, "Lumos Maxima!"

Awed and surprised gasps and exhalations of breath ensued as their new surroundings were bathed in light.

The place was immense, as if gouged out by Giants from the underground layers of rocks of Hogwarts' foundations, the walls cavern-like, the floors made of smooth stones, yet there was beautiful artistry also, in the two rows of metal statues flanking either sides of the chamber, figures of large coiled snakes, their maws open as if they were about to strike, towering over them as they stood one after the other in pools of water, basins that ran along at either sides of the stone floor, and at the very end, an enormous face was carved in stone, looking impressive and intimidating, with enormous narrowed eyes, flowing, long tendrils of hair and beard that reached the floor, thin curled lips parted open, and gaunt, protruding cheeks – it was the face of Salazar Slytherin.

Tom's eyes glimmered fervently, Alphard looked marveled, even Malfoy seemed suitably impressed, yet Harry was mesmerized because he could also see what the others could not.

"_This_ is the Chamber of Secrets," breathed out Harry in absolute certainty, his green eyes wide at the mantles of magic glowing all around, so bright and beautiful, so powerful and potent that his skin was prickling, a network of sparkling green and silver threads, knotted together with dancing runes flashing by and wriggling and moving as if to a silent tune.

At the glances that Tom and Alphard gave him, he knew they understood what he had to be seeing.

"_Like the Dueling Chamber of our House?"_ hissed Tom demandingly.

Realizing what his brother truly wanted to know, Harry eyed the ancient runes of the nearest wall and then nodded at him. _"Yes, I think we can do Dark Magic here, undetected."_

Tom smirked widely, his eyes gleaming with supreme satisfaction, before he commanded imperiously, "Fan out. We will inspect the Chamber in pairs."

Abraxas instantly moved to Tom's side, no doubt because the coward trusted that Tom was the most powerful and knowledgeable one that could protect him if something happened, while Harry and Alphard automatically grouped together, as they were well used to go about exploring with each other, Ulysses trailing along.

"What are we supposed to find?" whispered Alphard, who now kept shooting anxious looks over his shoulder as if expecting the Basilisk to suddenly materialize and pounce on them.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, though he had a fairly good idea what his brother was hoping for. After all, Tom knew the basics regarding Sherisse Slytherin and Morgon Gaunt – though his brother just knew that 'M.G.' had been a Gaunt and their ancestor, yet not the full name and story that Santi had disclosed to Harry.

Hence, Harry knew that Morgon Gaunt had stolen everything that Sherisse and her parents had owned and kept in their chambers in Hogwarts, along with his ill-begotten son. Tom was not going to find any heirlooms here.

It was half an hour later when Harry could feel Tom's disappointed anger and irritation like a bothersome prickle in his scar. Tom and Malfoy had already inspected the right-side row of serpent statues and were now aimlessly moving about, Tom's Parseltongue now sounding like insistent, irked, spat out hisses, while Harry and Alphard were still midway in checking the left row of metal figures.

Harry stilled, frowning down, when he noticed that Ulysses was pawing and hissing at the base of their next snake statue, up to his chin in water.

"Something there?" muttered Harry, his Scorcrup glancing up at him before proceeding to pointedly claw at it once more, his tail swinging back and forth, splashing.

Harry shot the looming serpent statue a dubious look, since it looked like all the rest in its glowing magic, and hissed tentatively, "_Open!_"

Nothing happened, and Harry sighed as he gently nudged Ulysses along with the tip of his shoe, not wanting to soak his feet. "To the next one-"

"No," murmured Alphard, suddenly grabbing Harry's arm. "I think Ulysses is on to something." He pointed a finger over Harry's shoulder, his grey eyes widening. "Look at that."

Turning around and following the direction of his friend's finger, Harry frowned as he gazed at Slytherin's etched face in the distance. "What is it?"

"His eyes," whispered Alphard excitedly.

Only then did Harry detect and realize what the boy meant, as he gazed once more at Slytherin's stone eyes, noticing that its carved pupils were not staring straight ahead but were slightly shifted to a side.

"It's as though he's staring right at this statue," said Harry slowly, turning back to blink at the towering metal serpent.

"Exactly!" said Alphard animatedly.

"And it's the middle one," muttered Harry in realization as he gazed at the row of snakes. "And the seventh."

"Seventh?" Alphard glanced around, quickly counting the statues on both rows at either sides of the chamber, before he brightened. "You're right! There are thirteen on each row – this one is on the left side and the mid one and the seventh! And that's very significant because-"

"Seven is one of the most powerful magical numbers," said Harry in a monotone as he had already endured Tom's lectures about Arithmancy, one of the many electives courses that his brother had chosen and was vastly enjoying.

"And so is thirteen! And being on the left side and in the middle also has underlying meanings and importance…"

Harry barely paid attention to Alphard's eager rambling as he frowned at the statue once more and hissed pressingly, "_Open!_"

His frown deepened when still nothing happened, and he finally stepped into the pool of water to stand closer to it, next to Ulysses who was now hissing and spitting at it more insistently than ever.

"Found something?"

At the sound of his brother's voice, Harry glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Tom and Abraxas were suddenly there, though he went back to inspect the statue when Alphard began to rush out the explanation for their suspicions.

Tracing a finger over the lattice of magic covering the body of the snake statue, he tilted his head to a side when he caught sight of one wriggling ancient rune, remembering what he had been studying and the runes' significance.

"Blood!" he exclaimed loudly as understanding dawned on him. "It needs blood – Slytherin blood, I reckon." He shot Tom a grin over his shoulder. "Our blood."

In an instant, Harry yanked off the silk cravat from his throat, and aimed his wand at the stupid thing, casting one of the many Transfiguration spells they had been taught by their tutors during the holidays, considered Dark for the very same reason that it created weapons.

He grinned smugly when his cravat turned into a shinny dagger, though it was ripped from his hands abruptly.

"I will do it," bit out Tom harshly, swiftly using it to slash a cut across his palm.

Harry shot him a thoroughly surprised look, since Tom wasn't one to willingly injure himself, and much less when Harry had already volunteered.

Bemused, he merely fished out Ulysses from the pool of water and took a step back unto the stone floors as Tom extended his palm and smeared the statue with his blood.

A moment later, the statue flashed brightly before Harry's eyes as it creaked and shifted backwards, slowly revealing an opening where its base once stood. It became more intriguing when Tom's Lumos shed light on it, allowing them to see a downward spiraling staircase, not even being flooded since the water in the pool surrounding it stilled as if magically repelled from the entrance.

"Where are you going!"

Harry was yanked backwards the moment he tried to set a foot forth onto the first step.

He shot his brother an incredulous look as he briskly wrenched his arm free from Tom's grasp. "Inside, of course! Where else?"

"It could lead to the creature's lair," hissed out Tom angrily, attempting to rip him away once more.

"So?" snapped Harry impatiently, shrugging him off.

"I'll be the one to confront the Basilisk," spat Tom sharply, his eyes narrowing to slits, "not you-"

"Right!" bit out Harry angrily, incensed at the clear implication that his brother thought he couldn't deal with the creature as well as Tom could, instantly giving his brother a hard shove as he wasted no time in finally taking the first step.

As soon as his shoe touched it, he was suddenly bathed in light, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Well, it's not the creature's lair, that's certain," mumbled Harry, eyeing the previously unseen torches that had abruptly flared to life, merrily burning in flames, one after the other as they disappeared into the depths of the spiraling staircase.

Thrilled and intrigued, he marched down the stairs, Tom right behind him, no longer protesting, though Harry abruptly halted at the sound of his brother's sharp chuckles.

"I think not. Only my brother and I will be going."

Harry turned around, frowning, when he saw Tom aiming his wand at Malfoy and Alphard, who apparently had been about to step into the staircase.

"I beg your pardon?" snarled Abraxas under his breath, his pale face contorting with rage.

"We cannot leave them behind!" said Harry heatedly as he noticed that Alphard had blanched.

"_They have no right to come along,"_ hissed Tom venomously, shooting him a glower over his shoulder as he kept aiming his wand up at the other two boys. "_They are not Slytherin's descendants. Whatever there is down here, it is only for us to see._"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, before he realized it would be useless. They shouldn't be wasting time and Tom was a greedy, selfish bastard anyway, who wouldn't be convinced to share with the others any discoveries, no matter what he said.

Nevertheless, he didn't feel comfortable in leaving Alphard alone in the Chamber of Secrets. Malfoy was as good as useless since Harry knew the boy would only save his own hide if something happened while they were gone.

Making up his mind, Harry quickly darted up the stairs, passing Tom, to hand over Ulysses to his friend.

"He'll protect you," Harry murmured, as Alphard automatically wrapped his arms around the Scorcrup. At the look his friend gave him, staring at him with big, grey eyes filled with apprehension, Harry added softly as he soothingly squeezed Alphard's shoulder, "I won't be long, I promise."

Though Harry did hesitate when Alphard began to look panicked, either worried for him or himself, he couldn't tell, but it nevertheless made him feel guilty.

Harry sighed as he began to climb out of the stairs as he shot his brother a look over his shoulder. "Tom, I will stay behind with them-"

He yelped when he was abruptly yanked backwards, staggering and nearly tripping and tumbling down the stairs if it weren't for Tom's brusque manhandling, as he heard his brother's voice hissing angrily, _"Close!"_

Alphard cried out frantically, Malfoy snarled and shouted, yet their voices were cut short as the base of the serpent statue slammed back into place right above Tom and Harry's heads.

Still illuminated under the torchlight of the stairs, Harry spun around angrily. "I wanted to stay with-"

"Hush!" spat Tom ill-temperedly, before he flung out his wounded hand. "Now, heal it!"

Harry's nostrils flared, as he snapped hotly, "Heal it yourself!"

"You're the one who's been studying the Healing Arts," gritted out Tom irritably, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "So prove yourself useful, for once!"

"You should start learning too," grumbled Harry peevishly under his breath as he deflated and took hold of his brother's injured palm, aiming his wand at it.

"Why should I?" said Tom, his tone arrogantly dismissive as he watched how Harry cast the spell. "I am not naturally inclined towards Healing and that area of knowledge holds no interest for me." He shot him a wide, superior smirk. "And I already have you, for that."

Harry peeled his morbidly fascinated gaze away from the skin knotting itself together in his brother's palm, leaving no scar behind, while he refused to feel pleasure in the sudden flare of warm and fuzzy feelings at knowing that his brother allowed himself to depend on him for something – especially since he knew that even if Tom hadn't been studying Healing, he knew the basics and could have dealt with the superficial cut by himself.

"Come, let's be quick," said Harry gruffly as he then briskly dropped his brother's hand.

They fell silent as they proceeded to climb down the stairs, wands in hand and eyes darting around, alert.


	59. Part I: Chapter 58

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

As promised in a recent post in my Yahoo Group, here's the update, at long last! I managed it much quicker than expected, so yay for me :D

Anyway, a lot of brief things happen, but mostly are a foundation for the many things to come, so have a bit of patience but enjoy! Hopefully, I'll be back to a speedy rate of updates for the next couple of weeks. Perhaps 2 chapters per week *grins*

Let me know what you think, that always helps me loads!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 58**

* * *

"Well," breathed out Harry astonished, as they stepped into the vast, cavernous room at the very end of the spiraling staircase.

"We must be the first to enter this place," whispered Tom in a low, exultant voice, "in centuries."

Harry nodded, for it certainly looked so. There was nothing lavish or luxurious about the immense chamber. It was spartan and utilitarian, sparsely furnished like an ascetic workplace, with long tables set with rusty cauldrons of all shapes and sizes, rows upon rows of shelves littered with flasks and vials with contents that had long ago withered or rotted, and at the very end, some sort of study comprised of a wood desk, simple chairs, and a bookcase.

Everything looked ancient and musty, with a thick layer of dust and grime. The only peculiar detail was the absence of cobwebs, as would have been expected from a place that looked as though it had been abandoned for ages.

The room had certainly not been made to impress or inspire awe and reverence like the Chamber of Secrets above, but to be practical and functional.

"This must be where Salazar Slytherin conducted his experimentations," murmured Tom, looking fascinated as his eyes darted all around as they slowly proceeded forwards. "Perhaps we may find his research notes…"

Groaning at his brother's greedy tone of voice, Harry followed as Tom finally halted at the very end of the room, between the simple desk and the large bookcase propped against a wall.

With gleaming, covetous eyes, Tom wasted no time in taking one of the books from the shelves, quickly perusing it.

"What is it?" Harry urged when his brother suddenly went still, his gaze fixed on the opened book in his hands.

"Come here."

Mystified, Harry went to stand by his side as Tom snapped the book shut, pointing a finger at something written on its cover. Only then did he realize that it wasn't a book at all, but rather looked like some leather-bound journal.

"What does it say?" demanded Tom curtly.

Harry bent his head low and squinted. For a moment, the symbols written on the cover looked like sticks and scratches, but then, they seemed to shift and move around, suddenly becoming plain English.

"Saturnus Slytherin," Harry read out loud, seeing that it was followed by the dates of a time period. He shot Tom a bewildered look, as he remembered all those names in the treeline that his brother had once shown him. "That was Slytherin's son, wasn't it?"

"Precisely," said Tom, smirking widely as he then cast a glance at the bookshelf. "It seems that all of his descendants wrote a diary."

Harry frowned as he peered once more at the journal in Tom's hands, seeing that it was happening again, the plain English letters turning into wriggles and sticks.

"But," he muttered under his breath, pointing a finger at Saturnus' now incomprehensible name, "what are those changing symbols?"

"I would call it Parselscript," said Tom dismissively as he carried on to peruse the other journals.

"What?" Harry stared at him, before he snorted loudly. "You're saying that it is Parseltongue in written form? Snakes don't have tiny little hands, brother!"

Tom shot him a very irked look at that, as he sneered snidely, "Must I explain everything? Any language can be written, you dimwit!"

"Er… what?" Harry uttered blankly.

Tom heaved a slow, deep breath, as if arming himself with patience, before he bit out crisply, "You simpleton, what is language, after all, if not a series of sounds to which we give meaning, and in written form, a series of symbols which represent those sounds or ideas." He pointedly jabbed a finger at the cover of the journal, before gesturing magnanimously and adding loftily, "After all, a musician can hear a bird sing and write the melody in musical notation, can he not? And it is not the bird writing the tune, is it?"

"Well, yeah," mumbled Harry bewildered and blinking, "but musicians first learn musical notation, don't they?" He huffed, bristling. "And we can apparently read and understand these scratches, but we didn't learn it-"

"And neither did we learn how to speak Parseltongue, yet we can," snapped Tom impatiently, shooting him a darkly annoyed glare. "In fact, at first, you thought it was Nagini who could speak English. And I had to explain that it was us who hissed and knew her language! Parseltongue is a _magical _ability, you cannot think of it in rational terms. So it's not snakes, you idiot, who write the language, but Parselmouths!"

"Um, that kinda makes sense, I suppose…" Harry trailed off, staring at him bemused and uncertain, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Hang on. Then did you know beforehand about this Parselscript thing, as you call it?"

"Of course not," retorted Tom curtly. "None of the books I've read regarding our ability even mentioned the possibility." He shot him a short-tempered, pointed look. "But, none of the books regarding Parseltongue were written by Parselmouths either. Authors know little, which isn't surprising. Purebloods do tend to keep secret the details of any blood traits they posses." He gestured grandiosely at the bookcase, a sudden smirk on his face. "Yet, the proof of its existence is now incontrovertible."

At Harry's silence, Tom paused to shoot him an annoyed look. "You still look skeptic."

"It's a tad bizarre, to be honest," mumbled Harry as he glanced dubiously at the journals.

"Let's put it to the test," said Tom sharply as he shoved Harry unto the chair before the desk. "Sit, and write what I say without looking at your words."

Sighing, Harry eyed the contents of the desk, catching sight of an array of old quills that must have been colorful and beautiful once upon a time, stacks of shriveled parchments with yellow and brownish stains of age, and a set of inkwells with clotted, dried, and solidified liquids.

Conjuring a fresh new ink bottle, and taking hold of a tattered quill and piece of parchment, he waited, as Tom hissed contemptously, "_I, Harry Riddle, am a halfwit who does not posses the mental capacity to comprehend the most basic of concepts."_

Harry scowled at him, just as his brother smirked widely, urging commandingly, "Write it. Without looking at the parchment, little brother."

Tom hissed again the sentence as Harry moved the quill on the parchment, his gaze fixed on his brother.

Once he was done, they both peered down.

To his amazement, Harry saw that Tom had been right. At first, he saw nothing but wriggles and slashes, written by his own hand with him none the wiser, which instantly morphed into plain English: 'My brother Tom is an insufferable arse.'

It earned him a glare from Tom, but Harry hardly noticed as he was still attempting to discern how it worked, for it had to be an optic illusion and a trick of his mind when the scratch-like symbols changed into English before his eyes – part of the magic of his Parselmouth ability, he reckoned.

He still didn't fully understand how it worked, exactly, but he unconcernedly decided to take his brother's word for it.

"Satisfied?" demanded Tom tartly, before his dark blue eyes glinted as though contemplating a horizon of spanning, wonderful possibilities. "Just imagine how useful Parselscript can be for us."

Harry rolled his eyes, betting that his brother would begin writing in his own journal in 'Parselscript', about whatever it was that Tom enjoyed scribbling down so much.

"Now, help me find Slytherin's research notes," said Tom imperiously, his eyes narrowing at the bookshelf. "It must be among the other journals."

They began with their task, as it became increasingly evident that every one of Salazar Slytherin's known descendants had indeed written their own diary.

At one point, intrigued, Harry crouched on the floor to reach the lowest shelf, fishing out the last two journals.

The names on the covers stated that they had been written by Sherisse Slytherin's parents, brother and sister, Harry remembered as he noticed that Sherisse had written no diary of her own, as seemed to have been the family tradition.

Not surprising since she had died at fifteen, but it still made him feel a mite sad as he began to flip through the pages of the diary of the girl's father.

The more he tried to read, the deeper his frown became, until he glanced up at Tom and groused, "I can only understand every other word-"

"Consider the age in which they all lived in," interrupted Tom sharply. "Their Parselscript represents the language they knew - Old English and Saxon. We will have to translate all the journals."

Dismayed, Harry groaned loudly. He truly didn't need more on his plate.

"Fear not," sneered Tom scornfully, glowering down at him, "I would not trust you with the endeavor. We all know that academics is not your forte."

For once, Harry nodded in swift agreement, not taking offense in the insult since it quite suited his interest.

They worked in silence for what felt like an eternal stretch of time, until Tom finally slammed back into the bookcase the last journal he had been inspecting, hissing out angrily, "Slytherin's research notes are not here."

"Perhaps," said Harry as he rose to his feet and dusted off his robes, "Slytherin took his notes when he left Hogwarts."

"Maybe," retorted Tom looking angered and darkly disappointed. "Or he did not make any notes to begin with."

Harry musingly tilted his head to a side, realizing his brother could be right. If history books were to be believed, Slytherin had been a very paranoid wizard. Maybe writing down his research and experimentations in a language only his descendants could understand hadn't been enough for him and had rather opted to keep it all in his head.

Ultimately, it was of little interest to him, even though it seemed that Tom had been hoping to get his hands on the information.

"We should go back to the Chamber of Secrets," said Harry pressingly, as he swished his wand and cast a Tempus Charm, one glance at the sparkling numbers making him blanch. "We've been gone for nearly an hour."

"Very well," conceded Tom grudgingly, as he shot the shelves of journals a lingering, greedy look.

As they climbed up the stairs, Harry had no doubt that his brother would be spending every spare second in the underground, hidden study of the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't know what Tom expected to find in the diaries except what would surely be long-winded records of the lives of Slytherin's descendants – intriguing stuff to satisfy curiosity or, most probably, just tedious anecdotes.

The moment they came out of the spiraling staircase and the snake statue shifted back to hide the entrance, Harry found himself with an armful of Alphard.

"Thank Merlin!" breathed out the boy as he hugged Harry tightly, while Ulysses yipped by their feet. "I was beginning to worry!"

"We've been standing here," drawled Abraxas stiffly, his glare virulent, "bored out of our minds for hours-"

"Are you alright?" said Alphard concernedly, as he pulled Harry away and swept his gaze over him. "Did something happen-"

"What did you find?" demanded Abraxas, his silvery eyes narrowing to slits.

"Nothing much," said Tom coolly, waving a hand dismissively.

Abraxas scoffed. "Hardly believable as you were gone for hours-"

"It was just an hour," said Harry quickly in an attempt to stave off flying tempers as he noticed Malfoy glaring at Tom while Tom was maliciously smirking back at the boy.

"We should get going," piped in Alphard fretfully. "The Yule Ball could be dwindling down-"

"Not so fast, Black," interjected Abraxas sharply, skewering Harry and Tom with his eyes. "There is still the matter of the monster. According to the legend, it only obeys Slytherin's descendants." A smirk stretched on his pale face, as he gestured at the Chamber. "If the monster exists, you will have to find it, and prove to me that you can control it. Only then will I vouch before our housemates that you are truly Slytherin's Heirs."

Tom calmly arched an eyebrow at him. "Easily accomplished, Malfoy. Let us find the monster's lair."

Harry had his brother by his side a moment later, as Tom grabbed him by the elbow and whispered in a low voice, "Let's satisfy the fool as quickly as possible. Look around and use your ability, do you see anything suspicious?"

Harry peered around, before he freed himself from Tom's clutch and began ambling about the Chamber. The rows of serpent statues had already been examined, thus the only thing left were the floors and walls…

Which looked as normal as could be, covered by the same lattice of green and silver magic as all the rest, with no strange ancient runes dancing around…

Harry frowned as he finally found himself standing before the only other thing left. He craned his neck back and contemplated the carved out face of Salazar Slytherin, squinting hard at it.

"What is it?" demanded Tom who had been trailing around after him.

"I think…" mumbled Harry, as he squinted up again. "Er – I think there's something in his mouth."

"There's a stretch of stone wall," pointed out Tom acerbically, "between his parted lips."

"I can see that," snapped Harry testily, "but what I mean is that…"

He trailed off as he realized his first impression had been correct. The lattice of magic there looked denser and heavier: the strings of green and silver light seemed tightly knotted together.

"_Open!_" he hissed the next second, and grinned smugly as a loud noise ensued, the stones shifting and folding backwards to give way to a dark hole.

"The Basilisk's Lair is in Slytherin's gob?" said Alphard incredulously, to then peer up at it with an eager expression on his face.

"Looks like it – what else could it be?" mumbled Harry as he gave the hole a considering look. He then shot Tom a glance, who looked extremely pleased and was muttering something about "…an appropriate symbolism…" under his breath.

"Oi, that spell you used to come down the pipe-"

"Allowed me to float down. It is not to fly up, little brother," interjected Tom swiftly, before he smirked smugly at him. "I know what could serve in this instance, however."

Harry nearly yelped as he suddenly found himself airborne, wheeling his arms and legs frantically until he glanced down and realized that Tom was holding him with a Levitation Charm.

Instantly relaxing, since he trusted his brother to be able to maintain such spell, he went limp as he was floated into the wide mouth.

Surprisingly, in an uncharacteristic display of thoughtfulness on Tom's part, Ulysses soon followed, along with Alphard and Abraxas moments later –though in their cases, so roughly handled by Tom's spell that they crashed onto the floor of the stone mouth in heaps of limbs and dress robes.

The last was Tom, as he commanded Harry to use a Levitation Charm on him in return, making Harry feel oddly touched by the implicit trust.

"We should bring broomsticks next time," grumbled Alphard in a whisper, wincing as he picked himself up from the floor, both him and Malfoy shooting Tom a dark look for the unwarranted manhandling.

They finally began walking along the tunnel, wands clutched tightly, eyes alert, and with mirrors in hand in Alphard and Harry's case.

"It's even more disgusting than the pipe," groused Abraxas with a pinched expression on his face, as he eyed the thick layer of slimy grunge covering the tube-like tunnel.

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy, muttering under his breath in exasperation, "A basilisk lives here – what else did you expect, princess?"

"What did you call me?" snarled Abraxas, wand instantly aimed at him, looking as if he was vibrating with the need to pounce and strike at him.

"Eyes and wands forward!" bit out Tom irritably. "And keep your voices low!"

"What did you do to Malfoy?" whispered Alphard into Harry's ear, sniggering. "He's very touchy-"

"I expect it's because I shoved him down the pipe," said Harry with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.

"I think it's because he was cheated from a proper dance with you," murmured Alphard, chortling cheerfully. "Couldn't have set well with him that you were just using it as an excuse to get to your brother."

Harry didn't respond, as wholly uninterested as he was on the subject, and since just then the tunnel gave way to an immense round pit, looking like some sort of pool filled with skeletons, shards of gnawed bones and half-eaten bits of flesh.

And right smack in the middle of it, just as Nagini had surely seen it once, was the creature, huge, scaly, coiled around its own body and powerful, long tail, placidly asleep.

They all halted in their tracks, as though having been struck by Petrificus spells.

"The basilisk," breathed out Alphard slowly, staring with big grey eyes as his knuckles went white with the strain of instantly clutching his wand and mirror tighter.

"It's hibernating," whispered Tom, his dark blue eyes glinting triumphantly, as his gaze roved over it slowly, like a reverent and possessive caress.

Malfoy, on his part, who had stiffened most visibly, seemed to relax when it became evident that the creature's slumber was a profound one.

"It's a female," then drawled Abraxas, sounding vastly disappointed. "It lacks the distinctive crest of male basilisks."

"Um… it looks to me as though it had one, once," mumbled Alphard under his breath, pointing at the basilisk with his wand. "See? It's got plenty of old scars. And a very long one down its head and spine, where a crest would be, right?" He jabbed an elbow into Harry's side. "What do you think, male or female? Harry? Harry!"

Yet, Harry could barely pay attention to his friend's words. He was staring at the creature with wide green eyes, utterly puzzled and baffled.

The basilisk was covered in what looked like chains of magic, which apparently only he could see: shackles and bindings, as though it was restrained or caged by magic – red and golden magic.

He blinked at it, perplexed, because he had seen such magic around Hogwarts before – Godric Gryffindor's magic.

However, there was not a straightforward or clear explanation for it. Gryffindor had not been a Parselmouth, as far as anyone knew, so how could he had found the Chamber of Secrets, or even the Lair, to do such a thing to Slytherin's basilisk?

"You are seeing something," hissed out Tom in a quiet whisper, pinning Harry with a demanding gaze. "What do you see?"

Harry turned his face to stare at him, speechless, as he did not know how to explain it, since it made no sense to him to begin with.

"Well?" pressed Tom impatiently, glowering at him.

"Er…" was the only thing Harry managed to get out just as Malfoy drawled frostily, "Awake it and prove your claims of lineage, Riddles."

"Very well," said Tom in a cool, superior tone of voice, before he suddenly grabbed Ulysses from the ground and thrust him into Harry's arms. "Take your furball and get out."

"What?" croaked Harry, yanked out of his bewildered contemplation of the basilisk.

"Black!" snapped Tom imperiously, rounding on Alphard. "Take my brother and leave. I'll deal with the basilisk alone and Malfoy will remain behind with me to act as witness."

"Hang on!" spluttered Harry, his temper flaring, so furious he could barely string two words together.

He could understand that Tom wanted to get all the credit for finding the Basilisk, even that his brother wanted to solely command it since it was of the utmost important to him to be acknowledged as Slytherin's descendant before their housemates, given his ambitions of becoming a Dark Lord.

But for Tom to kick him to the curb _now_, to once again imply that Harry wasn't capable of dealing with the creature - now when they had found it at last, when the basilisk was certainly much more interesting to him than any books or journals could be!

Especially given those odd chains of magic binding it - that only he could see and possibly begin to understand if he had the time to inspect them closely, because he was sure he had glimpsed ancient runes glowing in them… Well, the gall of it all!

"Look here," Harry snapped hotly, finally finding his voice as he glared at his brother. "I'm going nowhere. I've got as much right to speak to it as you do – I'm Slytherin's Heir too!"

"You will leave at once before it awakes," spat Tom harshly, giving him a hard shove into the tunnel. "And you'll take both of your pets with you-"

"I think we should do as he says," whispered Alphard tensely, clearly ignoring the insult of being called a pet in lieu of grabbing Harry's arm tightly, pulling him along. "He looks scared of something."

"Scared?" Harry wrenched his arm free from his friend's clutch, turning around to confront his brother with narrowed eyes and a frown on his face. "Is that it – you're scared? Of what!"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed out Tom sharply, his face contorting with rage. "Or you will wake it-"

"Too late!" said Abraxas in what sounded like a distressed high-pitch, just as a loud, rumbling hiss echoed throughout the pit.

"Close your eyes, all of you! AT ONCE!" raged Tom's voice thunderously, though it was certainly the first thing Harry and Alphard had done instinctually without the need of encouragement.

"What's happening?"

"It's awake – RUN!"

"Stay put and let me think, you imbeciles! Make no sudden moves-"

"Ergh – something licked me!"

"It's the basilisk, you fools!"

"What – tasting us?!"

"According to the Legend, the creature has a way of discerning the blood purity of its victims," intoned a quaking voice in a lecturing tone attempting to sound unfazed. "Hence, Black and I are quite safe from it, of course-"

"Stuff it, Malfoy!" bit out Harry, trying to make sense of the cacophony of voices all meshing and yelling to each other, accompanied by the sound of scales rubbing against stones and bones, of the slithering of a strong tail that he felt coiling around his body, of the intelligible string of hisses of the basilisk, like air being puffed out all around them with a foul stench, with Ulysses squirming in his arms and making menacing hissing noises of his own - it was all a chaotic confusion in the pitch black darkness of his closed eyes.

"You should have done as I said and left!" the voice at his right snarled. "I cannot make any sense of what it's saying! And until I do, I cannot ascertain our safety-"

Ignoring Tom's rant, Harry tensed when he heard a cry and a series of loud thuds, making him call out frantically, "What happened? Alphard? Al, answer me!"

"M' fine," mumbled Alphard's voice from somewhere a few feet away. "I think – I think the basilisk flung me to a side with its tail – it felt like that-"

A loud, pained groan sounded, before Abraxas' voice drawled in a clear attempt to seem nonchalant, "It did the same to me." He let out a nasty bout of chuckles. "If I were you, I'd flee, Riddle. It's clear it knows Black and I are purebloods." His voice turned snotty and indignant, as he added crisply, "Though it should know better than to toss us like yesterday's potion-"

"Wait – Harry, remember that list Tom gave us, with descriptions about every creature that could be Slytherin's monster? It said that Basilisks have two sets of-"

"_Close your inner eyelids!"_ hissed out Tom's voice before Alphard was done, his tone harsh and imperious.

"Be still!" Harry urged fretfully to his Scorcrup, in an attempt to hear and figure out if the Basilisk had done as asked.

Ulysses did obey him, thankfully, no longer hissing and spitting, yet Harry still couldn't understand the hisses the Basilisk was making. He heard it slithering around, he felt some part of its tail tightening around his waist, yet no tongue had flickered out to taste him as seemed to have happened to Malfoy and Alphard.

"What's wrong with it?" groused out Harry, tightening his arms around Ulysses as he kept wand and mirror in his hand.

"Like Nagini…"

At Tom's whisper of realization, Harry began to have an inkling, knowing what his brother was referring to.

Tom had told him that when he had found Nagini under the bushes of the orphanage's backyard, she had been a mere hatchling, tiny and barely making sense, knowing only a few words that had allowed Tom to realize that he could understand and speak to the snake.

According to Tom, it had taken him many months of attempted conversations to allow Nagini to develop and expand her own language, given that there were no other snakes around from whom she would have naturally learned from.

Thus, given that Sherisse Slytherin had been the last Slytherin to set foot on Hogwarts, and it had been ages ago, and since it seemed as if the Basilisk had been hibernating all the while, it was possible that it had forgotten most of its own language.

After all, the Basilisk had had no one to talk to in centuries.

"But then," Harry said worriedly, still keeping his eyes firmly shut as surely as everyone else was doing, "how can we know if it can understand us?"

"We can't," bit out Tom's voice, sounding vastly aggravated.

"I can check," murmured Harry. "I've got a hand mirror-"

"Absolutely not! You've caused enough trouble-"

"I can do it, Harry! I've got mine-"

"No!" snapped Harry briskly, attempting to make his voice sound stern instead of alarmed. "I'll do it, Alphie. You stay wherever you are with your eyes closed-"

"Do not dare," began hissing out Tom's voice furiously.

Nevertheless, Harry already had.

Turning his head away from where he heard the noises and hisses coming from, he propped up the mirror with a hand, and finally cracked his eyes open to a mere slit.

At first, he saw nothing in the reflected image of the mirror's surface except thick, large scales. Only when he shifted it to different angles did he catch sight of the Basilisk's head – it's eyes, at that. Huge, slitted, and piercing.

He stiffened, expecting to instantly become petrified. But it didn't happen, allowing him to realize that the eyes reflected in the mirror were not the bright, lethal yellow ones to be expected, but greyish, covered by some sort of film.

"It did understand!" exhaled Harry with immense relief, as he finally fully opened his eyes and turned his face around.

It was a bizarre sight that welcomed him: Malfoy and Alphard were sprawled on top of heaps of bones, apparently not daring to move an inch after the Basilisk had tossed them, with their eyes firmly shut and strained expressions on their faces; Ulysses, who had settled on his shoulder, had his fur standing on end yet remaining quietly alert with his own eyes closed, as smart as the Scorcrup was; while Tom was by his side, the only one other than himself that was still standing, trapped in the coils of the creature's immense tail just as he was; meanwhile the Basilisk seemed to have been content to just have them in its power, as it glowed before Harry's eyes in the red and gold of Gryffindor's chain-like magic, making the creature look very odd and ridiculous.

Harry would have guffawed, if it weren't for the fact that, just then, the Basilisk gazed directly at him, opening its gigantic jaws, very long and sharp fangs greeting him, each as long and thick as his own arms, which could snap him in half with one bite.

"_Erm - I'm Slytherin's Heir!"_ hissed Harry quickly as the coils of the Basilisk's tail tightened around him. _"I swear! Give me a lick and you'll see!"_

"Shut up, you blithering idiot, and close back your eyes!" spat Tom at him, as he cracked his eyes open to shoot him a murderous glower before stiffening and facing the creature, his expression turning stony as he hissed harshly,_ "You owe your allegiance and obeisance to me! Obey me – release us and dare not attack-"_

"_Blo…od… bloo.. bloo-d,"_ hissed the Basilisk slowly, its head moving from side to side as if following some silent tune, which only made it look all the more uncertain and confused.

"_I am the great Salazar Slytherin's Heir!" _proclaimed Tom in an insistent bout of hisses, as he raised his arms imperiously, making Harry wonder if his brother truly thought that it would make him look all the more impressive, not to mention that it was quite redundant since Harry had already told the creature that he himself was Slytherin's Heir and it hadn't fazed the Basilisk. _"Do as I command and let us go-"_

"_Ta..in…"_ hissed the Basilisk quietly, as it brought its maw closer to their faces, intently staring at them through its inner eyelids. It tightened its tail around them even further, making Harry wince as it nearly squashed all the breath out of him, cracking ribs would soon follow, he was sure. _"Blo-od.. ta..in…"_

"_Tain?"_ hissed Harry painstakingly, before his eyes widened in realization. _"Tainted blood, you mean? That we've got that?" _He forced a chuckle through his lips, which came out sounding hollow and worried, instead of calm. Nevertheless, he was quick to rush out an explanation,_ "Well, we are Slytherin's Heirs, but we think that one of our parents was a muggle, so-"_

"Will you be quiet!" roared Tom furiously. "Don't attract its attention, you imbecile! Let _me_ speak to it, not you-"

"_Don't you see?" _hissed Harry, pointedly in Parseltongue as he gazed back at the Basilisk. _"The more we talk to it, the more it seems to remember how to speak itself. And it is trying to communicate! And there's nothing wrong about being halfbloods, we're still Slytherins by blood, that's what matters!"_

"What is all the hissing about?" demanded Malfoy's voice with vast annoyance. "Are we safe? Can we open our eyes once and for all!"

"Sure, Malfoy, go ahead," said Harry sweetly, and apparently not in a convincing tone of voice because the boy merely scowled at him and remained sprawled on top of his heap of bones with eyes still firmly scrunched shut.

Suddenly, he nearly jumped as he felt something on his cheek, just to relax immediately as he saw that the Basilisk had flicked out its forked tongue, feeling like a raspy caress on his face.

"_Mix… blood… taint…" _the creature hissed, sounding nonplussed as it lowered its maws once more and tasted him again – or better said, smelled him, because according to Tom's information, Basilisks had their olfactory senses in their taste buds.

It was for that very same reason that his brother's abrupt reaction when the Basilisk licked him again surprised him even further.

"_What are you doing?"_ hissed Harry in alarm as Tom suddenly aimed his wand at the Basilisk. _"It's just doing what it must have done to Malfoy and Alphard, brother! Let it sense that we've got Slytherin blood even though we aren't purebloods, you idiot!"_

"_Sly… the… rin…" _hissed the Basilisk, its head slowly swaying_. "Sly…therin… blood… yesss…"_

Harry exhaled and rubbed his sore ribcage when he was suddenly released, jumping out of the loosening coils of the creature as he grabbed Ulysses in his arms.

He finally pocketed mirror and wand, as he shot his brother an exasperated roll of the eyes. _"See? You've just got to be patient with it." _

At the very odd look Tom gave him, looking disconcerted, Harry scowled, bristling. _"What? I was right-"_

"_Slytherin," _hissed the Basilisk, now sounding very sure of itself, at long last, as it turned its attention to Tom and flicked out its forked tongue._ "Slytherin's… Heir…"_

At that, Harry shot his brother a very smug look as the creature proceeded to release Tom as well. _"What did I tell you?"_

"_I am… yours… to com…to command,"_ hissed the Basilisk as it lowered its head to the ground, as though prostrating itself before them, even if Harry noticed that it seemed to be more directed at Tom than at him, given the angle of its head.

Deciding not to let it irk him – his twin brother was, after all, the older of the two by some minutes, and the one who spoke to the creature with an evident superior tone of entitlement- Harry turned to the other boys.

"Everything's fine. You can open your eyes now."

"Are you certain, Riddle?" spat Abraxas acridly. "Let me tell you that if I die or become petrified, my grandfather will exact revenge-"

"You can sic your dotty old grandpa on me whenever you like, Malfoy," snapped Harry churlishly. "But the point is that the Basilisk has acknowledged Tom and I as Slytherin's Heirs, so your pale ass is safe." He grinned nastily at him. "Unless you like lying on that pile of bones over there, cowering like the wimp you are."

"Wimp, am I?" snarled Abraxas as he cracked his silvery eyes open and glowered at him, while quickly standing up and moving far away from his heap of bones. "Let me show you just-"

"What did you discover?" blabbered Alphard eagerly as he rushed to Harry's side. "What is its name? Is it male? How old is it? Do you think it would let us ride it-"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" said Harry holding up a hand as he chuckled. "Let me find out about all that stuff, first."

He turned to the Basilisk, seeing that Tom was now scratching the small scales under its jaws with a fond and possessive expression on his face, softly hissing at it. And given the pleased hisses the creature was letting out in return, it was clear that the Basilisk was just as besotted with Tom as Tom was with it.

It looked like worship at first sight. Poor Nagini, since it was evident that the Basilisk had deposed her and earned the place of being the second in Tom's heart – second only to Tom himself, of course.

Though he did notice that Tom was still sporting a deeply pondering, half confused, half perplexed, expression on his face, along with shooting Harry frowns every now and then, for some reason.

Harry rolled his eyes as he approached them. _"What's your name?"_

"_Na…me…"_ hissed the Basilisk quietly, turning its enormous head towards him.

"_Yes,"_ hissed Harry patiently. _"The name Salazar Slytherin gave you, what was it?"_

"_Saa...la…zaar…"_

Harry sighed, and tried again. _"That's the bloke – your first master, what did he call you?"_

The Basilisk peered at him through its film-covered eyes. _"Call… na-me… Zar…"_

Harry stared at it incredulously. _"Zar? As in Salazar? He named you after himself?"_ He snorted disparagingly. _"He wasn't a very original chap, was he?"_

"_It's fitting," _hissed Tom sharply, glowering at him before he smirked at the Basilisk with some semblance of affection. _"Zar, are you male?"_

"_Ma…le…"_ hissed Zar, slowly tipping his head. _"Yesss…"_

"What is it saying?" urged Alphard excitedly, bouncing on his heels by Harry's side, unlike Malfoy who was still the only one keeping a wide and safe distance between himself and the creature, not looking at all tempted to make a deeper acquaintance of it.

"Hang on, let me find out more," said Harry, to what would be a prelude to a very painstaking and slow round of questioning.

An hour later, their discoveries regarding the Basilisk were scant.

Zar seemed to have no clear concept of the passage of time and thus couldn't say what his age was, he had spent all his time sleeping after eating whatever prey he must have been given long ago, and it was clear that Tom would have to spend much time having conversations with him to make the creature have a more extensive vocabulary, or even remember more about his past.

Regardless, much to Alphard's joy and satisfaction, Zar did agree to take them back to the castle, riding on his back.

Ulysses, though clearly not having taken a shine to the Basilisk, had reluctantly settled down in Harry's arms, and it was thus that they all climbed on the creature. Harry and Alphard eagerly, Abraxas as if doubting that Zar still wouldn't turn against them, and Tom very smoothly and poised, as though riding Basilisks was something he did every day.

To Harry's surprise, the Basilisk didn't take them back to the Chamber of Secrets but took a tunnel at the other end of its pit-like Lair – one that he noticed had torches high above on its sides, and steps on its ground, one that led to some sort of overhead latch, which opened with Zar's hiss, making them leave the tunnel underneath them, and suddenly enter a very familiar one.

"This is the passage behind the mirror!" breathed out Alphard, his grey eyes wide with dawning realization. "The one that leads to the caves of Hogsmeade." He shot Harry a glance over his shoulder, beaming. "We didn't think of testing the floors of the secret passage! But another way into the Chamber of Secrets was here all along!"

Harry nodded and warmly smiled at him, already having filed in his mind the precise floor section of the secret passage that they had come out of, zooming by as Zar's strong, slithering body could unexpectedly reach high speeds.

With Tom's promises to visit Zar soon while Harry shot a lingering look at the red and gold magic glowing around the creature, vouching to get to the bottom of it, they parted ways with the Basilisk, before they entered the school through the plain mirror that had replaced the Mirror of Desires due to Dumbledore's actions and suspicions.

Tom didn't waste a second the moment they were back in the castle, rounding on him as he said sharply, "The mudblood-"

"I remember," groused out Harry peevishly, as he handed Ulysses over to Alphard. "I'll go deal with Myrtle."

And by the self-satisfied look that Tom gave Malfoy just then, he knew he would be missing much in their common room.

Given the silence in the castle, the Yule Ball had ended recently. No doubt, their common room would be filled with curious Slytherins that must have noticed their absence. No doubt, Tom was going to make Malfoy relate recent events to their housemates, in full glorious detail.

No doubt, thereon, he would have to put up with an insufferably smug Tom, finally a proven Heir of Slytherin, to be hailed, revered, and feared by all.

Just thinking about what was to come gave Harry a migraine.

* * *

It was past midnight and Harry was still seated on a chair, by the side of a bed in the Infirmary.

All the pride and joy he had felt at having at last found the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk, and due to the fact that it had all gone fabulously well, had dissipated.

He was now tired and cranky, after having picked up an unconscious Myrtle from the broom cupboard Malfoy had shoved her in, having taken her to the Hospital Wing and lied when giving explanations to Miss Nightingale.

The Mediwitch had evidently not attended the Yule Ball, still in mourning, though she did look a sight better than months ago, when The Daily Prophet had broken the news that the Ministry had declared Tilly Toke as 'presumed dead'.

Nevertheless, no matter her aid in treating Myrtle, it was evident the girl had a low tolerance for Stunning Spells. It had been two hours since Miss Nightingale had force-fed the Ravenclaw girl a potion and she had yet to open her eyes.

All the while, Harry could not stop thinking about the magic that was clearly restraining Zar in some way. That whatever spell Godric Gryffindor had cast at the creature looked like chains could be no coincidence, after all.

He had pondered, imagined, and discarded many theories to explain what could have happened ages ago during the Founders' Time, only leaving him with an idea requiring Alphard's help to test a farfetched possibility – and even if such things could be done, it still wouldn't clarify much.

Harry sighed as he wearily rubbed his face. Regardless, it was clear he would need to spend some time with Zar to be able to examine the magic, since the Basilisk seemed to be clueless himself, apparently not even realizing he had been cursed in some way.

Another choice would be to ask the Grey Lady if she knew anything about it, but he wasn't certain if it was wise to tell her about the Chamber of Secrets, and she had not sought him out, clearly still furious with him.

It was best to give her some time, Harry concluded quickly - especially in the hopes she would forget her demented request of wanting to experience, through him, the 'touch of a man'.

Harry shuddered just as a croak suddenly jolted him out of his grim musings, making him stare down at the supine form of Myrtle, who was groggily opening her eyes, slightly shifting uncomfortably in her bed.

Harry wasted no time. He had already decided that the only way to spare her was to be merciless and brutal.

He didn't regret having saved her in London –she could have died during The Blitz if it hadn't been for him and Tom, after all- though he hadn't expected her to become so troublesome at school.

She really didn't realize just in what danger she was by knowing the things she did – having seen the squalor of their orphanage, knowing more about their background than anyone else, added to the fact that she knew of Tilly Toke's pendant, even though she thought the symbol was that of Grindelwald, instead of the Peverell family, as Harry had discovered thanks to the questions he had made to Charlus Potter regarding the boy's Invisibility Cloak.

Nevertheless, if Tom ever had the inkling that she had blackmailed Harry, threatening to tell Headmaster Dippet that Tom carried around a clear sign of support for the Dark Lord, Harry was certain his brother would take drastic measures to silence her – probably curse her with something very nasty. Even for more reason due to the fact that she made the girls' lavatory of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets her own haunt.

The girl made another groaning sound, apparently asking for a cup of water, and Harry was quick to forcefully snatch her flailing hands into his own, his voice low and deep as he said harshly, "You're lucky nothing worse was done to you."

Myrtle blinked at him confusedly, her gaze hazy and unfocused due to the lack of spectacles and lingering sleepiness, as Harry carried on in a dire tone of voice, "My housemates are very angry with you. Slytherins protect their own, Myrtle, especially against a… mudblood."

The girl's black eyes widened in astonishment and deep hurt which quickly turned into indignant anger. Before the Ravenclaw could open her mouth and splutter a shriek of fury, Harry forestalled her, his face imbued with pretended rage as he menacingly loomed over her.

"Surely you've heard the rumors about Slytherins – what they and their parents do," said Harry slowly. He gave her a nasty grin. "Everything's true. They all practice the most terrible of Dark Arts – and they all despise mudbloods like you. I've told them about your attempts at blackmail, they are furious. This time, they only stunned you, next time, it will be worse. Do you understand?"

Myrtle made a feeble, panicked move to wrench her hands free from his grasp, as she began in a high-pitched wail, "I'll tell the Headmaster-"

Harry tightened his clutch with one hand while he covered her mouth with the other, as he cut in angrily, "Listen to me. No one would bat an eyelash if something happened to you. The Headmaster can't protect you. Don't you realize who my housemates are? Malfoys, Blacks, Carrows, Lestranges, Averies – all from well-connected families, all with parents who love to kill and torture muggles and mudbloods! Keep being a pest, and you'll end badly." He narrowed his eyes at her, his hold on her becoming painful. "Keep your mouth shut and flee from any Slytherins you see in the corridors."

He released her quickly and stood to his feet, Myrtle staring up at him with huge black eyes, moist with unshed, fearful tears and horror-stricken.

"Oh," Harry added casually, swallowing the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the poor girl, "and I wouldn't ever go back to that girls' loo on the second floor if I were you. The Slytherins know that you can be found there. So stay clear of it."

"I heard voices," suddenly came a voice as Miss Nightingale's head popped out of her office, her face brightening at the sight of them. "Oh, she's awake! Poor dear…"

The Mediwitch was soon fussing around Myrtle, clucking her tongue and muttering under her breath, "Pranked by Gryffindors, you said? – I've never!" She shook her head and puffed Myrtle's pillows as she shot Harry a strict look. "I'll have to report it to the Headmaster, I'll require the-"

"Here's the list of names," said Harry swiftly, plucking out a piece of parchment from his robes, as he cast Myrtle a pointed glance. "She'll confirm it, I'm sure. I saw it happening. Terrible thing to do to her. She was alone when they ambushed her, you know?"

Miss Nightingale pursed her lips into a flat line of anger as she took the list from him and went back to console Myrtle, who was still staring fixedly at Harry, aghast and terrified.

He shot her a warm smile and patted her gently on the head. "See you around, Myrtle."

And with that, he left the Infirmary, grim though satisfied. It had been for the best, for her own sake. With Tom, she had been about to bite more than she could ever chew.

Moreover, having blamed two Gryffindor Chasers and one Beater had the added benefit that those players wouldn't get the chance of much practice before the Quidditch Season due to detentions. Harry had needed to blame it on someone, and though he was certain the Gryffindors would hate him for it, they were going to be his enemies once he was on the Slytherin Team regardless.

By the time he reached Slytherin House, everyone had turned in for the night, only Alphard waited for him awake in their dormitory.

"How did it go?" murmured Harry as he changed into his pajamas.

"As you'd expect," said Alphard slowly, blinking drowsily at him from his bed. "No one doubts the word of a Malfoy."

Harry shot him a dour look as he parted the curtains of his bed. "Are you channeling him?"

"You wish." Alphard yawned and grinned widely. "I know, it's sad but true. Malfoys carry a lot of weight, it pains me to say."

"So they believed everything?" said Harry releasing a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping while he cast a look towards Tom.

His brother seemed to be deeply asleep, though he had the suspicion, given the shadow of a slight, smug upwards curl of his lips, that perhaps Tom was just feigning it.

Harry had half expected him to be awake too, to regale him with the events he had missed – of Tom, Malfoy and Alphard returning to Slytherin House, to tell all and sundry about the finding of the Chamber of Secrets, about the Basilisk, about the fact that it had been proven that the Riddle twins were indeed the Heirs of Salazar Slytherin.

He had missed it because he had had to deal with Myrtle, though perhaps it was for the best.

"Yes, of course they believed it." Alphard cocked his head to a side, staring at him in puzzlement. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Hardly," grumbled Harry. "Tom's going to be unbearable." He groaned as he wearily rubbed his face. "_All _our housemates are going to be unbearable."

"Cheer up," said Alphard warmly, shooting him a perky grin. "Think on the positive."

"And that is?" groused Harry despondently.

"They are going to worship you too," said Alphard, beaming at him.

"That's not a positive thing," retorted Harry with a frown, before he simply rolled into bed and flicked his wand to snuff out the candles.

* * *

"What's the matter?" yelled Alphard after him a week later, as Harry furiously stomped his way back to the castle, his clothes smudged in mud and his own sweat, an ancient school broomstick in his hand. "You should be happy-"

"Happy?" snapped Harry, stopping in his tracks as he rounded on him, pointedly waving the old, practically useless flying broom. "I played with this, and-"

"You heard Dorea," interjected Alphard quickly, smiling widely at him. "As long as you get a proper broom before the first match-"

"What I meant," cut in Harry through gritted teeth, anger flushing his face, "is that I haven't earned the spot in the Team – it was handed over to me!"

Alphard blinked at him, nonplussed. "So?"

Harry's bad temper, which had only increased during the past week, flared to boiling point. Little had he known that the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets would affect him in such ways, that it would even impact his tryouts for the Slytherin Quidditch Team. It was ridiculous!

Not one housemate had competed against him for the only available spot as Chaser. It had been known that Dorea wanted him for it, it had been known that Harry himself wanted it, and lo and behold –puff! as though being presented with a gift he hadn't asked for, earned, or wanted- it had been given to him on a silver platter.

He had flown dreadfully, the old, rackety school broomstick bucking under him, swerving on the opposite direction he directed it to, jumping at odd moments and nearly making him fall several times. He had hardly managed to score two Quaffles through the hoops, and Dorea Black had cut it short with a whistle and swiftly named him the new Chaser of the Team, to the applause and delighted calls of his housemates.

For once, he had liked and even respected Walburga Black, the only one in the audience shrieking an angered protest, nastily pointing out how terrible Harry had been.

Alphard sighed as though garnering patience, as he said in a soft, mollifying tone, "Harry, everyone knows you're a brilliant flyer, the very best-"

"No, they don't," barked Harry, glowering as he pointed an accusing finger at him. "Only you, Dorea, and Antonin Dolohov have ever seen me play and fly my best. And Dolohov only because he's the Keeper and Dorea made him train with me when she was giving me secret Quidditch lessons-"

"Fine!" interrupted Alphard with exasperation, though he was still wearing a mulish expression on his face. "Then everyone knows that Dorea can spot a good flyer when she sees one, and they trust her judgment-"

"Please!" snorted Harry scathingly. "They didn't do it because they 'trust her judgment'. They did it because of the damned Chamber of Secrets!"

He had come to wish he _had_ been there when Abraxas Malfoy, Alphard, and Tom told their housemates about the night of the Yule Ball. Perhaps, if he had been present, he would have been able to curb and control the Slytherins' reactions, and the many consequences that had unfurled.

He had been vaguely aware that many things would change for him and Tom once they found the Chamber and proved to be Slytherin's Heirs. Nevertheless, he had _not_ expected such drastic and profound changes, such long-chained series of rippling and compounding effects, increasingly adding one on top of the other, heightened by the previous fact that they had been adopted by Konrad Von Krauss.

It was not only servitude that the Slytherins now displayed towards them, awe, respect, sycophantic obsequiousness, flattery, and even possessiveness, as if Tom and he had become public figures of much fame, the very symbols of Slytherin House, the epitome, the models to follow.

It was beyond that, it was nearly zealous worship.

Oh, the Slytherins hadn't become slavish servants to their every whim, many regarded them as a means to an end, as figures to rally around for their own gain –they _were_ Slytherins, after all, thankfully.

Nonetheless, the bows and tips of the head their housemates graced them with, as though they were the Dark Lord himself, the reverence when they now listened to them attentively, as though every word spouted from their lips was worth its weight in gold, to be recorded in the annals of wizarding history. It was downright suffocating and absurd.

And above all, the expectancy. As if they were all waiting for more and more, for greatness, for further awe-inspiring developments and accomplishments, as if he and Tom should keep on making grand feats to dazzle them all.

Tom, of course, was lapping it up, glorifying in it like a newly crowned emperor. Harry, on the other hand, only became more irritable and snarky with every display and passing day. He just wanted to be left well alone.

"Harry," said Alphard with a deep, troubled frown on his face. "I think you don't fully grasp just what it means for our housemates to have Slytherin descendants among them, in this day and age." He heaved a deep sigh, as he added quietly, "We all thought the line had died. We've been raised hearing legendary tales about Salazar Slytherin, about his greatness and that of his descendants. We've all longed to have been alive in those times to witness what they had done, to be part of them and what they represent for us." He gave him a piercing, serious look. "What they represent for my kind, dark purebloods. You-" he gestured at him "-and Tom, are like treasures for us, I think. To be held and protected and cherished, and… employed. To us, you represent all the dark pureblood values. You're even tradition itself, and my kind is all about tradition."

"Right," muttered Harry crisply under his breath.

Apparently, Alphard gave up on him, changing tacks and beaming at him as he continued cheerfully, "The point is, that you'll prove your worth as a player in the Quidditch matches. So you've got nothing to worry about."

However, Harry was not about to be so easily derailed. He pinned his friend with a grave look, as he said somberly, "Aren't you worried for Dorea?"

Alphard stared at him in puzzlement. "Why should I be?"

Frowning, Harry took a step closer and whispered quietly, "You must have heard our housemates' whispers as I have. They are all waiting for Tom to challenge her." He flapped a hand with annoyance. "You know, the whole becoming part of The Two rubbish. They seem to expect it of Tom."

And even of him, Harry inwardly added, irked. Though he had only heard a second-year Slytherin girl gossiping about it, in his case, it still rankled. At least, all his older housemates seemed to know him well enough to realize he was not interested in such foolishness.

Alphard laughed at that, looking wholly unconcerned. "You and Tom are in Third Year. Never has a member of The Two been so young." He patted Harry comfortingly on the back. "By the time Tom has to, Dorea will be long gone from Hogwarts."

It was now time for Harry to shoot him a pitying look. Alphard clearly didn't know Tom at all. His brother was not going to wait to be much older before making his claim as Slytherin House's leader.

Just the other day, Harry had hopefully asked him to postpone it for as long as possible.

"Why should I?" Tom had replied coldly, superciliously arching an eyebrow at him. "I don't like to waste valuable time. The sooner I'm acknowledged as the undisputed leader, the better. And then, I can finally make progress in my other plans."

Harry had bit his lip, shot him a venomous glare, and flounced away. Especially because he knew Tom had no interest in being one of The Two –those leaders of Slytherin House who earned the spot not only due to the weight of their pureblood names, their families' wealth, connections and political clout, but also by being the victors in the in-House Dark Arts dueling tournament that the Slytherins held once a year.

At present, Dorea was one –had been for several years- along with a fifth-year boy who had replaced Algernon Wilkes when he had graduated from Hogwarts.

Tom would have to go against both, and anyone else, because, as his brother had once put it so very acidly, he had no intentions of being one of The Two, but 'THE ONE'.

Once upon a time, Harry would have doubted Tom could beat Dorea Black in a duel, mainly due to their age differences, and thus, the gap in Tom's knowledge. Now, he wasn't so certain anymore.

These past months, ever since returning to Hogwarts from Germany, he had noticed that Tom had improved at an alarming rate.

At first, he had thought it was understandable, since they had come back with trunks filled with books on the Dark Arts –one of Konrad Von Krauss' many gifts to them. And since they had truly learned quite a lot from their tutors over the summer, it was expected for them to have made a leap in their abilities. Added to the fact that Tom was now obsessively studying the Dark Arts as never before, roping Harry into it, progress was bound to be palpable.

However, it was more than that. Tom had previously proven to take to the Dark Arts as a fish takes to water, having an instinctual, innate grasp of them, effortlessly and instantly learning and mastering every dark spell, curse, and even abstract theory. But now, with all his new books and a new sense of urgency to further his own plans and aims, Tom was mastering spells well above his age – even above school level, Harry suspected.

And the power… Harry shuddered, feeling a frisson of remembered pleasure and also trepidation, because his brother's use and control over his wandless magic had surprisingly improved as well, too quickly.

Strangely enough, Tom's spurts and leaps of progress seemed to cause the same in Harry.

He had mused that perhaps it was because they were twins, due to the way he felt his own inner magic respond to the displays and growth of Tom's, as though Tom's was a guide and catalyst pulling Harry's out, expanding it. In the Wizarding World, after all, there were beliefs regarding the connection between twins, that their minds and abilities were linked, somehow, however slightly.

Harry had attributed it to that and never thought about it again, because the important point was that Tom was well in the path of becoming freakishly powerful, too soon, too young, and without the support he should have, in Harry's opinion, because there was little to balance him out.

There was only him now, Harry knew, when before there had been Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins as well.

Harry had hoped that having the muggle couple as parents would have ensured that Tom would have a loving family, perhaps not wanted or appreciated by Tom, but Harry had been certain that Alice and Hutchins' kindness, love, and gentleness would have positively affected Tom – at least proven to his brother that not all muggles were worthless, spiteful people who would as soon as burn a wizard in a pyre as look at them.

It was a moot point now. Alice and Hutchins were gone, Harry's rose-tinted dreams about a home life with them gone up in smoke with their deaths. And despite having Alphard as the best friend anyone could wish for, he still felt more alone than ever when confronted with the fact that he was Tom's sole anchor.

Harry had taken that task upon his shoulders the day Tom had revealed his desire to become a Dark Lord in the future, and with each passing day, especially after Germany, it seemed ever more daunting and difficult. Because the more Tom learned about the Dark Arts, the better he got, and also all the more dangerous and difficult to handle, as Harry was coming to realize.

He didn't like it one bit, though short of exposing Tom's plans to Dumbledore or someone like that, there was little he could do. He still hadn't found a viable way.

For instance, he knew that in the day that Tom would finally decide to challenge Dorea Black, his brother would not only beat her in Slytherin's House's Dueling Chamber. Tom was going to obliterate her as much as he could without killing or irreparably maiming her. He was going to thoroughly humiliate her and leave her like a bloody pulp on the stone floors of the dueling arena.

Tom was shrewd enough to not have said so to Harry, but Harry knew his brother well. In Tom's mind, to leave any doubt of his superiority over a rival was tantamount to display a weakness that could be later exploited by others.

Furthermore, he knew that his brother had become more impatient and greedy after Slytherin House had acknowledged his claim of being Slytherin's Heir, putting into motion the 'next phase' of one of his plans. Tom was no longer charging galleons in exchange for tutoring lessons or the homework he sold, he was now accepting items as payment.

Just the other day, Harry had glimpsed Tom in the library with a bunch of Ravenclaw pupils, an ancient-looking tome passing hands between them after a lesson. His brother had already proven he could easily earn money, now he had begun amassing things more valuable to him –books he could not buy for himself, rare or precious, but easily copied with spells from personal libraries by the sons and daughters of purebloods. Tomes, no doubt, about the Dark Arts.

It all filled Harry with immense misgivings. Though for now, he merely sulked as Alphard accompanied him back into the castle, his best mate amiably chirping about the jolly good time they would have trouncing Gryffs in the Quidditch Pitch whilst congratulating Harry –with as much glee as Dorea had– for having landed several Gryffindor players in detention for two months.

* * *

Harry blinked when a Hufflepuff girl approached him at the Slytherin Table, all rosy cheeked and blushing as she handed him a violet envelope.

She giggled and rushed away, leaving Harry frowning and staring at her back, certain she had been one of the many girls who had asked him, with fluttery sighs and nosy curiosity, if he and Abraxas Malfoy were an 'item'.

Whenever asked such nonsense, Harry glared so ominously at the girls that they all soon fled like a gaggle of startled geese.

He had known it would happen when he had danced so publicly with Malfoy during the Yule Ball. No matter if it had been so brief and disastrous, it had set tongues wagging.

At times, the girls who asked seemed crushed or disappointed –perhaps they all fancied the Malfoy git– other times, simply sordidly gleeful at the prospect of some juicy bit of gossip.

One bold girl had even asked him if it was true that Abraxas Malfoy had mesmerized him with his potent Veela vibes, "they are creatures of Love, after all!" she had gushed with an entranced, enamored expression on her face, managing to make Harry choke on his lunch soup, while Malfoy, who had overheard, had glowered murderously, certainly not looking like a cuddly, lovey little critter.

Finally, Harry focused his attention back on the bright, violet envelope and tore it open, further puzzled when a large, thick and glossy card slipped out.

Harry blinked and stared at the looping words written in green ink on the ornate card, and read again.

Confused, he turned to Alphard by his side, waving the card. "What's this rubbish?" He checked again to make sure he got the name right, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. "Er – a Slug Club? Do you know what this is about?"

"Oh, you finally got yours!" said Alphard, looking vastly relieved as he speared a sausage with a fork. "I received mine yesterday, and I saw your brother getting one three days ago."

Harry kept staring at the boy in utter bewilderment. "But what is a Slug Club?"

"It's _The_ Slug Club," intoned Alphard with a low chuckle as he took a bite off his sausage. "Don't you recall? I told you about our Head of House's little soirees for the up and coming."

Harry gazed at him blankly, trying to rake his brain, a very distant bell ringing faintly. "Um…"

"We're in Third Year," said Alphard with a roll of his eyes, "so now we're eligible for being picked by Ole' Sluggy. Not too young and untested anymore, you see?"

"Picked?" Harry ogled at him. "For some party, you say?"

"_The_ party," said Alphard pointedly, before he waved his sausage around. "Or parties, I should say. There are usually several throughout a year. Dorea thinks they are a waste of time, she's always been invited but rarely attends." He winked and chortled. "My aunt always manages to fall gravely ill on such days." He cocked his head to a side pensively. "She used to like them, though. She stopped when Charlus Potter refused to go any longer – Charlus has never liked Slughorn much. But my brother Cygnus still attends, says it's a very good opportunity to make important connections."

"Connections?" Harry shot him a bemused look.

"Sluggy always invites those students who show promise," expanded Alphard in between taking munches from his sausage. "Those he considers will amount to something in the future, be successful in some important way. He likes to be in the middle of things, Old Sluggy, fostering useful 'social networking', as he calls it. He usually reaps some benefit too."

"Cut it a bit short, didn't he?" muttered Harry as he stared at his invitation with a frown. "It's tonight."

"You have to go, though!" piped Alphard quickly as he beamed at him. "Slughorn's New Year parties are the very best, I've heard. The food simply worth the trouble, true delicacies."

Harry shot him a doubtful, uncertain look. "I was planning on…"

He trailed off as he shot a sidelong glance at Tom. His brother was seated several places away, currently holding court with Neron Lestrange, Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy, talking quietly among themselves, looking very riveted with their subject of conversation. Tom wasn't paying him the least bit of attention.

"Oh!" breathed out Alphard suddenly, his eyes widening in realization, looking sheepish. "Tonight's your birthday, I forgot!"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry a tad dispirited, before he made up his mind and perked up.

Why should he wait for Tom to express a wish to spend their birthday together as they always had? He didn't have any present to give his brother, after all. Konrad Von Krauss' ample 'allowance' had gone to Alphard, so they could buy the ingredients for their next step into the forays of the Animagus Transformation.

Thus, Harry didn't have a knut to his name, and he and Tom had made no plans. Though a mite disappointed, spending his birthday with Alphard in a party with good food wasn't a bad alternative.

"It's settled, then," said Harry, trying to match his friend's enthusiastic smile, "we'll go to this, er... Slug Club thing."

"You won't regret it!" promised Alphard with a toothy grin.

Several hours later, Harry already was.

"A natural in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, I've heard," boomed Horace Slughorn, his bushy, walrus-like moustache quivering as he regarded Harry keenly.

Harry had barely set foot in the wizard's office, Alphard trailing after him, when the professor had greeted him with such eagerness, herding them inside with waves of his pudgy hands.

One look was enough to see that Horace Slughorn's office had been transformed like none other, suddenly vaster than should be possible, with a profusion of ottomans and velvety footstools, plush winged chairs and lavish drapes decoratively hanging about the room, an ample round oak table in the very middle, already laden with porcelain tableware and candelabrum, a Hogwarts house-elf tottering about serving goblets with all kinds of colorful, crystal bottles and a cart filled with mouthwatering dishes, added to the thick aromatic fumes wafting around – it seemed to Harry as though he had just entered a Sultan's palatial tent.

"Oh, the praises Professor Tilly Toke used to sing about your abilities!"

At that, the smile plastered on Harry's face became rigid, though hopefully not outwardly pained.

"And you have a knack for Transfiguration as well, Professor Dumbledore tells me," continued Slughorn merrily, like a puffing, proud granduncle as Harry suddenly found himself seated with all the rest at the table.

This latter _was_ odd. By no stretch of the imagination was Harry good at Transfiguration. Passable, but no more. For Dumbledore to have said such… He inwardly frowned, wondering about the wizard's reason to make Slughorn more amiable and well-disposed towards him, since it was by now patently clear that his Head of House valued only those who brightly 'shone' in some way.

Of Alphard, Slughorn said nothing, entirely overlooking him and merely taking the boy away so that he would take a seat next to the other Blacks. Indeed, the Blacks were conspicuous by their sheer numbers: they were all there, all five, except-

"I would have liked the complete set," murmured Slughorn in a mournful tone as he paused slightly to contemplate the Blacks once Alphard had joined them. "A pity," he sighed heavily, "that dear Dorea has suddenly fallen prey to a resurgence of the pillycoops."

Harry had no idea what the 'pillycoops' were –clearly Dorea Black's newest excuse for her absence– but the wizard's turn of phrase struck him as odd, until he realized that he had been seated right next to Tom and Slughorn was now eyeing them avidly, as though he and Tom were a pair of… collector's items, Harry realized slowly, blinking.

"And you, my dear boy," said Slughorn grandiosely, positively beaming at Tom as though he was the crown jewel. "Where to start? Where to beginning? The Staff is all a dither, going into raptures regarding your natural talents, your sheer brilliancy in the subjects they teach in this school!" The wizard seemed to swell like a joyful sea lion, as he declared, "And I should know! Never have I seen such a dab hand at Potions!"

"You are too kind, sir," said Tom in quiet tones, inclining his head in utter humbleness as he smiled faintly and softly at the rotund wizard before him.

"And so modest," observed Slughorn, delightedly clapping his hands together. "Oho, what a treat!"

They were all a menagerie of tasty morsels for Horace Slughorn to taste, Harry realized suddenly, and see which passed muster and stayed for keeps. Moreover, his Head of House seemed to harbor a predilection for Slytherin flesh.

They represented the vast majority, as Abraxas Malfoy, Neron Lestrange, Druella Rosier, and Capricia Carrow of their year were also in attendance, added to the many older Slytherins – a Parkinson boy there, a Nott girl not further away, an Urquhart, Vaisey, Montague, and a Harper.

Of Ravenclaws, there were only seven in all –two of them Olive Hornby and the pompous Tiberius McLaggen, Harry was not pleased to notice– of Hufflepuffs three and of Gryffindors two, one of them vaguely familiar to him, that James bloke who was Charlus Potter's closest friend and also the best Beater in the Gryff's team.

At least, James had not been the Beater Harry had accused of having 'pranked' Moaning Myrtle. He was no idiot as to directly incur in Potter's wrath. Potter was already annoyed enough with him as it was, though to his surprise, hadn't been truly angry – not at him, anyway.

"Dorea put you up to it, didn't she?" Charlus had growled at him a few days ago when ambushing Harry in the corridors, scowling darkly. "She always plays dirty and does her best to disqualify my players before the Quidditch Season. So it was her who told you to spout those lies and-"

"She was," Harry had said quickly, shooting him a look of deep commiseration, vying for understanding. "But I had to do it. She's my Captain."

"I see," bit out Charlus with a thunderous expression as he whipped around and stalked away.

Harry wasn't all that taken aback when a couple of hours later he was confronted with a Dorea Black more flushed, exultant, and gleeful than usual.

"You blame it all on me if that's what it takes," she had breathed out giddily, "just keep doing it if you come up with more ways of saddling Charlus' players with detention!"

Harry had merely nodded obediently, no longer attempting to figure out how the couple's bizarre relationship worked.

Two hours later into his first experience with the Slug Club, Harry felt he had never been more bored in his life.

With his belly pleasantly full and the waft of aromatic candles and Slughorn's voice inducing a soporific effect on him, he could barely stifle his yawns as Slughorn chattered away, urging this or that student to regale them with stories about such and such famous wizard they were related to, or reminiscing about his own school days and the many important wizards and witches he was 'very close friends with', who were always writing to the professor asking for his advice and sending valuable presents in gratitude, if he was to be believed.

It sounded as if Horace Slughorn was the confidante and bosom friend of every noteworthy wizard and witch in existence, all of them owing their fabulous careers to him.

"Just the other day," Slughorn was saying with a chuckle, "Cromby Culpepper – you know who he is, I trust? Why, only the very liaison of the Ministry with the Gringotts Goblins – the top man, he is! The crux of the matter is that he found himself in a bit of a tight spot with the Goblins due to some faux galleons circling around, and he was despairing until I told him of my very own experience with Goblins some many years ago when I…."

Harry felt his eyes slowly shutting close with a volition of their own, when he suddenly jerked in his seat due to the jolting, booming voice.

"But enough about me!" Slughorn declared in a ringing, winning tone, "It's you we must know more about. Tell me of your ambitions, of your dazzling plans for the future! Let's start with those new to The Slug Club. Riddle – Harry Riddle, that is!"

If the wizard's enthusiastic cry hadn't fully waked him, Tom's elbow into his ribcage, painfully hard and merciless, did the trick.

"Huh?" Harry muttered groggily, catching himself in time before fully slipping down his very confortable and plushy chair.

Horace Slughorn chortled. "M'boy, indulging in too much Butterbeer after a hearty dinner is not always a good idea!"

"Eh?" Harry blinked, just to find Tom glowering at him, and other students either sniggering or shooting him vexed looks, though he did see that Charlus Potter's friend, one of the Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws had been in his very same predicament, looking as though just awoken from a heavy slumber.

"What are your goals for when leaving Hogwarts, m'boy?" Slughorn reiterated, genially smiling at him.

"Huh?" Harry stared at him, making some snigger again, those apparently under the impression that he was still drowsy, when the fact was that the question was as incomprehensible to him as if he had been asked to divine the future of all humankind.

He was in Third Year, how was he supposed to know what he wanted to do with himself? Not to mention the 'slight' problem that his brother represented-

"My esteemed twin," Tom's voice surged after a discreet clearing of the throat, "hopes to become a renowned Auror, sir. He so longs to do some good in the world."

Harry turned to gape at him, stunned, as he had never expressed such wishes, and it would be rich if he even tried to become a dark wizard catcher given that his very own brother intended to do his best to be a Dark Lord, of all things.

Seeing Tom's expression of malicious amusement, Harry snapped his mouth shut, scowling.

Though when he saw that the other Slytherins were smirking and even attempting to stifle any outwards sign of ironic derision, Harry paled.

That the other Slytherins had understood Tom's veiled gibe, could only mean that his brother had already let them know of his goals, however slightly and subtly.

He doubted very much that Tom had already announced to Slytherin House that he wanted to be the next Grindelwald, not so soon, not without first testing the waters, but… they suspected, they had an inkling, it was now obvious.

Harry felt deeply perturbed. It was far too soon! He hadn't even had the chance to plan and prepare for when the situation would come to happen.

"An Auror!" Slughorn boomed jauntily, eyeing Harry as though he had unmasked a raw gem with much hidden potential. "Why, m'boy, noble calling indeed. And much fame and fortune to be gained if you are one of the very best." The professor gave him an encouraging smile, before he clucked his tongue chidingly. "Though you will need to become much more proficient in my class, my dear Harry. Aurors do need to know their Potions well."

"I will strive to aid my brother in that aspect, sir," said Tom solicitously, shooting Harry such a warm and deeply affectionate glance one would think Tom was willing to give his own life for Harry's success in his deeply harbored career of choice.

Harry's eyebrows twitched with vast annoyance. He didn't think his brother's covert mocking was at all amusing.

"Well, with a brother such as you, Tom," announced Slughorn glowing with pride and cheerfulness, "I'm sure our Harry will not be long in becoming the very Head of the Auror Department!"

"You do me great honor with your confidence in me, professor," Tom murmured bashfully, only a faint glint in his eyes belying the modest flush on his cheeks that Tom had inexplicably managed to produce.

Horace Slughorn beamed, Harry seethed.

Tom's dark, twisted sense of humor was only being appreciated by the rest of the Slytherins – Neron Lestrange was even chortling nastily under his breath, though he was quick to pass it off as a sudden bout of coughs when Tom shot him a sharp, quelling look.

"Nonsense, m'boy," Slughorn gushed in a trill. "It is well placed, I assure you." He leaned forward over the edge of the table, squashing his protuberant belly in his eagerness to avidly focus his whole attention on Tom. "And you! What should we expect of you, my dear boy? Great things, I'm certain!"

"I?" Tom uttered slowly, hesitantly, so very softly and uncertainly that some were eyeing him with great gentleness, as Tom looked as if no one had ever asked him about himself, as if he couldn't even think so egotistically, not worthy of it.

Tom looked momentarily confused, before he shrugged his shoulders nervously, his voice quiet and small, "As everyone knows by now, sir, and you since the start-" He gave Slughorn a timid look "-my brother and I are orphans, of unknown parentage. Muggleborns most likely." He heaved a breath, as if suffusing himself with valor, before he added, "Muggle-raised orphans such as us, without connections, without family, face many difficulties when trying to find a place in the Wizarding World. Even more so when wanting to find a job to earn a living…" He trailed off, before a smile bloomed on his handsome face, making him look nearly angelic as he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I would feel amply rewarded if my greatest hopes for my twin's ambitions of becoming an Auror would be fulfilled. That's all I truly desire."

Druella Rosier's titter and Orion Black's half choked guffaw passed unnoticed by Horace Slughorn's cry of exclamation.

"But," spluttered the professor, his enormous moustache wobbling, as he shot Harry a censuring look as though it was all his fault Tom considered nothing but Harry's own happiness and success in life. Slughorn inflated like an indignant seal. "By Merlin's beard, Tom, it's all very well to aid a sibling, but not to your detriment, I dare say! And brains such as yours should not go to waste." He eyed Tom gravelly. "Indeed, you have the duty – you hear? Duty!- to accomplish greatness given your potential."

"Yes, yes," added Slughorn quickly as he raised a hand at Tom's display of wide-eyed surprise, "you heard correctly. Why, my dear boy, I do not think even Albus Dumbledore – well, perhaps it's too soon to say yet, but indeed! I can wager not even Dumbledore showed such promise at your age!"

Tom's cheeks went pink and Slughorn's tone turned gentle, as he crooned in a bolstering tone of voice, "If you keep attaining such an academic excellence as you have for the past three years, you could very well become one of the most brilliant students to have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts!"

Horace Slughorn huffed. "You merely need some more confidence in yourself, my dear boy. And this codswallop about not having the necessary connections, well…" He twirled his bushy moustache, beaming at him. "That's what I'm here for, m'boy!" He gestured grandiosely at the whole gathering. "What we are _all_ here for!"

"Hear, hear!" someone piped in support, while someone else gushed and a girl nearly cooed, making Harry realize Tom had won over most Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, only Charlus Potter's friend, James, seemed to be frowning. The Slytherins, for their part, looked as if they had rarely had so much fun in their lives.

Harry wished he would have been spared the charade and stayed in his room to celebrate his birthday by his lonesome. Once more bearing witness to his brother's accomplished, unparalleled acting skills was not his idea of 'a party'.

"Oho! Is that the hour?" Slughorn sounded startled as a great clock perched against a wall chimed loudly, striking midnight. "Upon my word, how time rushes by when having the best of times!" The wizard inclined his head at his audience, beaming. "And in the best of company!"

The members of the Slug Club chuckled, some beginning to rise from their seats at the implicit dismissal, though Tom's quiet voice could somehow be heard above all the commotion.

"I wonder, sir, if you would allow me… you see, right this moment, it is our fourteenth birthday."

Slughorn stared at them in utmost surprise. "Indeed?"

Harry felt a frisson of misgivings as Tom smiled charmingly, as he reached under his chair and pulled something up, flicking his wand at what had been previously concealed by a charm.

"It has taken me nearly three years to be able to save enough to…" trailed off Tom, as he handed over to Harry a very long and large packet wrapped in brown paper, looking as though in tenterhooks with nervousness at Harry's reaction. "I've scraped every penny-" Tom chuckled benignly at Slughorn and his audience "-every knut, I should best say, and I can't wait any longer…"

Not really knowing what to expect from Tom at this point, Harry unwrapped it warily, and then blinked when his present was revealed, accompanied by the gasps of wonder, astonished delight, and even envy.

"That's the Tinderblast!" cried out Charlus Potter's friend, James, his eyes round with worshipful adoration and excitement. "Just released in the market, it has an acceleration of fifty clouds per hour in ten seconds and a suspension of…"

As the Gryffindor Beater rattled off facts and statistics, Harry eyed his apparently brand new, very shinny and sleek racing broom with a small crinkle in his forehead.

"A magnificent, princely gift indeed!" exclaimed Slughorn, looking at Tom approvingly as he then surveyed the silent Harry, frowning at the lack of forthcoming gratitude.

"Eh, thanks," muttered Harry, having to say it again, more loudly, for their audience's benefit, who clapped as if Tom had just given them all ridiculously expensive brooms.

Tom quirked an eyebrow at him, and now Harry did smile at him, sincerely. His brother had amassed innumerable pouches of galleons through giving tutoring lessons and selling homework essays, added to the small fortune Konrad Von Krauss had also given him, yet Harry knew an expense such as this must have made quite a dent on Tom's horded wealth.

It _was_ a very generous present, even if Harry knew it was a means to an end. Though only he seemed to realize it, even Alphard was looking at Tom in utter stupefaction, as if rethinking his opinion of him.

"You do know, I trust," whispered Tom quietly into Harry's ear as he leaned closer, "the reason for it?"

Harry sighed, as he parroted in a monotone the words Tom had spouted just the other day, "Popularity is its own form of power."

"Quite," murmured Tom, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

For some time Harry had known that Tom positively viewed his incursion into the sport of Quidditch because his brother had been quick to notice that in Hogwarts –even in the Wizarding World as a whole- good Quidditch players were held in much reverence, esteem, and fame.

Since, according to Tom, Harry was incapable of gaining notoriety and admiration for them through academic pursuits, he was relegated to obtaining the 'nevertheless dubiously useful' popularity of a sportsman.

If Harry became a fawned-over Quidditch player at Hogwarts, it would only serve to reflect positively on Tom, adding to his own popularity and hence social power and clout.

That Tom considered Quidditch, and all sports in general, a ludicrous, supreme waste of time that only managed to entertain the peabrained masses, didn't seem to matter much.

"I want the Quidditch Cup in Slytherin hands," said Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at Harry to make it clear it was no burden-free gift, "in exchange."

"Exchange?" Slughorn suddenly loomed over them, gazing down with a look of great anticipation, apparently having heard only the last few words. "Oho! What have you given to your most generous twin, Harry?"

"Yes," said Tom with a wide smirk, arching an eyebrow, "just _what_ have you given me, little brother?"

Harry took a moment to ponder this, before he said sweetly, "You already received it. A week ago, remember?"

Tom's quirked eyebrow rose higher, and Harry, certain he would not be heard over the cacophony of voices still gushing about the Tinderblast, let out a very brief, spitting and rattling hiss – quite like the sound Nagini made when utterly fed up and irritated with Tom.

Tom's lips twitched at that, in apparent amusement, though he did turn towards a befuddled and awaiting Slughorn, as he intoned with a dazzling, pearly-white smile on his face, "Indeed, my brother did previously bestow upon me the most priceless of gifts, sir. One I have coveted for a long time. One that will always be mine, and I shall always treasure."

_He_ had given Tom the Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk, and the hidden study filled with the diaries of Slytherin's descendants. As far as Harry was concerned, no amount of top-notch racing broomsticks could ever compare to that.

Horace Slughorn, though seemingly more mystified and curious than ever by Tom's proclamation, looked nonetheless touched by such endearing display of 'brotherly love', as he warmly patted them on the shoulders.

The Slytherins who had caught on, for their part, looked unbearably smug and gleeful.

And given the others' reactions to Tom's masterful playacting during the whole Slug Club event, by the following morning, Harry had no doubt that the entirety of Hogwarts would be of the opinion that Tom was the most self-sacrificing brother in the world, and the most humble and warm-hearted of orphans in need of much support and vastly deserving it.

As the assembly broke off and everyone parted ways to their common rooms, Harry didn't miss the looks of admiration the Slytherins cast at Tom.

Well, Slytherins did thrive in and valued secrecy above all things – to be the privileged ones, the only ones in the know. Tom had just very deftly fed them what they enjoyed the most, with his artful manipulation of Slughorn, filled with innuendoes only their housemates could understand and appreciate.

"Tom isn't as bad of a brother to you as I thought," suddenly said Alphard by Harry's side, sounding musing and still a tad surprised as he eyed the Tinderblast in Harry's hands with a look of reverence.

Harry shot him a wry look but kept his silence just as Abraxas Malfoy drawled the password and the bare expanse of wall in the dungeons parted open to lead them into their common room.

He was about to trot inside with the others, when Tom halted him with a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Harry did so, shooting him a questioning glance.

The wall sealed itself shut, with a blinking Alphard on the other side, leaving them utterly alone in the barely lit, gloomy corridor.

"What did you think of it?" demanded Tom, his voice sounding casual and airy.

Harry glanced down at his new broom. "You know it's the best there is. I could not have asked for anything better-"

"Not the stupid piece of wood," snapped Tom impatiently, briskly waving a hand before he pierced him with glinting dark blue eyes. "The Slug Club."

Harry stared at him before he snorted loudly. "Not my cup of tea, if you know what I mean." He made a disparaging sound from the back of his throat. "I won't be attending again. Got better things to do than fawn over you like all the rest."

Tom did not look impressed with his reply, and Harry snapped truculently, "What do you want me there for? You've made sure you already have a bunch of worshippers who believe your every little lie-"

"It could be much better, of course," interjected Tom in a pensive tone, as though speaking to himself. "Yet, it has potential, has it not?" A scornful look spread over his handsome face. "If only Slughorn was more accomplished at it."

"At what?" Harry frowned at him in puzzlement.

"He is a facilitator of sorts," continued Tom in that strange, calculating and introspective tone of voice, as though unfurling and analyzing a revelation. "If he was more astute and subtle, he could do much more. Influence personalities, shape opinions, mold people into what he desired, in short… And with his 'club' he is in the unique position to be able to do such… a teacher, a guide…"

"I suppose," said Harry dubiously, unable to fathom where the conversation was leading to or understand what his brother was blabbering on about.

Suddenly, Tom's eyes focused back on him, with keen sharpness. He smirked, the kind of malicious tilt of the lips that Harry had come to associate with ominous forebodings.

"You'd best get used to participating in gatherings such as the Slug Club, little brother," Tom said silkily, oozing self-satisfaction. "You might find yourself obliged to do so in the near future."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, flummoxed, only for Tom to leave him in the dust as he loftily whispered the password and vanished into the common room.


	60. Part I: Chapter 59

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for your reviews!

Here's a very long chapter, with loads of things happening, to make it up to you for the long wait ^.^

Regarding the previous chapter, I would like to clarify some points:

1. I see there are some readers who aren't pleased with the way Tom still treats Harry. The point is that Tom will _never_ be 'nice' to Harry, don't expect this to happen one day because it won't.

We all know Tom's personality and limited ability to feel any sort of affection for anyone. By his standards, he treats Harry marvelously well: he takes care of him in his own way, after all, and wants to keep him safe and tied to him. He's trying to teach him and mold him into what he considers to be a 'better person', or I should rather say, a more formidable wizard. That, for someone like Tom, is a lot. So he will still insult Harry, and treat him condescendingly and harshly, and rarely acknowledge all of Harry's accomplishments.

Whether, in the infrequent moments in which Tom does openly display some sort of positive and caring feeling for Harry, he's being genuine or just putting on an act, that's for you to decide.

But bear this in mind, when they were 7 years old, Tom made a choice: to keep Harry as his 'brother'. And he's still perpetuating this lie. Do you think someone like Tom would do this, and even put up with someone like Harry who drives him mad most of times, just because Harry is 'useful'? Now that Tom has the Slytherins eating out of the palm of his hand, he has a lot of 'useful' and _willing_ people he can employ for his own aims, and yet, still, he isn't ditching Harry.

Of course, I hardly think Tom is aware of the true reason why he's still keeping Harry by his side. I doubt he will ever be able to even admit it to himself or recognize it for what it is.

2. What Tom was doing during the Slub Club party –besides entertaining his Slytherins- was to rile up Harry purposely. By that comment of Harry supposedly wanting to become an Auror to do 'some good in the world', he was basically letting Harry know that he won't ever be able to do that –not through being an Auror or anything else. That no matter how Harry always strives to help others and do good things, it's useless because he has to remember who his brother is and wants to become. Tom was, in short, mocking him to make a point.

And Tom's gibes did make Harry think about this, as planned. Tom was laying out the foundations of the future he has in mind for them: Tom becoming the mightiest of Dark Lords, and Harry by his side, 'obediently' aiding him. He wants to corner Harry into this, making it clear that Harry will have no other choice but to go along with Tom's plans because he's going to be the brother of a Dark Lord –and that as such Harry cannot be an Auror, or any other normal profession, or try to do good, or even have a life of his own, and much less a normal, peaceful one as Harry wants.

Certainly, Tom wants him to feel so isolated and depressed and overwhelmed as to leave Harry with no other alternative but to finally give up and yield to Tom's wishes.

3. In the Chamber of Secrets, Tom wasn't worried because he thinks Harry is an idiot who can't handle the situation –this is what Harry thought of the matter, because he couldn't know any better.

Tom was obviously worried that Harry would find out they aren't brothers, that Harry is no real Slytherin by blood, that the basilisk would attack him due to it and thus reveal the secret to Harry.

Now, of course, Tom must be wondering just what on earth happened. Because we have to remember that Harry does have some Slytherin blood, because he's a Potter – not a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, can't be considered his heir, but with Slytherin blood nonetheless through his Peverell ancestor.

4. Regarding Dumbledore, well, we will see a bit about him in this chapter, but we must keep in mind that he's not yet the all-knowing old man of canon. Here, he's about 50 years younger, still untried in many things –hasn't defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald yet- and a teacher, not Headmaster.

In canon, Dumbledore had no clue regarding all the things Tom was up to - only suspected about the Chamber of Secrets but didn't know about the killings and the fact that Tom made his first horcrux at 16 while in school, until many decades later. So don't expect him to fully figure everything out.

I'm trying to portray him as realistically as possible, and part of that is showing that he doesn't know how to deal with Tom and Harry as well as Grindelwald does. After all, Grindelwald has a great advantage over Dumbledore in this regard: Grindelwald knows more about the boys and their future than anyone else, he has the memories of Sybilla Spyros' visions. So of course that Grindelwald is already handling the boys very deftly, even though they still haven't met him in person, and Dumbledore isn't.

That's all for now, I hope these explanations have helped.

Enjoy the chappie!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 59**

* * *

"I don't understand what our PM is thinking!" said Harry in disgust, angrily flinging the latest issue of The Daily Prophet to the table.

"_Our_ PM?" hissed Tom coldly, shooting him a narrowed-eyed look. "Winston Churchill is the muggle scum's Prime Minister, not ours."

"You know what I mean," snapped Harry, glaring down at his bowl of porridge, all lingering hunger fading away as he contemplated his now chilled and soggy breakfast.

The Great Hall was thrumming with excitement, the students assembled in their House Tables were cheering and patting their Quidditch players. Harry himself was already donning his uniform, with his sleek, new Tinderblast by his side.

After breakfast, the first match of the season would be commencing: Slytherin versus Hufflepuff.

Darting a look around, Harry could see the Gryffindors sporting Hufflepuff colors in hats, scarves, and moving banners, shooting the Slytherin Table dirty looks and shouting out jibes. Not as boisterous as the Gryffs, the Ravenclaws were nevertheless showing their support for Hufflepuff as well, with encouraging smiles and lengthy, analytical discussions of their chances in the match.

Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff Quidditch players looked apprehensive, and Harry couldn't fault them. Through the transparent arches of the Great Hall they could see a savage blizzard of snow and hail, violent winds clashing together making ominous sounds reverberate across the Great Hall.

It wouldn't be an easy match with such weather and Harry was beginning to feel the first twists of nervousness clenching in his stomach. It would be his first time playing Quidditch before the whole school and he had much to prove.

Though Dorea and his other teammates looked utterly self-confident, with smirks and nasty expressions plastered on their faces, aloof to the Gryffindors' catcalls, he noticed that Alphard was looking quite ill himself. With a pale face, the boy was grimacing, as though having his stomach tied in knots.

He looked up at Harry, catching his eye, and attempted an encouraging half grin, which faltered when a blast of wind howled around the castle.

"What is it you fail to understand?" said Tom coolly as he silently took a sip from his cup of tea.

His mind returning back to the news reported by The Daily Prophet, Harry scowled as he groused darkly, "What are we doing mucking about in Africa, is what I would like to know."

It was a good thing that The Daily Prophet had finally deigned to inform the public what had been going on in Muggle Britain for the last couple of months, but the news were all very dire.

London had been heavily bombed once more, causing a widespread and devastating fire that had nearly flattened half the city. Furthermore, The Blitz –as it was now widely called- had been launched in many other British cities. Coventry, Southampton, Bristol, Sheffield, Liverpool, Manchester, Swansea, Clydebank, Plymouth, and even Ireland's Belfast and Scotland's Greenock, had all been targeted, destroying countless buildings and factories and causing innumerable casualties – even that of several muggleborns and halfbloods who had remained living in muggle areas with their relatives instead of retreating to wizarding communities under the protection of anti-muggle weaponry wards as the Ministry of Magic had sternly advised.

If that wasn't bad enough, after Italy had declared war on England, a succession of battles at sea had been fought, with Britain's Royal Navy clashing against Italian warships and German submarines all over the map.

And now the news was that Yugoslavia and Greece had been invaded, forcing the last bastion of English troops in continental Europe to retreat to Crete. Yet, Churchill, instead of reinforcing British presence in Europe, was sending more and more troops to the North of Africa, to fight the Germans and Italians in Libya, Eritrea, Iraq, Egypt and the sort.

"Africa is of paramount strategic importance," Tom intoned sharply, shooting him a scathing, impatient look. "What did I tell you back when Alice was giving us her own version of historical events regarding the Great War, little brother?"

"The Canal," grumbled Harry peevishly, angrily raking a hand through his tousled hair, clearly remembering feeling ashamed and crushed when his brother had told him that the only reason their country had won the Great War was because they had hoodwinked the Arabs into fighting against the Turks, with promises of independence and freedom they had later broken. "Yeah, yeah, I remember-"

"Precisely," said Tom loftily, arching an eyebrow at Harry's dissatisfied tone of voice. "He who controls the Suez Canal controls the Mediterranean, the movement of troops and the flow of trade and natural resources-"

"So it's about money again, is it?" cut in Harry hotly, glowering.

"Waging a war is expensive," pointed out Tom shortly, as he impassively buttered his toast.

"But we should be striking them where it hurts," hissed out Harry under his breath, leaning closer to his brother. "Europe is the real warfront, not Africa. We should be invading Germany before they invade us! That's what I would do-"

"You have no tactical sense," interjected Tom scornfully. "Directly confronting the Germans would be the height of stupidity at this point. Wars are not won with heroic acts but by serving national interests."

Harry scowled at him but said nothing. He still thought his brother was wrong. It was all very well that Churchill wanted to control the Suez Canal and everything that that entailed, but to have all troops fighting in Africa while hundreds of thousands of people were dying in Europe, with no one to help them, was a recipe for even more disaster in his view – and cowardly and inhumane, to boot.

Granted, at least Churchill was fighting the Germans in some way, however indirectly and with priorities that Harry abhorred. Meanwhile, the Minister of Magic Gravius Marchbanks was still dragging his feet, apparently wanting to know who would win in the muggle front before daring to openly fight the Dark Lord.

For now, Wizarding Britain was merely hiding under their wards, protecting themselves, and waiting – for foreign help, for the British muggles to win, or for a bolt of lightning to miraculously strike Gellert Grindelwald, Harry didn't know, but it all seemed extremely foolish to him.

It was because of the former Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen, doing nothing and turning a blind eye that they had gotten into such a fix to begin with.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" intoned Tom airily with a raised eyebrow, as loud cheers suddenly broke throughout the Hall.

Seeing Quidditch players all around getting up to their feet, with their supporters hailing them, Harry quickly shoveled the remainders of his tasteless porridge into his mouth. As disgusting as it was, it was better to have food in the belly when flying in such ghastly and cold weather.

He finally shot Alphard a pointed look when the boy had been about to follow the others out of the Great Hall, and then hesitated for a moment when he glanced at his brother. For the last couple of days he had been wondering whether to ask Tom or not.

'Will you be coming?' he wanted to say, but finally left without doing so.

He didn't actually know if he wanted Tom in the Quidditch Pitch. On one hand, the idea of Tom watching him as he flew his best and scored Quaffle after Quaffle, made him feel giddy with excitement and happiness. On the other, flying brilliantly and displaying his abilities because he wanted to impress his brother made him feel half ashamed and half queasy, because he knew perfectly well that that desire was not borne from 'brotherly feelings' of wanting to make a sibling feel proud of him. It would be preening and proving himself, like a peacock displaying its tail feathers before a desired mate.

Harry blanched, turning greenish around the face, and nearly stumbled over the hem of his Quidditch robes, before he caught sight of Alphard and immediately pulled him into a corridor.

* * *

"What are we doing here?" panted a bewildered Alphard, catching his breath as they stood before the sinks leading to the Chamber of Secrets. "We should be down in the Pitch – if we're late, Dorea will skin us alive!"

"I have to test something," said Harry as he settled his Tinderblast against a wall. "It will only take a couple of minutes and now is the perfect time. There's no one in the castle to see us."

And more importantly, he had seen Tom making his way to the Quidditch Pitch along with the rest of their housemates.

"I want you to hiss 'open' in Parseltongue, to the sinks," added Harry swiftly as he pointed at the faucet with the small serpent figure etched on it.

"W-what?" Alphard gawked at him, mouth hanging open before he snorted with exasperation. "You know I'm no Parselmouth! What is all this truly about-"

"But you've heard me hissing that word plenty of times before," interjected Harry hurriedly, shooting him a stern look. "I just want you to recall it, and try it."

Alphard blinked at him. "Are you serious? Whatever for?"

"Just try it, please!" snapped Harry impatiently.

"Alright," mumbled Alphard taken aback, giving the sinks a dubious look.

Harry grimaced and winced when his friend let out a strident string of weird noises.

"Sorry, but that's how you sound when you do it," said Alphard ruefully when he saw Harry's expression.

"Nothing happened," remarked Harry, intently watching the sinks with a frown on his face, before his gaze flickered back to the boy. "You didn't say it right. Try it again."

Alphard rolled his eyes, sighing. "If you would just tell me what you're up to-"

"Try it!"

"Alright, alright, hold your hippogriffs, no need to get nasty…"

It was by the thirteenth attempt that the sinks suddenly shifted to a side, revealing the pitch-black pipe that led to the Chamber.

Alphard stood before it, with jaw agape in disbelief, his expression utterly incredulous. "I opened it?" He shot Harry a stunned look before his face lit with excitement. "_I _opened it!"

"Yeah," said Harry distractedly, his gaze pensively fixed on the pipe, his mind whirling at top speed.

It was one theory proven then, though he didn't know quite what to make of it. Now he knew that Godric Gryffindor could have been the one to find the Chamber and cast his magic on the Basilisk.

After all, if historians were right and Gryffindor had been a close friend of Salazar Slytherin, he could have learned some words in Parseltongue, couldn't he? Just like Alphard.

He didn't think Salazar Slytherin would have purposely taught Gryffindor the language, not when Slytherin had been such a paranoid wizard that he hadn't even recorded his research and experiments in a diary with the use of Parselscript, in a language only he and his descendants could read.

No. It must have been that Godric had simply picked up some few words in Parseltongue from having heard Salazar use them frequently. Though, it didn't explain how Godric had known where the entrance to the Chamber was, or why he had bound the Basilisk. Or why he hadn't just killed it.

It was making less sense the more he unraveled about the matter.

After visiting Zar so many times, jotting down the runes he saw wriggling in the red and golden magic surrounding the Basilisk like shackles, and researching the runes in the library, Harry had unearthed quite a lot.

Seven ancient runes were repeated over and over again along the threads of magic of Godric Gryffindor. One representing the word 'bind', two runes meaning 'magic' and 'power', one other symbolizing 'forget' and a last rune which could either mean 'life' or 'memories' – or both.

Indeed, in fact, Harry was certain the latter runes were the reason why Zar still couldn't tell them anything about his past. It was as though someone had struck the Basilisk with a badly performed Obliviating Charm.

It was clear to him that it was due to Godric's magic influencing the creature, yet he couldn't figure out how it was restraining Zar's powers as well.

He had nearly read all the books in the library regarding Basilisks and they all said the same: a Basilisk's powerful magic laid in its eyes and its lengthy lifespan, meaning that the creatures could live for millennia with relatively little food interspersed with long periods of hibernation.

However, Godric Gryffindor's magic was not 'binding' the Basilisk's powers in such ways.

Harry had checked. Transfiguring a gnawed bone from Zar's lair into a mouse, he had closed his eyes and ordered the Basilisk to open his own inner eyelids to kill the animal with his gaze.

Zar had done so, and Harry had stood there, frowning at the mouse lying on the stone floors, on its back and its little paws stiff in the air, with not a mark on it, as though it had been killed by the Avada Kedavra Curse.

Moreover, Gryffindor's magic was not affecting the Basilisk's lifespan either, at least not diminishing it by forcing the creature to starve.

They've been feeding it for the last couple of months. At first, Harry had counted with Alphard's help in going to the kitchens and asking the house-elves for roasted chickens and the sort.

Enlarging the food once in the Chamber of Secrets, they had given it to the Basilisk. It hadn't gone that well. Apparently, Zar found no joy in the sight of a chicken as large as a motorcar plopped there in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets like a banquet.

"That will not do," had sneered Tom, shooting Harry and Alphard a scathing look. "Basilisks need to hunt their prey. Zar has instincts that must be satisfied."

Zar had kept looking at the overlarge, roasted bird with a morose air about him until Tom had neatly and effortlessly transfigured a pebble into a beautiful, live doe, of large almond-shaped black eyes and soft, brown pelt.

Harry had flinched and quickly looked away as the deer had cantered in fear, trying to escape the maws of the suddenly excited and vicious Basilisk.

"You little hypocrite," Tom had hissed at Harry, in an undertone of mocking derision meshed with anger.

By that time, his brother had been accusing him of having no scruples in practicing Dark Arts curses on 'ugly' critters like rats but still recoiling from doing so to fluffy and cuddly things like bunnies.

Harry hadn't replied, not wanting to get into the old argument. He knew that Tom made them practice on 'pretty' animals just to rile him up or spite him. Given that they had begun learning the Unforgivable Curses and the fleshy dummies the Room of Requirements provided were of no use in such cases, they had to resort to conjuring live animals on which to practice.

The fact that Harry had refused to cast the Cruciatus and Killing Curse on a cute, little kitten Tom had transfigured from a quill had angered his brother. The fact that Harry kept conjuring rats instead, had put Tom in a towering temper.

Still, Harry didn't feel ashamed of his preferences. If he had to go about murdering and torturing poor innocent animals he'd rather have rats as victims. Let Tom accuse him of being superficial and a hypocrite.

After having to endure listening to the horrible, tearing and gnashing noises of Zar devouring the doe, Harry had left all feeding duties to Tom – especially after their fifth visit.

That day, he and Tom had found Zar in a strange state, fidgety and tense, swaying his huge head in the air as if hungrily sniffing and sensing something much desired.

"Kill… must kill…" the Basilisk had been hissing, slowly, confusedly, and ravenously.

"You fed him yesterday, didn't you?" Harry had asked Tom, his gaze nervously fixed on Zar and his weird behavior.

"I did," Tom retorted coolly, with a calculating glint in his dark blue eyes as he regarded the Basilisk. "I believe it is not another doe it's hungering for."

"What d'you mean?" demanded Harry instantly, his head snapping around to stare at him.

"As the legend goes," Tom intoned nonchalantly, "Salazar Slytherin left his monster behind for it to carry out a cleansing of the school." He shot him a wide smirk. "Cleansing Hogwarts from the undesirable elements in it. The mudblo-"

"Muggleborns," croaked Harry, paling drastically as Zar kept hissing the same phrase over and over as though muttering to himself. Deeply alarmed, he swiveled, grasping Tom's arm. "But he can't! Can he? I mean, he can't access the castle unless we open the passageways for him, right?"

"True," said Tom quietly, yet there was still such a plotting gleam in his eyes that Harry instantly gripped him tighter, gnashing his teeth.

"And we will never do that," gritted out Harry, skewering his brother with narrowed green eyes, fury spreading over his face. "Will we, brother?"

Tom turned to calmly arch an eyebrow at him. "Who said anything about unleashing the Basilisk in Hogwarts?"

"I know how your mind works," spat Harry accusingly, still piercing him with suspicious, stern eyes. "It would be just like you to think that it would be an honor to carry out Salazar Slytherin's last wishes – to think this is some sort of legacy he's left for us-"

"He did leave the Basilisk for his heirs to find," interrupted Tom smoothly, his eyebrow rising higher as though challenging Harry to deny it.

"You cannot-" began Harry, before quickly changing tacks.

He had known then that it would be useless to point out to his brother what any sensible and normal person would realize. That it would be horrible to allow the Basilisk to go on a rampage of killing muggleborns, students they lived with, knew, and even liked in Harry's case. Yet it would be a moot point to attempt to call to Tom's 'better nature'.

Nevertheless, he had known exactly what to say to dissuade his brother from the notion.

"Headmaster Dippet," he had continued in a grave tone, "would shut down Hogwarts instantly if muggleborns suddenly turned up dead, Tom. And then where would we go? Hogwarts is our home-"

Harry's eyes widened as he said that, seeing Tom's lips tugging upwards into a smirk, making him quickly add, "Because it is! Germany and Von Krauss' castle is not our true home, and we don't want to be stuck there. Not this soon." He lowered his voice, as he said pointedly, "If Hogwarts closes, we couldn't finish our education and we would be unprepared to deal with Von Krauss and Grindelwald, wouldn't we? There's still a lot we need to learn here, not to mention your plans for Slytherin House, brother!"

"You raise a valid point," muttered Tom under his breath, his tone grudging as his expression became one of fleeting pondering.

"Right," said Harry, dropping his brother's arm as he searchingly gazed at him. "So no funny business with Zar, alright?"

Tom hadn't answered but Harry had felt confident that his brother wouldn't endanger their position at Hogwarts or their education, not when the only thing Tom had to gain was the satisfaction of seeing some muggleborns being killed.

Harry didn't think his brother would bat an eyelash if it happened. Indeed, as much as it pained him to admit it, Tom would find vicious enjoyment in it, and probably pride and smugness as well, by doing what their notorious ancestor had wished.

By then, having many times seen on Tom's face twisted and gleeful relish when casting the Cruciatus or Killing Curse during their practice sessions, Harry had come to finally accept and make peace with the fact that his brother was a shameless sadist at heart and there was little he could do about it –except trying to curb it when he could.

As long as Tom went about killing people out of necessity, when attacked or in battle situations if those ever came to happen, Harry could live with it.

Nevertheless, it had all made him realize that Zar was not being restrained by Gryffindor's magic in any visible way. The Basilisk could use its power and kill with its eyes, it could keep on living and feeding, it could move around, it didn't remember its past yet for some reason did recall the mission Salazar Slytherin had left for him.

Moreover, the last, sixth and seventh ancient runes repeated over and over again in Gryffindor's magic were the most puzzling of all, since combined together as they were, meant 'permanent state'.

All in all, Harry couldn't fathom what the shackle-shaped magic was doing to the Basilisk. His latest discovery was that it formed some sort of extremely powerful and ancient charm, and not a curse as he had initially thought.

These perplexing thoughts lingered in his mind as he and Alphard finally made their way to the Quidditch Pitch in a rush.

* * *

Loud cheering could still be heard coming from the snowed grounds of Hogwarts, those of the end of the first Quidditch match of the year.

The Slytherins' muffled cries of victory echoed in the room, meshing with the whirring sounds and puffs of the small, silver artifacts tottering and wheezing in the shelves of the office.

Having returned from the Quidditch stands himself, still wearing fluffy earmuffs and thick, pink woolen gloves, with ice and snow clinging on his long ginger beard, Albus Dumbledore rushed to siphon a silvery tendril from his temple, his wand guiding it into the pensieve atop his desk.

He observed as another memory swirled in the pearly surface of the pensieve, a misty face forming.

"-told me to let you know if anything changed in their situation," blabbered the round, pudgy face of Mafalda Plumpkin, a witch of the Ministry of Magic and old acquaintance of his. "Just did, right this moment! According to our records they have been adopted by a muggle!" She peered at him through her thick eyeglases, her face aglow with the green flames of the floo connection. "Very peculiar if you ask me. We're sending some of our people to pay the muggle a visit, make sure he knows what he's getting into…"

She paused, seemingly glancing at something in her hands, frowning. "Alistair Ashcroft, the muggle's name is. Lives in some manor and is some sort of muggle 'Lord'. I'll give you the address, but don't you pay him a visit until after our people have done so! Don't want the Minister asking me awkward questions. If Gravius catches wind that I've been passing you information…"

Albus' expression turned contemplative, as he swirled the contents of his pensieve with the tip of his wand, making another memory of several months ago come forth.

The liquid surface rippled as a new face emerged, that of an old clerk of the Muggle War Office.

"Ashcroft… Ashcroft…" muttered the old man, his arthritic hands quivering as he slowly flipped musty, yellowed pages of a thick ledger. "Here he is! Yes, indeed, young boy he was, fought in the Great War – injured in battle, recovered in some French hospital. I remember now! I was working right here myself, remember his name – son of a baronet!" His shaky, dotted hands pointed at the ledger, as he peered up at Dumbledore. "See, this' my own writing."

Albus had intently gazed back at the old muggle, his suspicions confirmed with a mild push of Legilimency, feeling the block of a powerful memory charm in the muggle's mind. He had decided to not force it, to spare the muggle from further injuries of the mind.

However, the information held in the ledger had led him to the truth that summer.

Another memory arose in the silvery surface of the pensieve, that of a retired Sergeant of the Muggle British Army he had paid a visit.

The misty form of the old man whirled, revealing a pockmarked face with half a nose missing and a wooden leg clanking on the floor of the muggle's house as he led Dumbledore into his home in the Isle of Skye.

"What d'ya want to know about Ashcroft for?" grunted the old muggle suspiciously, eyes narrowed at Dumbledore. "Let bygones be bygones, I say. Don't like to rehash war experiences, myself. Nasty, it was, the whole business with the spike-heads. Never liked Germans much, but the Kaiser's men…well, were better equipped than us, weren't they? Blew Alistair Ashcroft to pieces, didn't they? Saw it with my own eyes, was few feet away from me, the silly boy was. He was in my battalion, useless lad he was, filled with dreams of glory, wanting to make his rich father proud, didn't he? But the Kaiser's artillery put an end to it! Wrote to the chap's dad myself, had to – was my duty-"

The old man paused, blinking, the traces of Albus' Confundus Charm visibly evaporating. "Who did you say you were?"

And that had been Grindelwald's follower's mistake. Clever, to change the records of the War Office, to have even destroyed or changed any letters long sent to Ashcroft's father, to modify memories of old clerks and that of Alistair Ashcroft's old comrades-in-arms.

Albus Dumbledore had paid a visit to each and every one of them during the summer –of those still alive and sane- all vouching that Ashcroft had survived the war, all with memories modified.

Yet, Grindelwald's follower had overlooked –or rather, underestimated- the peculiar stubbornness and endurance of some muggle minds. The retired sergeant had been the only one to remember the truth of Ashcroft's death, the only one in whom the memory charm had broken with the passage of time.

Indeed, the passage of time… Strange, interesting, very telling: the memory charms had been very old, years-old. _Years_, even before the Riddle boys had entered Hogwarts, before Albus himself had visited them in their orphanage.

And yet, Grindelwald had known about them, even before then.

Albus' frown became more pronounced, wondering. Perplexed.

He was now certain of only one thing: the identity of the wizard impersonating the long deceased Alistair Ashcroft. For who else would have Gellert trusted with such task but his most loyal?

Von Krauss.

And Albus should have known –even though he couldn't yet fathom the motives – that something of the sort would come to happen.

It was Harry's face now swirling in the pensieve as Dumbledore prodded it with his wand, the day the boy had come into his office, last year.

"Tilly Toke is dead," said the memory Harry in a flat tone. "He was Gellert Grindelwald's spy."

The first incontrovertible proof of Gellert's interest in the boys. The new question was who had become Tilly Toke's replacement at Hogwarts… Who was Gellert's new spy?

"Yes," murmured Albus, his suspicions, which tended to prove correct, solidifying.

Another professor threathened. Not with the death of a sister, as had been Tilly Toke's case as he now knew, but threatened directly, to be killed.

Albus had already acted in this aspect, in a roundabout and oblique manner. For now, it would suffice as he waited to see events unravel.

However, much more important were Gellert's motives for wanting to have the boys in his grasp, under Konrad Von Krauss' guardianship.

Albus' sky blue eyes darted to a parchment on his desk. Julian Erlichmann's latest report. He knew the contents by heart.

_G still seeking Vessel. Doesn't appear troubled by lack of success._

_Guardians will be broken out soon. Not yet. Not the right time._

This latter had made Albus frown, pondering at Julian's decision to wait. Nonetheless, it was the last that had turned him grim.

_Riddles? Know of no Riddles. Heard of no Riddles. G has never mentioned such._

Dumbledore knew Julian had to be lying. If Konrad Von Krauss had adopted Tom and Harry Riddle by impersonating 'Alistair Ashcroft', it was certain Gellert must have spoken about it at some point.

"What does Gellert want from the boys?" murmured Albus quietly, feeling his thoughts slowly revolving in his mind, attempting some semblance of order and clarity.

At the lack of success, he ruefully turned to grab one of the many silver instruments in his shelves. One of his very own creation, which puffed as he laid it atop the desk.

The Enlightener, he liked to call it, as he felt its magic permeating through his mind, making connections between his thoughts.

The silver instrument, filled with knobs and cogs, churned, emitting another puff of smoke, which began to take form, reflecting Albus' forming conclusions.

It took the shape of a snake.

Albus looked at it wryly. He needed no aid in remembering his first encounter with the boys: the small bedroom in the orphanage, the snake revealed under the covers, the hissing of Parseltongue as the little boys spoke to it.

They were Parselmouths – yet he knew that wouldn't interest Gellert to the point of acting as he had done.

The smoke suddenly turned into a lightning bolt, making Albus shoot his silver instrument a most aggravated look.

"I remember Harry's scar perfectly well," he told his whirring creation in reprimanding tones.

Especially how the boy's scar had reacted to his attempt to touch it: with a backlash of unfamiliar, impossibly powerful dark magic. Inexplicably so.

The smoke suddenly changed from the lightning bolt to a snake yet again, and Albus fixed his eyes on the instrument, wondering if it had become defective.

He paused, however, as the snake split into two, causing a crinkle to form between his ginger eyebrows.

"Not brothers," he muttered under his breath the facts he was already aware of, "yet both Parselmouths. Linked? By blood, nevertheless? Distantly related?"

The two snakes made of smoke quivered, fusing together, just to unmerge once more, changing into the shape of lightning.

"Deeper connection?" mumbled Dumbledore, his frown now pronounced, immensely puzzled.

He sighed deeply, admitting that his creation was not 'enlightening' him as much as he had hoped.

Albus eyed the whirring instrument once more, an expression of determination on his face as he muttered, "And Gellert?"

As the smoke turned into what was clearly a small phoenix, Albus' sky blue eyes marginally widened with a vague realization.

He was instantly before his pensieve again, prodding it with the tip of his wand until a memory surged forth.

It was Fawkes, soaring through the Atrium of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic as members of the Order and Norwegian Aurors battled Gellert's followers.

Gellert's disembodied voice was echoing through the halls in a mocking and challenging tone, _"__Hiding in your precious Hogwarts, Albus?... Do you fear temptation?... You want it and I know where it is… With it, you could have her back. Don't you want her back, Albus?"_

Albus' eyes instantly darted back to his Enlightener, intent and avid. "For the Stone? He needs the boys to find the Stone?"

The silver instrument whirred as it emitted another puff of smoke, taking the form of one sole snake.

"No," murmured Albus in comprehension, as his own thoughts became clearer. "Not both. Just one. For the Stone, just one."

He nodded, for it finally made sense to him, especially given what he had learned in the last few weeks.

Albus touched the pensieve with the tip of his wand, making his newly added memory of that day unfurl on the surface.

_The Slytherin stands in the Quidditch Pitch broke into loud cries of triumph as the match came to an end with a crushing victory for Slytherin House. _

_Harry 'Riddle', still mounted on his racing broom, was swallowed in the midst of his teammates, who had instantly flown towards him as he had made the latest of an innumerable series of goals, just as the snitch was caught by the Hufflepuff Seeker._

It had been a match that lasted for the whole day and well into the night, the Slytherin Chasers perfectly executing coordinated formations and Quaffle passes as the rest of the Team did their best to employ unsportsmanlike tactics to dismount the Hufflepuff players. Until, the Hufflepuff Seeker had apparently decided to put an end to the humiliation and catch the snitch, loosing the match but putting an end to Slytherin Team's dirty tactics, the injuries sustained by all Hufflepuff players, and the seemingly unending scores executed by the Slytherin Chasers, Dorea Black, Alphard Black, and Harry Riddle.

It was the end of the match that had interested Albus the most, however. And he now observed it again.

_Harry was being engulfed, in mid air, by his teammates with roars of glee and pride. The Slytherins in the audience were rushing into the Pitch, and as the Team descended to ground, Harry was hoisted up on the shoulders of one of his teammates, as his housemates chanted his name and grouped around, becoming an entourage of giddy, smug worshipers._

Indeed, quite a change from the days in which Miss Walburga Black had stalked the corridors in the hopes of ambushing and hexing Harry Riddle. Quite a change from the days in which Slytherins spat 'mudblood' at Tom and Harry. Albus had often witnessed or heard of both circumstances.

Furthermore, he had noticed the change in Slytherin House since the start of the new year. The reverence with which Slytherins now attentively listened to Tom Riddle during meals in the Great Hall, vying to be the ones to sit near the boy, the lack of insults and glares during Transfiguration classes, the awe in Slytherins' eyes when they beheld either of the Riddle boys.

"The knowledge of them being Parselmouths would have not sufficed," muttered Albus under his breath, a deep frown on his face. "Unless…"

He prodded the pensieve again, another memory swirling and expanding until it revealed a face.

"Never would've believed it from your Gryffindors, Albus," snapped the voice coming from the pensieve, the purple curls and bony face of Perpetua Fancourt, the Astronomy teacher and Head of Ravenclaw House, now perfectly clear, swirling on the liquid-like surface of the pensieve. "Stunning one of my own, sticking her inside a cupboard – nasty thing to do to a muggleborn, Albus – and during the Yule Ball, no less! Have given the perpetrators two months of detentions, I have, and no amount of cajoling from your part will make me change my mind! Should have thought about Quidditch training sessions before pranking one of my Ravenclaws, shouldn't they? Now, I'm not saying that Miss Mimbletinion is not a problematic child, always spending all her hours wailing in that lavatory of the second floor, missing classes…"

Albus Dumbledore stared at it intently, until his grave, musing expression turned inquisitive as he glanced at the magnificent phoenix perched in a corner of his office.

"It has been found?" the wizard murmured, his eyes affixed on the creature. "It has been opened…"

Fawkes, who had been silently observing him all the while, flapped his fiery wings briskly, letting out a low, doleful trill.

"I see."

It was as he had feared. He had suspected before, given Fawkes' behavior during the previous months, yet now he had finally reached the correct conclusion.

Tom Riddle _was_ a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. As such, as Albus knew well, a descendant of Cadmus Peverell, creator of the Resurrection Stone.

It had been he and Gellert, after all, who had discovered the identity of the Three Brothers, so many decades ago when they had been young boys, that fateful summer in Godric's Hollow.

It had been they alone who had delved into the Quest of the Deathly Hallows as none other had ever accomplished: connecting each of the brothers to other wizarding families, discovering that Cadmus' descendants had mingled with Slytherin's, Ignotus' with the Potter line, and Antioch having died childless, his Elder Wand passing from hand to hand through acts of murder and violence.

The motives for Gellert's interest in the boys were now evident. He was still seeking the Deathly Hallows, and knew of the location of at least the Stone – or, rather, the means with which to attain it.

Yet, the matter was related to Tom Riddle alone. It did not explain Gellert's interest in Harry.

With a frown on his face, Albus pushed the issue to a side for later perusal.

For the time being, it would be imperative for him to find the link between the last known Slytherin descendant and Tom Riddle, Albus concluded. He would need to find the boy's father, for the mother had died giving birth –he did not require to stir his pensieve, he still remembered quite clearly his interrogation of the Matron of the boys' orphanage.

It would be no easy endeavor, for the father had clearly been a muggle, given the 'Riddle' surname. And the mother, an unknown witch or perhaps squib – belonging to a mysterious family which had managed to remain hidden for centuries, for Albus had had no previous reason to ever suspect that Salazar Slytherin's line had not died with Sherisse Slytherin, as was widely believed and recorded by historians.

Yet, he could not let the Stone fall into Gellert's hands, and if there was the slightest possibility of…

Albus felt his heart thundering in his chest, and closed his eyes firmly as he was engulfed with shame, the awareness of the danger of becoming prey to foolish temptation, and yet, with the persistent hope for atonement as well.

With great effort, he slowly opened his eyes as he quelled the storm of conflicting emotions clashing within him, finally focusing his mind on the most imperative of his conclusions.

The Chamber of Secrets had been found. And opened. By Tom Riddle and Harry, indubitably.

* * *

"Hello Harry!"

Alphard sniggered by his side as the blushing girl scampered away giggling, after Harry had replied to her greeting with a weary wave of a hand.

"You've become quite Mr. Popularity," Alphard jibed good-naturedly with another chortle.

Harry grunted in response, paying little attention. It had been like that for the last couple of weeks, ever since the Quidditch match. He had had no choice but to resignedly become used to having strangers –mostly girls– greeting him in the corridors, or asking amidst fawning giggles to hear again about how he had scored so many Quaffles.

"Your brother must be proud," prodded Alphard insistently, a wide grin on his face.

Harry grunted again, and then scowled. Tom had been in a rather good mood lately, which was so unusual that it was rather alarming. Though he wasn't so stupid as to ascribe it all to Tom's satisfaction in his 'little' brother's Chaser abilities.

Tom was up to something, and Harry was feeling quite wary. It was that the primary reason why his good cheer had quickly faded after winning the match against Hufflepuff.

Many good things had come out of it. For one, he had proved that he deserved the spot as Chaser that had been handed over to him in spite of his terrible tryout. Secondly, Harry had vastly enjoyed the hours he had spent flying with Alphard and Dorea, passing the Quaffle between them and scoring endlessly. Thirdly, now his housemates seemed to value him for something else besides being a descendant of Salazar Slytherin –which in turn, had made them interact with him with much more familiarity and much less awe like at first, which Harry was deeply thankful for. And lastly, Tom had been in the Pitch, had watched him play his best, and had later expressed what could be considered a warm and affectionate congratulation.

Granted, Tom had also smirked at him with supreme smugness and satisfaction, as though it was all his doing that Harry had proven to be such a brilliant player. Nevertheless, Harry had had the grace not to disabuse his brother of the notion, allowing Tom to revel in his own mastermind magnificence.

Regardless, his new so-called 'popularity' was one of the negative consequences as far as Harry was concerned. As well as the fact that Dumbledore seemed once more to be observing him closely.

The reason for the latter, Harry couldn't begin to understand. He simply hoped that Dumbledore was on the lookout regarding whoever had become Gellert's spy at Hogwarts.

"Your stalker is following us again," warningly muttered Alphard under his breath as they took a turn into another corridor.

Harry sighed. Myrtle's new behavior was the other negative consequence, although it had to be more due to the passage of time than Harry having become the newest Quidditch sensation at Hogwarts.

After he had threatened her in the Hospital Wing the night of the Yule Ball, she had done as Harry had told. Myrtle had stayed clear from any Slytherins, even going to the lengths of letting out muffled shrieks of fright whenever seeing a Slytherin and running from them as though fleeing from the hounds of Hell.

Thankfully, his housemates had simply found it funny –terrorizing muggleborns like Myrtle was one of the their favorite pastimes, after all– and didn't think it strange.

Yet, Myrtle's fear seemed to have dwindled in the subsequent months, outstripped by her own nosy curiosity no doubt. She seemed to be on a warpath. The Ravenclaw girl hadn't approached him, but was always observing him and following him around.

What was worse was that Tom had noticed. And even worse, Myrtle was back to using the girls' lavatory of the second floor as her bawling spot.

"In here," whispered Harry as he took hold of Alphard's arm and pushed him under a tapestry, instantly following into the hidden nook.

They heard her turning the corner and continue her chase down the corridor, vanishing.

"What does she want?" groused Alphard with an irked look on his face.

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he lied coolly, "No idea."

He was pretty certain she wanted revenge, though. To find out what they were up to and go tattle on them to the Headmaster. He shouldn't forget that she _was_ a Ravenclaw, and surely suspected that her lavatory was important to them for some reason.

With the coast clear, they finally reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing Trolls.

Once in the Room of Requirements, they settled down, books on the Animagus Transformation surrounding them as they arranged their purchases on the floor.

"Right," began Harry with tome in hands, as he skimmed the pages with his gaze, "according to this, the Egyptian Ritual is fairly simple. We need to…"

At long last, they were prepared to take the first steps into discovering their possible Animagus form. They were both feeling rather excited yet nervous too. If they passed the Egyptian test it meant they had the ability to become Animagi and they would be given some clues regarding what animals they were.

If the ritual didn't work, that was the end of it.

Half an hour later they had everything ready. They sat on the stone floors, face to face, amidst a complicated looking diagram they had drawn with their own blood – the ritual was, clearly, a Dark one– copied from the pages of the guide book, and at every cardinal point, Egyptian ancient runes, what muggles would consider hieroglyphics, had been etched.

Each symbol represented an element, and laid on top, their own offerings, procured by their own hands and with personal meaning to them.

Above the Ankh rune –the Life of the Nile– Alphard had set a goblet he had nicked from the Slytherin Table during lunch, having then used it to fill it with water from a natural source, the Black Lake.

They now both took a sip from it as the incense they had purchased and lit wafted and smoked, making Harry begin to feel a bit heady.

On top of the Ma'at glyph –representing the God of Air, Winds and Skies, Shu - Harry now placed a jar he had used to collect air during the last Quidditch training session while he had been flying high up in the sky on his Tinderblast.

He chanted the foreign litany required by the ritual, as they took turns to open the jar and inhale deeply from it.

Harry did his best not to cough or choke, as he suddenly found his lungs burning and his eyes watering. He didn't know if it was happening because the ritual was already taking effect or rather because the incense around them was now smoking so much, and with such a pungent odor, that he was feeling quite sick.

Spluttering the next incantation, Alphard quickly set a small, open box on the Khet rune representing Fire, containing a dying ember from one of the hearths of the Slytherin common room.

They winced, as they touched it with their index fingers, pressing until the mildly hot ember burned their fingertips.

Harry intoned his last part in a hoarse, chopped voice as he dropped a folded handkerchief on top of the rune depicting a goose, representing the God of Earth, Geb.

The handkerchief held a handful of soil he had grabbed from the Forbidden Forest the last time he had visited Nagini, and with grimaces on their faces, they both took some with their left hands and brought it up to their mouths, forcibly swallowing the soil.

At that point, Harry was certain something was already happening. His stomach lurched and churned, his eyesight became clouded, and he felt outright intoxicated, his head throbbing and swirling.

Finally, making a great effort, they both intoned the last required enchantment as clearly as possible.

The moment they had uttered the last syllable, everything seemed to flare to life before Harry's eyes.

He didn't know if he was seeing such due to his Magic-sight ability or if Alphard was truly glowing with magic, the diagram etched with their blood on the floor flashing as though lit with fiendfyre, the element runes they had drawn floating out of the floor to suspend in mid air above their offerings, like fluttering tendrils of light.

Alphard seemed to be swaying, with black pupils widely dilated in his grey eyes, looking drugged and unaware, as the boy suddenly flung out an arm.

In an instant, the handkerchief holding the remains of soil shot into his outstretched hand, the Geb rune flying towards Alphard and then instantly sinking into the boy's chest.

Harry blinked and squinted repeatedly through watering eyes. Alphard had succeeded! And just like that, so quickly, so simply…

Yet… something was not right. The ritual didn't seem to have concluded, Alphard still looked to be in some sort of trance after his part was done, yet nothing was careening towards Harry either.

Supposedly, the ritual would end after those who could be Animagus were successful, and Alphard had already proven to be.

Harry knew that if he had an Animagus form also related to the element of Earth, according to the Egyptians, the handkerchief in Alphard's outstretched hand would fly to him and the Geb rune would rematerialize and sink into his chest as well.

But none of those things were happening, and he didn't seem to have an affinity to any of the other elements either. Nothing was moving yet the ritual clearly had not ended yet.

Suddenly, as his throat and lungs burned, his eyes watered and the blister on his fingertip ached fiercely, he saw it through his foggy vision, his mind swimming hazily.

The jar containing air and the ember were tottering and rolling jerkily on the floor, as though hesitant, their respective runes floating in the air, wobbling, as if something was making the magic of the ritual feel confused.

The next moment, Harry yelped.

If it hadn't been for his instinctual reflexes, the items would have smacked him right in the middle of the face. The jar and ember had abruptly shot towards him like bullets, their associated runes flying quickly after the objects as though not wanting to be left behind.

And Harry had to flop his limp hands frantically to avoid being struck in the eye and forehead, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion as he yelped and caught the careening jar and ember.

He saw the Keht and Ma'at runes sinking into his clothed chest, branding something within as he suddenly felt flashes of hotness and iciness at the same time coursing through his body, making beads of sweat form on his forehead while he shivered with cold.

A split second later, everything went dark. All the incense sticks and candles snuffed out as if a wild wind had blown them off.

"What-" suddenly croaked Alphard's voice, sounding disconcerted. "Lumos!"

Harry blinked against the bright ball of light hovering on the tip of the boy's wand.

"What happened!" breathed out Alphard, glancing around with a confused and flummoxed expression on his face. "Where's everything?"

Harry realized what he meant when he finally noticed that they now sat on empty stone floors.

It had all vanished, the diagrams and runes they had etched with their blood, their 'offerings', the incense and candles. There was nothing left but what the Room of Requirements had provided – some couches and the shelves filled with books.

"Did it work?" said Alphard hopefully, his chest heaving and breathing fast. "I think it did! I think I saw the handkerchief come towards me-"

"It did," muttered Harry, staring right back at him in slight bewilderment.

His head seemed to have cleared, not having the incense smoking around them certainly helped, and his eyesight was back to normal, yet he still felt his mind a tad slow and mushy, not to mention his rolling stomach.

Alphard blinked at him. "So I got Earth?"

"Think so," mumbled Harry distractedly, as he rubbed his chest. It was hurting, as though someone had kicked him hard there. He half expected to find a bruise, but his skin looked unblemished when he opened his collar and took a peek down.

"Oh," grumbled Alphard, looking a mite disappointed. "I was hoping for Air, myself. Some sort of bird would have been nice." He scowled. "If Earth means a flobberworm I'm not going through with it!"

The next second the boy was riffling through the pages of the nearest Animagus book, muttering under his breath, and looking fierce, as if challenging the book to dare inform him that his Animagus form was indeed some sort of crawling bug.

"Well, it isn't that bad," rattled off Alphard, gaining a modicum of good cheer as he perused some chapter with his grey eyes. "I could be a cat, or a hedgehog, or a badger, or a dog apparently…" He scrunched his nose. "Or a mouse – I don't particularly fancy that one, but-"

"But you did it," said Harry slowly, a smile forming on his lips as he began to gather back his wits. "You can be an Animagus, Al!"

Alphard looked up from the book and stared at him. "Yeah," he then whispered, as if just realizing this himself. Abruptly, he beamed widely and triumphantly punched the air with a fist. "Yes, I can! I passed the test!" He stilled, dropping his arm. "And you?"

"Um… I reckon I did too," mumbled Harry quietly, frowning as he rubbed his forehead. "It was strange, though."

"What did you get?" demanded Alphard excitedly, leaning forward towards him.

"The jar and coal," said Harry, looking down at his hands in remembrance. "Air and Fire."

"What?" Alphard gaped at him, before he snorted. "You can't have!" He shook his head in amusement. "You can only get one. Think hard to recall which one it was."

Harry glanced up at him, bewildered. "It was both. I tell you-"

"It couldn't have been!" interjected Alphard with a chortle, before he flicked his wand and cast several spells, conjuring glass and water. "Here, have a drink to clear your head. That awful incense must still be affecting you…"

Harry did take a sip from the proffered glass, thinking hard and raking his brain, but he was quite certain it had been both the jar and ember. The memories of what had happened during the ritual were a bit foggy, but not that much as to make him imagine things.

He said so to Alphard, who responded by frowning at him, looking half worried and half perplexed.

"If you're sure…" said Alphard, trailing off, giving him a very strange look.

"I am," snapped Harry defensively, scowling. "I'm not making things up! Why are you looking at me that way – what's the matter?"

"It's just that… I think I read something like that somewhere…" muttered Alphard under his breath, as he quickly rose to his feet and reached the shelf of books, taking one after the other, perusing and discarding tomes in his apparent hasty search for the right one.

"Here it is!" the boy announced suddenly a moment later, as he gripped an opened book in his hands, his grey eyes skimming through a chapter. "Er… well, it _is_ possible after all."

Alphard shot a peek at Harry, glanced back at the pages of the tome, and peered at him again, a look of surprise, wonder, and awe on his face.

"Well, I knew you were powerful," said Alphard, now in a cheery and playful tone, chuckling happily and waggling his eyebrows at Harry. "But not this much. I suppose it's the Slytherin blood in you."

"What are you blabbering on about?" bit out Harry as he jumped to his feet and approached the boy and book.

"See?" said Alphard as he pointed a finger at a paragraph as Harry hovered by his side, leaning down. "It says here that two elements choosing a wizard in the Egyptian Ritual is very rare. Has only happened a few times in recorded wizarding history. The first, to some Dark Lady of Medieval Times who could turn into a Thestral, then to a wizard who-"

"Had a Demiguise as his Animagus form," Harry said, taking over as he read out loud the sentence Alphard had indicated.

"Exactly," piped Alphard, a wide, excited grin on his face. "Two or more elements are associated with magical creatures! Regular animals just have one." He stared at Harry with his big, grey eyes, still looking a bit stunned, before he whopped gleefully and rambled off, "This is fantastic! You can turn into a magical creature! I hope it's a dragon, that would be so neat, you could let me fly on you and we could-"

"It says only very powerful witches or wizards could have a magical creature as their Animagus form," interrupted Harry who had kept reading in silence.

"Of course, it has only happened eight times in wizarding history, hasn't it?" interjected Alphard with a laugh. His face lit with glowing pride and satisfaction, as he yabbered on, "It's brilliant, Harry. It means you must have very powerful magic in you and-" he looked pensive for a moment, before his face split into an even greater, very toothy grin "-and I don't think even the Dark Lord himself can do this. I've never heard he could transform into a magical creature, not even that he's an Animagus. And believe me, if he could do it, he would have announced it far and wide!" He jabbed a finger into the book, chortling exultantly. "The ability to do something like this is the mark of someone with Lord-like levels of magical power!"

"So it says," muttered Harry slowly, a dubious expression on his face. "That's why I think something went wrong during the ritual. The jar and ember didn't immediately fly to me like the handkerchief did to you…"

However, no matter how many times Harry tried to explain, Alphard waved off his concerns, stubbornly and resolutely certain that Harry was imagining things and that everything had gone without a hitch, and that it all meant that Harry had some serious power stacked up in him.

Harry soon gave up in trying to convince his friend.

"It's going to be hard to find out what you are, though," mused Alphard by the time they had to leave to reach their first class of the afternoon. "The books don't have tables with lists of magical creatures associated with each element as they do for regular animals. We'll have to wait for the Mayan ritual to start gaining clues about your form." He patted Harry on the back comfortingly, beaming. "Don't worry – we'll do that one soon. From what I've read, it'll be quite a trip! And the apothecary in Knockturn Alley promised they would be sending me the magical mushroom in two weeks!"

Harry shot him a wary look.

After the weird things that had happened during the Egyptian Ritual he wasn't that certain that he wanted to experiment with Mexican magical mushrooms, of all things. He felt dismayed just imagining what could go wrong in that case.

Alphard seemingly took his expression for one of enthusiasm, and giddily nattered on about the 'awesome' hallucinatory experiences when under the influence of the fungi that he had read about, as they made their way to Herbology.

* * *

A few days later, the first thing Harry caught sight of as he ambled in, was Tom standing in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, right before Salazar Slytherin's carved face, looking very pleased with himself.

That in itself, according to Harry, was cause for concern. His brother, as of late, had been very prickly and irascible, a clear indication that something was not going his way, which Harry always took as good news. Now, his brother seemed positively gleeful.

Harry sighed as he reached him, asking with wary curiosity, "What are you up to?"

"Good, you're here - Behold!" said Tom, shooting him a superior smirk as he then extended his arms and hissed grandiosely, "_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"_

Harry quirked an eyebrow when the stonewall in the carved mouth rippled open. When nothing else happened, he blinked, and shot his smug brother a glance.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes. "I manage to do that with a simple 'open' and no need of pompous phrases-"

"Ah, but I've enchanted it," interjected Tom, looking supremely self-satisfied. "From now onwards, it can only be opened with my phrase."

"Wonderful," said Harry sarcastically, before he cast him an incredulous look. "Is this what you've been doing all these months?"

Though before Tom could reply, his attention was snagged when the Basilisk slithered out of the carved mouth, the poor thing looking as though it wasn't the first time it was going through the motions.

Zar looked outright exhausted and rumpled.

Harry gaped and shot Tom a look of appalled disbelief. "How many times have you made Zar do this!"

Tom waved him away, smirking widely as he approached the creature, silkily praising its swift obeisance as he petted and scratched the Basilisk's soft scales under the jaw.

Was that how his brother had been spending all his time cloistered down there? Coining pretentious phrases and giving them a try until he found the one he liked best, to be used in replacement of a simple, straightforward 'open'? Just because Tom wanted to utter something properly dignified, ceremonious, and puffed up? And making poor Zar look winded and dizzy with exhaustion, to boot?

Harry sighed in resignation, because he knew Tom was indeed self-importantly and ridiculously vain like that.

He was a shameless, megalomaniac narcissist to the bone, his brother was, and didn't even try to hide it, like any normal person would do.

Harry vaguely wondered how he put up with it, at that. And what was worse, how he could actually like his brother in spite of it, _liking_ him in a way that… well-

He grunted, shoved away the horrible thoughts that kept sidling into his mind at the most unexpected of moments, and scowled darkly at his brother's back, vastly irritated.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry bit out snarkily, "Oi, you asked me to come here. Said you had something important to show me." He scowled. "I hope it wasn't just for me to witness this!"

Tom glanced at him over his shoulder, as he halted his pampering of the Basilisk, and said coolly, "It was not. I…" He hesitated for a moment, as though the next words cost him some effort to spit out, a grimace on his face. "I would like to have your opinion on some matters."

Harry instantly narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What matters?"

Looking much more like his usual arrogant self, Tom smirked at him.

"You'll see," he intoned silkily as he grabbed his discarded schoolbag from the floor, pulling out from it several parchments.

As Tom riffled through them, apparently choosing which to show him first, Harry began to feel ominously wary.

Except when they met to keep learning and practicing the Dark Arts in the Room of Requirements, they barely spent any time together nowadays. Harry was incredibly busy with Alphard and their progress with the Animagus Transformation, unbeknownst to Tom, and with the constant Quidditch training sessions under the maniacal directorship of Dorea Black, who, as the date of the match with Ravenclaw approached, had increasingly turned into an outright demented despot.

Not to mention that he was still working on deciphering the ancient runes of Von Krauss Castle's wards to find a way to imitate their power to disable their Trace Charms, and he was keeping up with his studies of Healing.

All in all, Harry barely had time to breathe. And all the while, Tom had been secluding himself in the Chamber of Secrets during every bit of spare time he had, doing who knew what – for he had refused to tell Harry, thus far.

"Did you finish translating the journals?" prodded Harry with a bit of impatience as his brother continued organizing his papers.

Tom shot him a fleeting look, as he said crisply, "We'll talk about that afterwards."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that, having caught the displeased and aggravated tone in his brother's voice.

Shuffling his parchments, Tom remarked in a vague, seemingly distracted tone of voice, without looking at him, "By the way, little brother, you will have to deal with the mudblood. Or I will deal with her for you."

Harry tensed at once, piercing his brother with his eyes, who was still pretending to be engrossed with his papers. "Myrtle posses no threat to us."

"The mudblood," said Tom in a soft, low tone -never a good sign- as his dark blue gaze flickered up to Harry's face, "has begun using the lavatory once more."

"Then you should use the passage behind the mirror to get here," pointed out Harry shortly, intently watching every twitch in his brother's face, "like I do when I hear Myrtle wailing inside the loo."

"That way is much lengthier," intoned Tom, his eyes slightly narrowed. "And much more difficult to use without being seen."

"But it can be done," snapped Harry acerbically. "I do it all the time."

"I do not see why I should do so as well," hissed out Tom, any pretense of calmness vanishing as he gave him a very nasty sneer. "It's not for me to go out of my way just to spare a mudblood's-"

"You leave Myrtle alone!" barked Harry furiously, a frisson of alarm running down his spine.

Tom arched an eyebrow at him, a semblance of a thin, ugly smile curling his lips. "My, you feel deeply about it. Why so worried?" His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I know there's much you haven't told me regarding the girl. And now I see that she must have done something, as it is making you react thus."

"I haven't the foggiest what you're yapping about," groused Harry, shooting him a dirty look. "I just meant that she's harmless."

"Doubtful," said Tom silkily. "Yet we'll broach the issue later." Without another pause, he finally held up a parchment as he approached Harry, raising it to his eyes. "What do you think?"

At first, Harry couldn't fathom what his brother was referring to. In the piece of parchment he could distinguish nothing but a long list of names that had been crossed over –very weird names, discarded, apparently, in the midst of an array of single letters scribbled all around, as though Tom had been playing with them to form words.

"What's this?" mumbled Harry bemused.

Tom shot him a scathing look before he used the tip of his wand to tap the very end of the parchment.

Harry's green eyes darted down, blinking when he simply found 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' carefully written in his brother's slanted, thin cursive quillmanship.

"Er…"

"You simpleton, must I spell it out for you!" jeered Tom with angered impatience, as he flicked his wand in the air. "They are all anagrams employing my name, you dimwit."

Glittering scarlet words began appearing in mid air as Tom kept swishing his wand, until they spelled 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'.

As Harry watched in bafflement, Tom finally waved his hand and the glowing letters began jumping and rearranging themselves, until one sole phrase remained.

"I am Lord Voldemort," Harry read aloud slowly, gazing at the glittering words hanging in the air. Blinking repeatedly and scratching his suddenly tingling scar, he shot his brother an utterly confused look. "Er – what?"

"That will be my new name!" bit out Tom, visibly seething with fury and exasperation at Harry's slow-wittedness.

"New name?" croaked Harry, swallowing thickly as he felt as though the ground had been yanked from under his feet, because he realized instantly what it all meant, because he was suddenly feeling deeply frantic and panicked, because it was as though he had been hit by a rolling boulder – no, by the relentless, unstoppable force that Tom seemed to be, having progressed in his plots so far, and Harry hadn't even imagined…

He wanted to yell at his brother that he was still in _school_! That it was madness! No doubt, he would have screamed it with a touch of hysteria in his voice if he could have managed it, but he couldn't.

He stood rooted in place, with a pale face, silent, as it got worse and worse, as Tom now began showing him the other parchments, with increasing gleeful smugness.

It all seemed to flash before Harry's eyes: first, a drawing in black ink, heavily detailed and perfect –making him fleetingly realize that Tom's sketching abilities were certainly far superior to his own- for he had no trouble recognizing it as a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth instead of a tongue.

Dazedly, Harry's gaze automatically flickered to the carved stone face of Salazar Slytherin that seemed to be watching them from its lofty spot in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Indeed, that is where I got the idea from," Tom's voice was now saying in superior tones, sounding as if coming from far away. "It will symbolize my Parselmouth ability and Slytherin ancestry, obviously. I'm thinking of simply calling it the Dark Mark. I have already chosen the dark spell I will use to brand my followers with it. I need only tweak it to adapt it to my symbol and to the traits I wish the brand to posses…"

Many other things came after that declaration, some parchment with the title of 'The Knights of Walpurgis' with a long list of political views and discussion themes.

"Surely you realize what inspired this?" Tom was chuckling sharply under his breath. "The first gathering of the Slub Club – I knew the potential then. Only, I will be much better at it than Slughorn, will I not? And I will use it for entirely different purposes. After all, it's no social club I'll be forming but one to shape and mold opinions, and soon, I will have my selected students parroting my every belief and kissing the ground I walk…"

"What do you think of the initial name of my especial 'club'? Fitting is it not? I trust you remember Walpurgis Night's importance for dark purebloods. I heard Malfoy babbling to you about it during the summer in Von Krauss Castle. I hope the knowledge sunk in, little brother, for I'm not about to give you a history lesson of muggle massacres during the Middle Ages…"

And more and more came, but Harry was completely oblivious as Tom kept showing him more parchments with who-knew-what ideas.

He was still stunned with utterly horrified stupefaction, and a crushing sense of devastating defeat, so overwhelmed that he felt catatonic with helplessness.

After the things he had witnessed during the first meeting of the Slug Club, he had thought things were moving too fast. Now, he knew it had all spun way out of control, so far from his hands, that finally, it speared through.

He would never be able to catch up with Tom. He would never be able to keep up and be two steps ahead of him to attempt to derail Tom's path of becoming a Dark Lord, and much less thwart it.

So far, during the year he had had to do so, his attempts had been feeble at best and had failed spectacularly.

He had only attempted to persuade his brother that becoming the Minister of Magic was a much worthier and sensible choice. Tom, of course, had snidely laughed at him.

Short of Harry being able to offer Tom the spot as 'Master of the Universe', there was nothing else that could tempt his brother away from wanting to become a Dark Lord.

But he had thought he would have time to try other things. He would have never imagined that Tom was rushing through all his plots so speedily, already planning to put all these things into motion the first chance he got – while still being a schoolboy! Gathering future followers, wanting to 'brand' them, coming up with names and agendas and the sort…

Harry suddenly felt as though he was suffocating, when the traitorous voice of his own mind seemed to whisper that it would be much easier and simple to just yield to the inevitable.

To actually do what he had promised Tom: to help him. Instead of trying to figure out ways to eternally outsmart and thwart him. And he had never been good at that, had he? Oh, he had outmaneuvered his brother occasionally, but never with issues of such seriousness and importance as that of Tom's life ambitions.

As Tom kept grandiosely ranting about his plans, Harry still paying no attention, he felt as if a ray of bright sunlight was spearing through a mass of dark, stormy clouds. It was the solution, wasn't it? To help.

And what was to say that Tom couldn't actually be a worthy Dark Lord? A good one, not a deranged, murdering madman. Not someone causing devastating wars like Grindelwald was doing. But a true leader, a force of positive change in the world.

It would be hard, with Tom's prejudices against muggles and muggleborns. Harry wasn't stupid to actually think he could change those, but he could change the way Tom went about it. His brother was, after all, cunning and practical. And could surely understand that a voice of reason and moderation would appeal to more people than a voice of radical hatred and violence.

And if Tom couldn't see that, Harry would help him to. Why, he could even research in the library about former Dark Lords and most successful politicians and surely there would be some that would serve as good examples. Tom actually listened when presented with good arguments.

All throughout the year, he had felt burdened with the self-appointed responsibility of dealing with Tom's mad ambition. It had even made him despise and bitterly resent his own brother at times. It had made him feel miserable.

He didn't want to be forever shackled to Tom, forever wary and on guard, watchful that his brother didn't take it all too far.

If he helped him now, as Tom had wanted from the start, he would be satisfying his brother early on, and later, Tom wouldn't have grounds to ask more of him. Later, when he graduated from Hogwarts, he could pursue the life he wished for himself.

Like a ray of hope, he could even envision it as though it was a dreamy reality forming before his eyes. He would find a nice girl, and have loads of children – he had always wanted to be part of a big family- and he would have a quiet life, and a fun job.

Harry's green eyes sparkled, a slow grin forming on his face. After his first Quidditch match he had even began playing with the idea that he could be a professional Quidditch player someday.

He had enjoyed every aspect of it: executing all those sly and complicated tactics with Dorea and Alphard, the liberating sensation of recklessly flying at top speed with all his worries vanishing from his mind, the loud cheers from the crowd, enjoying the fact that he was entertaining them, making them happy, making them enjoy the game as much as he did, and then his housemates hoisting him on their shoulders, appreciating him for something he was good at, something he deserved, instead than for having Slytherin blood which was due to no feat of his.

The fawning attention and popularity he could do without, but he reckoned it was part of the package, especially if he wanted to become a professional player. And perhaps by then it wouldn't be that bad. Perhaps, Alphard would want to become a Quidditch player as well, and they could both try to be recruited by Alphard's favorite team, the Puddlemere United. And he would have a fun job that would feel like no chore at all, whilst having his best mate with him in his chosen career, forever doing what they enjoyed the most, together.

"Are you listening!"

Tom's sudden whiplashing voice, sounding vastly angered, abruptly yanked Harry from his fuzzy daydreams.

Harry blinked at him, a mite taken aback to find himself still standing in the middle of the gloomy Chamber of Secrets as he was confronted with a seething Tom, his handsome features dark with fury.

Harry stared at him, feeling his body relaxing and his determination strengthening with his final decision. It felt like breathing for the first time, so powerfully liberating. Moreover, he realized that the choice he had made would change much for him, and them.

"Alright," he then said sharply. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right. What's this rubbish about Lord Voldymort?"

For a moment, Tom gazed back at him in silence, whether from surprise due to Harry's sudden turnaround or something else, he didn't know.

Though his brother then apparently recovered quickly, arching a supercilious eyebrow at him, as he enunciated acidly, "It is Lord Vol-_de_-mort. It is formed by the anagram of my own name, and can be deconstructed into the French terms 'vol de la mort' which I feel is quite fitting as it means 'flight of death'." He sneered at him, as he added caustically, "Representing my quest to become immortal, which I will accomplish, rest assured-"

"It's stupid," Harry interrupted harshly and mercilessly before his brother could pompously expound on the matter. He shook his head despairingly. "If you go around calling yourself Voldymort you'll be the laughingstock of the nation-"

"Vol_de_mort!" hissed out Tom angrily, ripping the parchment from Harry's hands. His face contorted, as he spat in a very low, ominous, and menacing tone, "No one will laugh, little brother, I assure you. I will make certain it becomes an ineffable name that will instill terror in anyone who hears it. I will suffuse it with such fear and reverence that none will dare utter-"

"Off the top of my head, I can come up with a thousand nicknames for Voldymort that people will use to ridicule you and that you won't like," interjected Harry, guffawing. "Like Moldyshorts and-"

"It's VOLDEMORT!" roared Tom furiously, looking fit to be tied.

Harry shot him an unimpressed look, before he rolled his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, brother. I'm only saying that it's a poor choice, especially if it does mean 'flight of death'," he added pointedly, "because it just makes it sound as if you actually fear death-"

"I fear nothing!" snarled Tom savagely.

Harry generously chose not to dispute that issue, since they were both perfectly aware that Tom was terrified of dying and there was no point in rubbing salt in the wound.

"Not to mention," Harry plowed on, scoffing, "that if you want to become a British Dark Lord you cannot go around with a French name."

"Patriotism, from you?" sneered Tom in a very ugly tone of voice, making it clear that he was not enjoying the criticisms.

At that, Harry did feel mildly insulted for he did consider himself to have a healthy dose of proper English pride.

Though, he simply countered with a reasonable tone of voice, "It's you who is always telling me that good leaders vie for the national interests of their country, isn't it?" He scowled as he added sternly, "And a British Dark Lord should have a British name. That's what's right. So just use your own name, you idiot!"

Tom towered over him, his face contorting with livid fury as he spat, " 'Tom Riddle' is not a-"

"Not that!" interjected Harry with exasperation. "I already know why you don't like your name." He shot him a sour look. "Had to put up with your complains about how common and ordinary it is since we were in nappies, hadn't I?"

"Then which name?" demanded Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at him as if certain Harry was setting things to mock him with some silly answer.

"Your middle name, for starters. _You_ have one, so use it," said Harry with a trace of bitterness in his voice. The fact that their mum had died before being able to give him a middle name as well, had always saddened him, but also made him feel deprived and envious of his twin. He waved a hand. "Marvolo sounds unique and wizarding-like enough. And I've never heard of a muggle called that."

"You're suggesting 'Lord Marvolo'?" sneered Tom contemptuously. "It sounds imbecilic-"

"I'm suggesting Marvolo Slytherin!" snapped Harry impatiently. "Lord Slytherin, you fool! That surname is rightfully ours to use if we want to, so use it." He gave him a scathing look. "And you won't need to 'suffuse it with fear and reverence' - it already has that, in bunches, on its own!"

"Marvolo Slytherin," repeated Tom quietly as though rolling and tasting it in his mouth, a gleam growing in his dark blue eyes, one of slowly developing appreciation and pleased satisfaction. "Lord Slytherin…"

Harry thinly grinned at him. "Liking it already, are you?"

"Perhaps," said Tom succinctly, wiping his contented expression from his face, before he arched a demanding eyebrow at him. "And the mark?"

"Lemme see again," Harry muttered with a sigh, taking hold of the parchment with the drawing, and grimacing. "Well, it's not pretty, is it?"

"It's not meant to be 'pretty', but to inspire an awareness of-"

Harry ignored his brother's sneering, virulent rant, as he kept staring at the brand.

"I reckon it's fitting," he said at last, as he musingly trailed it with a fingertip. "It does represent all the things you said before and it looks scary enough." He cast his brother a wry look. "Which is what you were going for, I assume."

"Why, thank you, little brother." Tom shot him a wide smirk, suddenly looking much more calmer. "I am vastly proud of it myself."

"Now, about this club of yours you want to form," began Harry tentatively, swallowing his dislike and misgivings.

That discussion didn't go over too well. Tom became particularly incensed when Harry honestly expressed that the name 'Knights of Walpurgis' just made him think about the Knights of the Round Table.

"It has nothing to do with that inane muggle fairtytale!" Tom spat in livid tones.

Harry frowned at him. "It's no fairytale. We covered Merlin and Arthur's Era in History of Magic, first year. Don't you remember-"

Clearly ignoring this, Tom hissed out acidly, "No educated wizard would confuse the Knights of Walpurgis with King Arthur's pathetic lot. Only you would, you simpleton!"

Harry shrugged. "Fine, it's your club, not mine." He scowled as he glanced down at the parchment in his hands. "But about these list of conversation topics…"

What followed was a very unpleasant hour in which they disagreed about every single point, their tempers gradually flying till boiling point.

"I'm just saying," gritted out Harry through clenched teeth, "that we're in no rush! We've got four years left at Hogwarts, take it slow, brother!" He pointedly waved the parchment in front of Tom's nose. "If you begin by discussing these political views in your club, you will leave no one in any doubt that you're vying to become Grindelwald's replacement-"

"Which I do," countered Tom in a sharp, caustic tone.

"But there's no need to publicize that so soon!" bit out Harry hotly, glowering at him. "One thing is to support mainstream dark pureblood ideals, and another to support the more… er… radical ones," he tried to say as diplomatically as he could, not wanting to get into another quarrel regarding muggle and muggleborn rights. "You want to 'mold their opinions', right? So it would be much easier if you were trying to convince them of the more moderate views and not the ones about just killing them all! Especially if you want to have students of other Houses in your club."

Tom gazed at him in silence, hopefully he was mulling it over, and Harry grasped his opportunity as he added, "In fact, if I were you, I would not mention your opinions regarding muggles and muggleborns at all. Because if a professor gets wind of the things you're discussing-"

"Do you believe," interjected Tom in a vicious tone of voice, "that I will not take measures to ensure the secrecy of the Knights of Walpurgis and the topics discussed in my gatherings?"

"Do you think," retorted Harry in a deadpanned tone, "that even if you make them all take Vows of Secrecy or something of the sort, some of the professors wouldn't still find out?"

"None would," jeered Tom scornfully. "None have the capacity or ability to-"

"Dumbledore," intoned Harry simply, having the pleasure to watch as his brother snapped his mouth shut, bristled like a scalded cat, and glowered venomously at him, intense hatred for the wizard visible in Tom's expression.

"Right. Thought so," Harry said smugly, before his expression turned grave. "I'm not risking Dumbledore finding out and expelling us just because you want to move too fast. Curb your notions, and all will be fine. Go around spewing about killing muggles like a raving maniac, and you won't even get a chance of garnering a following."

"Very well," sneered Tom in a grudging and irked tone. "I will take your advice under consideration." His dark blue eyes gleamed as he suddenly shot him a deeply pleased, arrogant smirk, as he added magnanimously, "Not bad… Not a bad idea at all, little brother. My new name."

"I live to serve," said Harry sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

Tom's smirk widened and his eyes gleamed, at that, but Harry was quick to speak before his brother dared spout something unfortunate.

"I reckon I'll be expected to go to your little club's meetings?" he said resignedly.

"Of course," bit out Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes. "How would it look if my own brother wasn't in attendance?"

"Right," grumbled Harry under his breath, not looking forward to it. He blinked, as he suddenly recalled a very important issue. "Oi, you said something about the journals?"

For some reason, that wiped Tom's smirk off his face, leaving him looking darkly vexed and sour. "Very well, come along. I will show you."

As they made their way into the hidden study below the Chamber of Secrets, Harry mused that actually helping his brother had been much easier than he had expected.

Furthermore, it felt profoundly gratifying. He couldn't help feeling pleased with himself, and even with his brother.

It seemed that reaching an agreement was indeed possible with Tom when Harry showed himself to be sincerely willing to lend out a hand.

* * *

Seated on a spartan chair before the desk and shelves filled with the journals of Slytherin's descendants, Harry perused again the stack of parchments containing Tom's translated notes.

"What am I looking at?" he finally muttered, a deep, puzzled frown on his face.

"Those are detailed instructions for a ritual," replied Tom arrogantly. "I found that same ritual in each and every one of the journals. All the diaries are entirely focused on the subject."

"What?" Harry glanced up at him at that, blinking in surprise. "Ritual? A ritual for what, exactly?"

"That, little brother," intoned Tom superiorly, "is the crux of the matter. I have yet to know."

Harry shook his head. "You're not making any sense. Explain."

Tom shot him a darkly aggravated look, before he expounded in thickly lecturing tones, "Slytherin's son, Saturnus, was the first to write about this ritual. I believe he was the one to conceive the idea of it." His lips twisted, as he sneered, "However, it became quickly apparent to me that he did not posses much brilliancy of mind. In his journal, he merely laid out the first basic notions. Yet, each and every one of his descendants picked up from where the previous generation left off, each adding more to the ritual in a clear attempt to complete it. Some successfully perfecting a stage, others not contributing much – obviously in accordance to their own knowledge, skills, and capacity."

Pausing for a moment, a grimace of dissatisfaction contorting his lips, Tom added in a grudging, low voice, "I must admit that not many of our ancestors were bright. I've counted only five who truly made remarkable progress with the design of the ritual. Those -" he smirked widely at Harry "-were indeed astoundingly brilliant, like myself." He then tapped a finger on his notes. "Nevertheless, the ritual is still incomplete. From what I could understand of it, Sherisse Slytherin's father was the last to add to it. Alas, I'm fairly certain it lacks the ultimate, last stage for it to be viable or successful."

"Alright," said Harry slowly, an utterly bemused expression growing on his face, "but what does it do?"

"I've told you," hissed out Tom angrily, poisonously glaring at him. "I've been unable to fully discover that."

Given Tom's now murderous expression, it was clear to Harry that his brother's failure in doing so had been vexing and frustrating him for quite some time.

"Um… but you must know something about it," pressed on Harry, infusing as much tact in his tone as he could muster.

"Of course I know plenty!" spat Tom irascibly, glowering intently down at him. "It is a very Dark ritual – one of the darkest I've read about. It calls for the sacrifice of lives. The killing of thirteen people." He shot Harry a very nasty smirk. "Of mudbloods, in fact."

Harry cast a wary grimace at the notes about the ritual, before he frowned at his brother, eyeing him suspiciously as he said tartly, "Are muggleborn victims a necessary requirement or a preference?"

"Both, I should think," retorted Tom, his smirk widening in malicious relish, evidently enjoying the very idea of it and Harry's appalled reaction.

"What else?" demanded Harry, frowning as he skewered him with his gaze.

"The ritual can only be successful after the thirteen lives of mudbloods are taken, killed by the one wishing to be affected by the magic of the ritual," said Tom loftily, waving a hand dismissively. "However, the last stage of the ritual necessary for it to conclude requires imbibing a potion. It is the brewing instructions of this potion which are incomplete."

"Who's the intended subject of the ritual?" asked Harry, now with deep curiosity no matter how it all sounded quite gruesome.

"How should I know?" bit out Tom with vast annoyance, as he briskly waved a hand in the direction of the shelves of journals. "Not one of them mentions who it was intended for. They all seem to know, as though it was implicit. But it is never mentioned - not once."

"But what's the ritual's purpose?" insisted Harry impatiently. "You must have some idea – some suspicion!"

"At first," murmured Tom quietly, as though speaking to himself, a gleam of remembered giddy excitement flashing in his eyes, "I thought it was a ritual to exponentially increase one's magical power, absorbing into oneself that of the mudbloods killed, strengthened by the number of victims – precisely thirteen, one of the most powerful numbers in magic..."

He trailed off, his lips twisting with immense displeasure as his voice turned back to normal. "Alas, later I realized I was mistaken." He shot Harry a fleeting look. "It does give its subject magical power temporarily, to enable the person to use that magic the instant after the potion is imbibed, I believe. Yet the ultimate objective of the ritual is not very useful or inspiring."

"Which is?" gritted out Harry in sheer frustration.

Tom shot him a quelling glare. "I've told you before, I can only make suppositions-"

"Then make them!" snapped Harry peevishly.

It was like trying to pull the words out of Tom's tongue with prongs! Although he could partly understand his brother's reluctance to share his theories, since Harry hadn't told him about the magic binding the Basilisk precisely because he still couldn't figure it out and couldn't tell him anything conclusive.

Tom darkly glowered at him before replying with unceremonious, dismissive succinctness, "I believe its purpose is to empower a wizard to enable him to lift off a dark curse that is affecting him."

At that, Harry stared up at him. And kept staring stupidly as his brother's words sunk into his skull, leaving him utterly dumbstruck.

"Yes," jeered Tom with disgust, clearly misinterpreting Harry's stupefied, frozen look. "It is essentially a type of healing ritual. Thus you can see how it hasn't pleased me to discover that I've been wasting all these months translating and piecing together such a useless, inane ritual. My only hope is that perhaps it can be modified to truly magnify one's power-"

Harry was on his feet and madly dashing out of the study before his brother had even time to shout his name.

Suddenly, it was as though an avalanche of startling, stunning realizations impacted in his head like shooting meteors.

Half hysteric with incredulity, half with sheer numbed astonishment, he let out a hallow laugh as he sprung up the spiraling staircase, as he hissed "Open!" to the base of the metal snake statue, as it shifted to a side and allowed him to jump up into the Chamber of Secrets.

It was as if he had only needed one more unsuspected piece of the puzzle for all the other innumerable, floating pieces to fall from foggy clouds and land back to earth, clicking together one after the other, forming a puzzle which became increasingly complex and larger, yet more clarifying with every new piece that Harry had had swirling around in his mind for ages.

Nagini's scorched clearing in the Forbidden Forest… what Helena Ravenclaw had witnessed happening there… Sherisse Slytherin's last moments of life… the one who had tried to aid her… the peculiar choice of words Santi had employed when telling him about it… the real reason why Santi had wanted him to know… the way Harry had been aided when he had been stuck in the portraits of Hogwarts… what had truly happened over a millennia ago… the Slytherin descendants' tradition of writing diaries… the Basilisk's response to Harry's first question… the Basilisk's foggy memories, lack of crest, the old scars on its body, and its mission… the how and why of Godric Gryffindor's magic binding the creature…

All of it finally made sense, bizarrely and outrageously, such an overwhelming and flabbergasting discovery – possibly the greatest in Wizard History in the opinion of most- and he, Harry, had been the one to find out, to unravel an enigma and mystery that felt as ancient and perplexing as Time itself.

And at the vortex of it all, the true catalyst, as Harry knew well: Santi. The very being he hadn't seen in ages and yet seemed to be deeply ingrained in every event that affected his life.

As Harry halted before the slumbering Basilisk, coiled under the carved face of Slytherin where Tom had left it, he stared at the creature.

He heard thundering footfalls reaching him, he heard Tom's angered voice snipping, he felt his brother stop by his side, harshly demanding an explanation for his behavior, and Harry automatically pointed a finger at the creature.

He didn't even ponder if it was wise to reveal it to Tom, didn't have the presence of mind to even consider and make such a simple decision.

He just needed to say it aloud, to hear it and finally be able to believe it himself.

"That," whispered Harry breathlessly, still frozenly pointing with a finger, "is no Basilisk. That, is Salazar Slytherin."


	61. Part I: Chapter 60

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for the reviews!

Got nothing to clarify this time, so on with the story – I hope you enjoy ^.^

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 60**

* * *

"I beg your pardon?" sneered Tom, shooting him such a scathing look that Harry was certain his brother thought he had taken leave of his senses or was trying to pull one over him.

"He's an Animagus, brother," whispered Harry as he dropped his hand to his side, feeling his heart thumping hard in his chest, making him breathe deeply with the lingering sense of awe and stunned stupefaction. "He has always been an Animagus… it explains everything…"

"What are you raving on about?" spat Tom ill-temperedly, darkly glowering at him. "You're making no sense-"

"They dueled," muttered Harry under his breath, trying to shape all his interconnected theories and suspicions into one cohesive and comprehensive unit, everything swirling around in his mind so fast that he had difficulty catching up with himself. "Gryffindor and Slytherin dueled in Nagini's home and-"

"Nagini's – _home_?" jeered Tom disparagingly, now looking at him with such mocking contempt that Harry automatically bristled.

Glaring, Harry snapped reproachfully, "Yes, Nagini's home, you dunce! If you had bothered, even once, to pay her a visit you would know what I'm speaking about. You would have seen it for yourself!"

He briskly carded a hand through his disarrayed locks of hair, as he added sharply, "All the snakes in the Forbidden Forest make it their home – it's a vast clearing, completely scorched, where nothing grows, but-" he intently pierced his brother with his gaze "-but the earth is warm, almost hot, even in winter. It's due to residual magic – that of Gryffindor and Slytherin's duel, and-"

"Slytherin and Gryffindor never dueled, you simpleton," hissed out Tom impatiently, his expression extremely aggravated.

"Oh yes they did!" roared Harry in exasperation.

Tom stared down his nose at him, looking unbearably arrogant as he intoned flatly, "Wizarding historians have recorded, as everyone with half a brain knows, that Salazar left the school after a quarrel-"

"Historians know nothing, do they? They can be wrong, can't they?" bit out Harry crossly, as he brusquely waved a hand in the direction of the slumbering Basilisk. "There's the proof!"

"The proof of _what_, precisely?" sneered Tom coldly.

"That Salazar never left!" said Harry through gnashing teeth. "Everyone thinks that he abandoned his wife and son, and simply packed up and left Hogwarts, but he didn't, did he?" He scowled at his brother. "Why would he? If he supposedly valued pure blood and family lines so much, he must have at least cared for his own son – so it doesn't make sense that he would have abandoned him in the first place, does it?"

"You're spouting utter nonsense-"

"They dueled!" insisted Harry vehemently, as he swiveled around to stare at the Basilisk once more, his green eyes narrowed to slits, consideringly, the cogs of his brain whirring madly, as he continued in a low, slow voice, "And at some point, Salazar decided to change into his Animagus form – probably thought it would give him an advantage –what, with the lethal gaze of a Basilisk and all…"

He trailed off, biting his lower lip in pensiveness. "Because he had a magical creature as his form…"

It struck him just as he said it, his eyes going wide and hazy. Hadn't Alphard and the guide book stated that only very powerful wizards could have such Animagus forms? Hadn't his friend even said that the results of Harry's Egyptian test had to be because he had Slytherin blood?

Harry let out a sharp, hollow chuckle. Alphard hadn't known just how right he was. As difficult as it was to wrap his mind around, it was clear to him now from whom he had inherited his ability to have a magical creature as his Animagus form – and the alleged great stores of magical power he must have for that to be even possible!

"What are you cackling about?" spat Tom's voice virulently.

Harry snapped his head up to fulminate him with a scowl. "I'm not _cackling_." He shook his head in annoyance, before he heaved a breath and rambled quickly, his tone vying for understanding, "During the duel, I'm certain Slytherin transformed so that he could kill Gryffindor swiftly with his eyes –it makes sense, but-" he frowned "- Gryffindor must have been prepared for that, he must have known what their quarrels would lead to in the end, and he must have created the charm in advance-"

"What charm!" snarled Tom irately, his face contorted with ill concealed anger and impatience.

Harry shot him a brief glance, as he said quietly, "The ritual is not to lift off a curse – it's for a charm."

Before his brother could snipe another word, he leaped and took several hurried strides, reaching the end of the Chamber of Secrets where he had left his schoolbag previously. Snatching parchment and inked quill, he scribbled frantically on his way back to his brother's side.

Once done, he held the parchment up to Tom's nose, tapping each symbol with his quill. "These Ancient Runes form the magic that is binding the 'Basilisk'. They have made him forget about who he was, they trap him in his Animagus form, forcing him to remain in that state, permanently." He bore his gaze into his brother's, as he added poignantly, "Red and golden magic – Gryffindor's magic. Shackle-like. It has always been binding him."

Tom's dark blue eyes intently roved over the symbols before darting back to Harry's face, narrowing to seething slits, as he hissed out in a deadly tone, "Do you mean to tell me that you've been seeing magic surrounding the creature all this time, and you forgot to mention it to me?"

"I didn't tell you," said Harry defensively, brusquely waving the parchment in front of Tom's face, "for the same reason you took your own sweet time in telling me about the ritual – I still hadn't figured it out, until now!"

"That is no excuse," snarled Tom like a wild beast, his face twisting with rage. "You should have-"

"_Listen_ to me!" exhorted Harry adamantly, throwing the piece of parchment to the floor, as he gestured with his hands, his chest heaving hard, "Gryffindor must have managed to cast the charm on Slytherin before Slytherin could use the Basilisk eyes on him– and Slytherin fled!"

He shook his head violently, his green eyes then widening as he blabbered without pausing for breath, "To the caves of Hogsmeade, of course! They're only a few feet away from Nagini's clearing - from where they dueled. Once he became the Basilisk and had the charm on him, he went to the cave that has the boulder concealing the secret passageway into Hogwarts!"

He merely paused to gaze at the sleeping Basilisk with wonder. "He must have been driven by instincts – going to the place that felt safest to him, that he could sense… he must have been greatly injured by then too, because he doesn't have a crest and his body is littered with old scars. So he came here, because as a Basilisk he can't open the mirror to enter the school's corridors – we already checked he needs us for that…"

Harry abruptly turned towards his brother, as he demanded sharply, "How old do you think Saturnus was by time his father supposedly left Hogwarts?"

Tom looked slightly taken aback, for moment, before he narrowed his eyes and replied shortly, "In his teens, by my calculations."

His brother opened his mouth again a second later, a sneer twisting his lips, but Harry hastened to speak triumphantly, "If Saturnus was a teen, then he would have realized what had happened!"

He began pacing the stretch of floor before him, lost in his spiraling thoughts. "He saw the Basilisk, and of course that he recognized that it was his father in his Animagus form – and he was the one who 'conceived' the notion of the ritual to help his father out. He must have spent the rest of his life trying to find a way-" he shot his brother a fleeting look "-but, as you said, he wasn't very bright."

Harry's green eyes widened with the realizations galloping forth in his head, as he continued breathlessly, "So Saturnus began the tradition of writing the journals, and passed along the duty of completing the ritual, from generation to generation, each adding what they could…And the Legend!"

He gasped, swirling around to stare at Tom, who was deeply frowning at him. "The number of victims is perhaps a requirement, but the type of victims maybe isn't. The Slytherins would've preferred that 'Zar' killed muggleborns instead of purebloods, wouldn't they? Given their views about blood purity and all. And they must have tried to make Zar understand that he needed to kill muggleborns, so that they could carry out the ritual to free him. And they must have even tried to make him remember that he was, actually, Salazar Slytherin, but all that Zar has been able to retain is the killing bit. Thinking he had been left behind to carry out a cleansing of the school…"

Harry trailed off, before his eyes blazed victoriously. "And maybe the Slytherin descendants fabricated the Legend themselves, and spread it about! It would mask their true intentions perfectly. It wouldn't allow anyone to know the truth about Salazar – they would have seen it as a dishonor, a humiliation on their ancestor, wouldn't they? And to cover their tracks, and backs, they spread that codswallop about Slytherin leaving a monster behind, because it just fits the bill in case muggleborns suddenly turned up dead. And it's not as if anyone else could find the Chamber to slay the murdering 'monster', so Zar was safe-"

"You have been spouting," interjected Tom with an unimpressed, caustic jeer, "nothing but pathetically feeble, outlandish speculations-"

"And remember the first question I asked Zar?" continued rambling on Harry excitedly, ignoring his brother's ill graced interruption. "I asked him what name Salazar Slytherin had given him. And he answered 'Salazar'!"

His green eyes sparkled, as he shook his head ruefully. "He sounded so confused that we thought he was merely parroting back the name he had heard me hissing. But he was answering honestly, from the little he could remember, because his descendants must have called him 'Salazar' thousands of times, trying to make him recall his life as a wizard, but Gryffindor's charm prevented him from regaining his memories in full."

Harry abruptly whooped, as he added enthusiastically, "And remember? Remember when I asked him again? He replied 'Zar'! Maybe he was trying to say 'Salazar' again or maybe that had been his nickname as a wizard! Do you see, everything fits!"

Tom suddenly loomed over him, a stark, dark look on his handsome face, as he spat poisonously, "If you intend to make me believe that Salazar Slytherin, the greatest and most powerful wizard of all times, was outmaneuvered by _Gryffindor_, of all people-"

"He was," stated Harry harshly, before he cast his brother a long, considering look.

Nevertheless, he instantly made up his mind as he had been unable to do so before.

Now, more than ever, he had the ultimate proof that Santi had been right about everything. Now, more than ever, he would heed his warnings and advice: all the things Santi had insisted that his brother shouldn't know about, for Tom's own sake.

Which meant that Tom was going to get a lot of half-truths, enough to make him see sense.

"But we don't know how powerful Slytherin was, do we?" continued Harry flatly. "They might have been evenly matched, and Gryffindor might have managed to outwit him once – and that's all it took." He heaved a deep breath, waving a hand dismissively. "Not that Gryffindor got off easy. He died months later, from wounds sustained during the duel." He grimaced, as he added in a murmur, "Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw tried their best to heal him, and failed." He shot his brother a grim, wry look. "So in the end, Slytherin won, even if he doesn't know it, didn't he?"

Tom was staring at him with a superciliously arched eyebrow, as he then drawled acidly, "Very entertaining, this little made-up fantasy tale of yours-"

"I'm not making it up!" barked Harry in immense frustration, mastering the impulse to just punch the blockheaded idiot.

"Of course you are not," drawled Tom in mock placidness, his words dripping with derisive sarcasm. "Because you just simply know more than all the wizarding historians in the world, who have dedicated their lives to gather records and proof of the events unfolding during the Founders' Era-"

"Historians can't get into the portraits of Hogwarts," snapped Harry hotly, glowering, "can they?"

After all, he had had to tell his brother long before about that strange, inexplicable ability of his, the one that had led him to overhear a meeting of dark wizards in Alphard's townhouse of Grimmauld Place, all talking about the impending conquest of Czechoslovakia, about Julian Erlichmann and so many other things. The one that had ended with Harry fleeing from the portrait of Alphard's ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black. Though, certainly, he had never breathed a word to Tom about having met Fawkes, Santi, and the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw just after that.

And the last time he had been in Diagon Alley, he had bought a full ensemble of lacy, puffed, wizarding clothes of the fifteenth century with the idea of journeying into Hogwarts' portraits again, passing himself off as a portrait too, to garner information.

In the end, it hadn't been necessary. He had learned about the identity of the witness of Sherisse Slytherin's last moments of life by other means. Yet, he had kept the ludicrous clothes, just in case he ever needed them.

Tom stilled, narrowing his eyes at him. "Meaning?"

"I went back," said Harry with cool dismissal. "Back to the portraits, and I overheard some things and I kept returning and, one day, the drunk monks were gossiping about what had happened back then - they get quite chatty when tipsy, about the good ol' days, you know how it is-"

"The monks. were. gossiping," enunciated Tom jeeringly. "And how, pray tell, would they have seen the alleged 'duel' when they hang over the moving stairs-"

"I don't know!" bit out Harry exasperatedly. "Some portrait in one of the towers, with a _view_, must have seen it and then the word spread around amongst them – or something of the sort! What does it matter?"

"It matters," sneered Tom with utmost contempt, "because your story is so ridiculously farfetched and moronic that not even an eleven-year-old Hufflepuff would be dimwitted enough to swallow it-"

"Fine!" barked Harry in a towering bad temper, shooting him a very dirty look , after what he considered to have been a very neat and clear presentation of unfurling past events, just for it all to have been thrown back to his face. "Don't take my word for it then – I'll bloody well show you, you prat!"

Without another hitch of breath, he violently swished his wand in the direction of his rucksack, as he bit out, "Accio book!"

One large, thick tome he usually carried around came zooming into his hands, making Tom raise his eyebrows when catching sight of the title, but Harry ignored him as he quickly flipped the pages, searchingly.

"Aha!" he exclaimed smugly the next instant as he found the spell. "Here it is… bit obscure, but it should do the trick, I reckon-"

"What," demanded Tom harshly, now suspiciously narrowing his dark blue eyes at him, "are you doing with a book about the Animagus Transformation?"

"Alphard told me about it," smoothly lied Harry absentmindedly as he reread the instructions for the spell, "and I got curious. The ability has popped up in many of his ancestors and by what he told me, it sounded fun to read about-"

"Fun?" sneered Tom scathingly.

Harry glanced up at him, and said deadpanned, "Yes. Fun."

And went back to the book, not about to ever tell his brother the truth. Alphard would kill him if he did. They both wanted it to remain their sole, exclusive adventure. Harry certainly didn't want his brother butting in.

"Right," he said at last, thrusting the book into Tom's chest as he aimed his wand at the dozing Basilisk. He cleared his throat, swirling the tip of his wand in the air, and enunciated with utmost precision, "Homorphus revelio!"

In a blinding flash, the unwitting Basilisk glowed in a vibrant purple light, before it vanished a split second later.

Harry blinked the swimming black dots from his eyesight, and then caught on with what had happened, feeling a mite blown over by that last, irrefutable proof of his claims.

Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and instantly reached his brother and book, jabbing the tip of his wand on a sentence. "See? Purple means the animal is an Animagus wizard."

And he shot his brother the most supremely smug smirk that his face had ever been able to produce, feeling deeply revindicated and proud of himself.

Harry felt cheated though, when he realized that Tom was merely darting his gaze to and fro the book and Basilisk, body still as a statue, yet with no popping, ogling eyes or gaping mouth, his face merely lacking any expression.

"Well?" prompted Harry snarkily, tapping a foot on the stone floors. "I was right. He _is_ Salazar Slytherin."

At that, Tom shot him an undecipherable glance, and went back to stare at the creature.

"Say it," gritted out Harry truculently, glowering. "Say you believe me now."

Tom remained silent, just _staring_ at Zar. And Harry grunted irritably, though he was certain his brother had indeed finally believed him, though Tom was clearly too much of a vain, arrogant git to admit it.

Irked, Harry packed his things and swiftly left his brother standing rooted in place like the idiot he was - those who believed themselves to be superior to all, did require a certain amount of time to absorb the fact that some else had surpassed and outsmarted them, after all.

* * *

Harry was feeling rather morose and sulky as he played with his dinner, his green gaze fixed on the Gryffindor Table. He had noticed that Felix and Felicity Prewett were chatting amicably with that huge first-year he had noticed during the Sorting.

He couldn't remember the boy's name, but it was obvious that the Prewetts had taken him under their wing.

Harry hadn't been paying much attention to the going-ons at Hogwarts –so utterly immersed he had been with the Animagus Transformation and everything entailing the Chamber of Secrets, besides the many other things he had on his plate- yet he had been catching snippets of conversations lately. All indicating that his predictions had come to happen: the first-year boy had been shunned by his own House.

Harry had heard a couple of Gryffindor girls gossiping about the boy in hushed, appalled voices, sounding both terrified and outraged.

Apparently, at first, the boy had quite foolishly and guilelessly admitted to being a half-Giant, carelessly yapping about his father and the Giantess mother that had abandoned them. Harry garnered that it must have happened in the days he had noticed that the Gryffindors seemed uncharacteristically subdued and silent during meals, a strange sort of tension almost oozing off them.

Later, it seemed that the halfbreed boy had realized what his naïve honesty had caused, and he had clammed up, always seen wandering around the corridors by his lonesome, looking confused, dejected, and hurt.

It hadn't taken long when, one day, the boy had appeared in the company of the Prewett twins, blabbering happily and with affection and gratefulness shinning in his beady, black eyes, Felix and Felicity returning the boy's fondness.

It seemed to Harry as if the boy had become their charity case, which rankled in a way, since it could only mean that Harry himself had been that for the twins, once upon a time, when he had been a 'poor mudblood' stuck in the House of Serpents. And now, he had been replaced-

Harry grunted as he looked away from the sight of the trio, scowling down at his supper and then frowning.

He didn't know why he was feeling angered. He knew he wasn't being fair to the Prewetts, he knew they were doing something nice for a first-year boy who evidently needed it much, yet he couldn't help feeling irked – and a mite miserable.

It had been ages since he had been in the company of Felix and Felicity, and he had to admit that he had missed them.

He missed Felix's mischievousness and sense of humor, Felicity's attention and warmth and even the very same concern for him which had always annoyed him at times. He even missed the twins' stupid quarrels and bickering.

And he had planned, hadn't he, to become closer to them? To see if Felicity's blushes when in his company could mean that the girl fancied him in some way. If it was possible that he could like her that way too, anything to make his sick attraction for his own brother go away… Yet, he hadn't been able to do any of it. Not with everything that had happened since they had begun their Third Year.

After having returned from his summer spent in Von Krauss Castle, and being confronted by the twins' suspicions regarding his adoption by a 'muggle', Harry hadn't had a chance to enjoy their company.

The fact that Harry had landed three of Gryffindor House's Quidditch players in months-worth of detention had made him persona non grata in their common room, more than even before.

Why, even one of their Prefects, Minerva McGonagall, who had usually overlooked him or simply treated him rather fairly despite him being a Slytherin, had begun giving him the evil eye now and then. She would purse her lips in a strict flat line whenever she caught sight of him in the corridors – apparently, she was an avid Quidditch fan, not to mention one of the Chasers in her House's Team, and had taken Harry's underhanded actions against her teammates as a personal affront.

That, added to the fact that –regretfully– the Prewett twins were not part of The Slug Club's frequent gatherings to which Harry was still forced to attend due to Tom's inflexible demands, meant that Harry had little opportunity to meet with them.

He only managed to trade friendly greetings or rushed inquiries after their wellbeing when they chanced to cross paths in the corridors or during the few minutes before the start of the classes they shared.

Harry had to admit that he deeply felt Felix and Felicity's absence in his life, even though he usually found himself surrounded by people after his newly formed popularity, with students who admired his Quidditch skills and particularly with his own housemates.

He spent most of his time with Alphard, but slowly, sinuously, he seemed to have unwittingly formed a group in Slytherin House as well. When he sat in their common room, others gathered around to start up conversations with him, as though they were all extremely interested in knowing the 'real him' and not the 'mudblood' they had thought him to be.

He knew what was at the root of it: dark purebloods' fascination and reverence towards Salazar Slytherin. Harry and Tom were treated as though they were the second coming of the Founder himself, which was much more impressive to their housemates than if Harry and Tom had proclaimed they were Merlin reborn.

Granted, there were still exceptions. Walburga Black no longer insulted or attempted to nastily hex him, but didn't go out of her way to be friendly either – if she was even capable of such thing. The haughty and beautiful Druella Rosier still looked down her nose at him, as though him being of Slytherin blood was not enough to erase the fact that he was muggle-raised, of poor manners and little understanding of purebloods ways – all obstacles that Tom had apparently overcome and surpassed if her fluttering glances of great interest and awe were anything to go by when it was Tom in Harry's place. And –much to Harry's satisfaction- Abraxas Malfoy, who had drastically changed his attitude towards him since their discovery of the Chamber of Secrets.

Whether it was due to the things that had happened that day –the dance during the Yule Ball or their confrontations when finding the Chamber and Zar– Malfoy had apparently decided to express his anger by completely ignoring him.

Funny, that, since Alphard had told him that Malfoy went around telling their housemates that he had been the first to discover what Harry truly was, and that they were 'very close' indeed, having even spent a summer together and all.

Yet, Harry rather thought that Abraxas was sulking, from wounded pride due to their disastrous dance, from finding their housemates' attention solely focused on Harry and Tom nowadays, from realizing that Harry was quite happy in keeping him at arm's length, or –as Harry slowly came to suspect- from envy.

When no one was looking, Abraxas would shoot him ugly sneers during meals in the Great Hall, but what had cottoned Harry on to what was truly causing the boy's ill humor was the fact that many of those sneers were not directed at him but at Alphard, who was always by his side.

Alphard who had passed from being the 'secret friend' of Harry the Mudblood to the best mate of Harry the Slytherin Heir, publicly known by their housemates and now treated accordingly.

Alphard had once described himself to Harry as being simply 'the spare son' of the main branch of the Black family, the least impressive of all Black children, in importance way below all the others: Cygnus the Heir, silent, observant, wise; Walburga the sole daughter of the main line, outspoken, nasty and querulous, a truly formidable dark witch in the making; cousin Lucretia, beautiful, soft-spoken and well-mannered, a true trophy for her future pureblood husband; cousin Orion, handsome, sociable, and the means by which the two lines would merge through the boy's betrothal with Walburga ; and their Aunt Dorea, very popular at Hogwarts, one of The Two leaders of Slytherin House, Chaser and Captain of their Quidditch Team, excellent student and dueler, and Alphard's father's baby sister, his pampered one and favorite above all.

However, all that seemed to be in the past as Alphard had become a focus of attention in himself, as though sharing in Harry's reflected glory. Now it wasn't only Dorea paying attention to and lavishing her favorite nephew with affection, but many of their other housemates as well. Priscilla Pucey, Capricia Carrow, and the other Slytherin girls, who had never glanced twice at Alphard, were now nearly as interested in what the boy had to say as they were in Harry.

Harry, for his part, found much amusement when observing the developing events, especially Alphard's reactions to their housemates' change in behavior towards him.

Some days, Alphard looked vastly irritated, others, outwardly pleased, and more often than not, calculating, as if trying to decide whether to send them all packing or behave like a true Slytherin and take advantage of the situation - if the effort on his part would be worth the dubious benefits.

A sudden movement in the Gryffindor Table, and the hush that followed, made Harry raise his gaze once more, catching sight of the half-Giant rising from the table with Felix and Felicity, while the rest of Gryffindors sat still, wary and tense.

Harry watched bemused as the trio, purposely ignoring the expressions of condemnation in most of their housemates' faces, made their way to the Great Hall's doors, chattering and chuckling.

Just then, he stilled when Felicity suddenly shot him a glance.

Caught in the act of staring at them, Harry froze, not knowing how to react, though… the girl blushed under his gaze, and then gave him a rather quick smile. Harry soon found himself answering back with a forced grin.

Felicity seemed to go even pinker, looking flustered, before she quickly caught up with the half-Giant boy and her brother and vanished from the Hall.

Blinking, Harry finalized realized that, if he was completely honest with himself, what he missed most about the Prewett twins was not Felicity's blushes or Felix's jokes – but their news.

Felix and Felicity had always been an invaluable source of information for him, having their father and their cousin Ignatius in the Ministry of Magic - and, as Harry suspected, in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Perhaps it was because of this that he wished to be in their confidence once more, since lately Dumbledore had been keeping a close watch on him and Harry wanted to know what was going on.

He felt completely out of the loop. The Daily Prophet rarely printed anything of worth concerning what Gellert Grindelwald was up to, he and Tom didn't receive any letters from Konrad Von Krauss either, and Dumbledore was behaving strangely yet not keeping him after class to talk to him.

It felt as though something big was unfolding, like a looming, gathering storm, and he would feel the full brunt of it, suddenly, unawares and unprepared.

Harry sighed, and settled his spoon back into his bowl of soup, pushing it away. Or maybe he was just being paranoid, and the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach just meant an incoming indigestion.

* * *

Some hours later, Harry was already regretting having told his brother anything at all. He had been spared from Tom's demanding inquiries since his brother hadn't showed up for dinner in the Great Hall, evidently having remained in the Chamber of Secrets.

Nevertheless, Tom had cornered him just when he had been getting ready for bed, demanding a detailed explanation of how he had come to his discovery.

After having repeated everything he had said down in the Chamber of Secrets for the umpteenth time, Harry pulled the bed covers up to his chin, rolled to a side, turning his back on his brother, and snapped grumpily over a shoulder, "I've already told you all I know. Now sod off, I want to sleep!"

"Sleep?" hissed out Tom like a rattling snake, brusquely jerking the bed sheets off Harry, towering by the side of the bed, like an overgrown bird of prey.

"Oi, I'm cold here!" bit out Harry angrily as he dived for his covers and tugged them up once more, glowering at his brother.

Tom leaned down over him, bringing his face inches away from Harry's, forcing him to sink his head deeper into the pillow, frowning.

"You cannot possibly mean to go to sleep," spat Tom acridly in a barely audible voice, his face darkening with rage, as he kept looming over him, "when we have our very own ancestor in the bowels of the castle, trapped inside an animal."

"He's not exactly a defenseless, innocent little bunny, is he?" retorted Harry waspishly. "He'll be alright."

"He is stuck in the form of an _animal_," gritted out Tom through clenched teeth, his face livid.

"And has been for a thousand years," countered Harry coolly, "and will survive a thousand more just the way he is."

Tom stared at him for a moment, his dark blue eyes widening incredulously, before he let out a sharp chuckle, sounding mocking as he quirked an eyebrow. "Is that what you think is going to happen, little brother?"

Instantly, Harry sat upright on his bed, forcing Tom to retreat backwards several inches, as he narrowed his green eyes, and bit out, "What do _you_ think is going to happen?"

Tom cast him a long, calculating look, before he intoned matter-of-factly, "We're going to finish the potion, of course."

"The potion with incomplete brewing instructions?" Harry snorted loudly. "For a ritual that generations upon generations of grownup, Slytherin descendants didn't manage to complete?"

Tom intently pierced him with his gaze, as he hissed out, "I'm sure if we work together we will be capable of-"

"No," interrupted Harry harshly, an utmost grave, stony expression on his face. "There'll be no trying. We'll do nothing, brother."

At that, Tom shot him a mocking smirk. "Of course, little brother. We'll just sit on it, shall we?"

He made a move to saunter away but Harry's hand shot out, grabbing Tom by the wrist, abruptly jerking him back, almost making his brother stagger before he regained his balance and shot him a sneer. "Changed your mind already?"

"I discovered him," stated Harry harshly, skewering him with a deathly glare. "I decide what to do with him. And I say, we do nothing."

"Yet, you don't mean it," said Tom superiorly, smirking widely at him. "I can see the temptation shinning in your eyes, for I feel it just or even more powerfully."

"I'm not tempted," gritted out Harry, wholly ignoring the little voice in his mind telling him otherwise.

"Imagine the possibilities with Him by our side," murmured Tom silkily as he leaned closer to whisper in Harry's ear, an exultant, feverish gleam briefly appearing in his eyes. "Envision the power we could wield-"

Harry jerked backwards and shook his head, as he spat irritably, "I imagine the many things that could go wrong." He shot him a jaundiced look. "And the price we would have to pay, which I'm not willing to. And, especially, the risks that I cannot predict or 'envision'."

Looking utterly undeterred, as though not having heard a word Harry had said, Tom waved a hand as if batting away an inconsequential, pestering fly, as he then smirked and patted Harry's head in mock tenderness. "Sleep on it. And we'll discuss it at length tomorrow, little brother."

Through narrowed eyes, and frowning with agitation, Harry watched as his brother slid away and disappeared behind the curtains of his own bed.

Forcefully vanishing all troubled thoughts from his mind, he sunk into his bed once more, decidedly snapping his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep quickly so as to shorten the awaiting time, for he was sure what would happen.

* * *

A slow, hesitant caress on his cheek awoke Harry, yet he didn't move or made any sign of being aware and alert, though he did inwardly sigh with relief.

When he felt his mattress slightly sinking with the weight of another person, he ceased pretending and slowly sat up, blinking at the glow amidst the darkness of the dormitory.

"I knew you'd come," whispered Harry as he eyed Santi closely.

Santi was seated at one side of his bed, the curtains shut around them, forming a cocoon of privacy and intimacy –the latter making Harry feel a mite discomposed.

He hadn't seen him since returning Julian's magical flute to him after Norway, yet unsurprisingly, the man –er, being – looked unchanged, with a solid body, as usual when in Harry's presence, with those milky white eyes that seemed to glint with shifting lights, the dark curls of hair and the smooth tanned skin shimmering with a faint glow, adorned by the golden specks sprinkled over every inch of revealed skin.

It was at these that Harry stared, with a musing frown on his face. Without a thought, he lifted a hand and prodded one with his fingertip, seeing that the 'specks' were indeed part of the man's physiology, like bits of golden sparks of magic imbedded within, that felt unaccountably warm to his touch.

Santi shifted as he let out a bemused chortle. "Anything interesting down there?"

Immediately withdrawing his hand, Harry glanced up, catching Santi's quizzical yet indulgent look.

Mutely, Harry shook his head, and then debated how to commence matters. He simply had so many things to ask, so many things plaguing his head that it was difficult to decide how to tackle the issues.

Finally, he chose to begin with the easiest – or rather, relatively easier than the rest, at least.

"I found out about Slytherin," said Harry without preamble.

Santi widely smiled at him, not looking at all surprised. "As I had faith you would."

Harry peered at him at that, suddenly licking his lower lip with a hint of nervousness. He caught sight of Santi's eyes fixedly following the motion, and quickly stuck back the tip of his tongue where it belonged, feeling tense and jittery.

Frowning, he purposely and awkwardly cleared his throat, making Santi snap his milky gaze up at him.

The man shot him a wry, rueful look. "I apologize-"

"Never mind," said Harry more brusquely, perhaps, than he had intended, as he shifted on his bed. He grunted, angered with himself, before he added firmly, "Look, I need to know what you expect me to do about Salazar Slytherin."

Santi arched an eyebrow, looking amused. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"You're leaving something like that up to me?" asked Harry, thoroughly stunned.

"Certainly," replied Santi amiably.

Gathering back his wits from his astonishment, Harry narrowed his green eyes at him. "Why?"

Santi chuckled under his breath, shrugging. "Why not?"

Harry gritted his teeth, feeling that familiar frisson of irritation he now remembered he always felt when Santi –more often than not- spoke to him in circular riddles, never truly clarifying anything at all.

"Look," said Harry testily, glowering at him, "I've told my brother, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps he's seriously planning on-"

"Ah, you told Tom," said Santi coolly, his tone not questioning, nor challenging, but certainly having dropped several degrees in temperature.

"Yes," snapped Harry, scowling defensively. "Got a problem with that? He's got as much right to know as I do, given that he's also Slytherin's Heir-"

"I knew you would tell him that much," interjected Santi, waving a hand as though wanting to close the matter swiftly, before he pinned him with his strange and sometimes disconcerting gaze. "However, about the other-"

"I haven't told him about the other thing," cut in Harry promptly. "And I don't plan to, either."

Looking relieved, Santi warmly smiled at him. "Good, good."

"You're leaving that up to me as well?" demanded Harry, observing him closely.

"Yes," said Santi, widely grinning. "Quite a treat for you, isn't it?"

Harry frowned, as he muttered under his breath with a touch of asperity, "I'm not sure it is. Why did you want me to know about it all? Just to tell me that I could do as I pleased?"

"Precisely," replied Santi jauntily, before he arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you would have preferred to be kept in the dark?"

"No – yes – I, er," mumbled Harry uncertainly, until he threw his hands up in the air, frazzled and exasperated. "I don't know!" He shook his head somberly, shooting him a baleful look. "It's rather a lot to be responsible for, isn't it?"

"Only if you want to be responsible for it," supplied Santi unhelpfully.

Harry watched him with extreme annoyance. What was he supposed to infer from _that_? That Santi already knew what Harry would do and he wasn't interfering because it would be the right thing? Or rather that it didn't really matter what Harry did about the issues one way or the other?

Though he couldn't see how it couldn't actually matter, when they were talking about the return of the infamous Salazar Slytherin to their own age and day.

Harry shuddered, and then sighed dully. What to do about 'Zar the Basilisk' had been revolving in his mind since the afternoon.

Oh, of course that he felt great 'temptation' –as his brother had so aptly called it- to bring their ancestor back if it was possible. Who wouldn't?

All the things he could ask the wizard, all the things he could learn, and not only magic, he supposed, but also about stuff of the past –stuff that one could only read in books yet always doubt how much to believe, but Salazar would know the actual truth. And then, to imagine what the reaction would be of the dark pureblood world in general… well, it would be a fantastically exciting time to be living through. And with _The _Salazar Slytherin backing you up, what need would there ever be to fear Gellert Grindelwald?

Then, of course, he remembered what liberating Slytherin from Gryffindor's charm entailed, and all his deluded, rose-tinted daydreams came crushing down.

Killing thirteen magical people, muggleborn or otherwise, was certainly not an option. And yet, he knew, it was the only way.

Furthermore, he mused about all the risks he knew of and of those he couldn't even begin to imagine, and it left him in no doubt that it was simply not worth it, in any respect.

"I'll do nothing," Harry finally said firmly.

Santi merely nodded, humming under his breath contently, as he offered placidly, "Perhaps you'd like some help with-"

"No," cut in Harry decisively, shaking his head. "With the other thing, I can manage." He shot him a smug look. "You wanted me to find out on my own, and I'm doing that. Nearly there, in fact, to fully grasp everything."

Santi smiled widely, looking vastly proud of him and apparently simply content in sitting there, staring at him, for he said nothing else but kept slowly tracing Harry's features with his gaze.

"Er," began Harry, shifting in his bed again, as he said hastily, "I met Kasimira Von Krauss."

Santi nodded, seemingly having expected that much already, before he tipped his head to a side, in interest. "What did you think of her?"

"Um, well," prevaricated Harry, wondering how blunt he could be. Perhaps saying 'I think she's a tad unbalanced' wouldn't go over too well. "Er… she's… different," he concluded lamely.

Santi snorted at that, his lips hitching upwards in amusement, as though he knew perfectly well what Harry's true thoughts were on the matter. "She's a formidable young witch – and she'll be even more so, in the future."

That caught Harry's attention, and he gazed intently at him. "Does she know you?"

"Not quite," replied Santi calmly.

Harry swallowed his frustration, and for a moment fleetingly wondered if he could ask him about the things the girl had said. Yet, he became uncomfortable just thinking about inquiring if it was true that Kasimira and Julian were 'shagging', as the girl had implied. Even trying to imagine about what that fully entailed made him feel a bit ill.

No, it was none of his business and he rather not know, in truth.

Harry heaved a deep breath, no longer having any excuses to postpone the inevitable, and before he even caught up with his tongue, he had already blurted out, "I dreamt about you."

Santi's eyebrows shot to his hairline, before his face broke into a huge grin. "Really?"

Feeling a mite miserable, Harry grumbled, "Yeah. I was…er…snogging you."

He felt the tips of his ears and back of his neck burning, but he ploughed on resolutely, holding Santi's marveled gaze with his own –the man's eyebrows had nearly vanished into his hair at this point.

"I liked it," added Harry boldly and very hastily, wanting to get over the hard part as quickly as possible. He frowned. "But you didn't-"

"I assure you," said Santi, apparently finding his voice and sounding as though he was vastly enjoying the conversation, his eyes gleaming roguishly, "that if you… 'snogged' me-" he said the word as though he found it deeply amusing, chuckling "- in reality, I would enjoy it immensely." His eyes sparkled as he chortled. "Though I'd prefer if we could wait until you're older-"

"It wasn't like that!" spluttered Harry, going red and bristling, feeling that he was being laughed at for his ludicrous 'dreams'. He shook his head angrily. "I _was_ kissing you. It was real, I know it! And I was forcing you, and you tried to fight me off, but I forced something in you anyway-"

"Forced something _in _me?" Santi's eyes went huge before he let out a loud bout of chortles and guffaws. "Well… if that's what –how do you Brits put it? – ah, yes, rocks your boat, then I'll just have to adjust my expectations." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "I'm sure we'll be able to reach a comprise about positions in the future-"

"Positions?" repeated Harry blankly. "What?" He shook his head briskly, as confusion and anger swelled up in him like a volcano. "Listen to me, it wasn't a dream – I know it." He carded a hand through his hair anxiously, as he rambled urgently, "It was some sort of vision. And I was this Antares bloke-"

"What?" croaked Santi, suddenly turning very pale, his voice becoming tense. "What did you say?"

"That I was someone called Antares!" snapped Harry impatiently, scowling at him. " 'Antares', and I know that name, I've heard it before." He frowned deeply, muttering to himself, "I used to dream about a beautiful woman who sang Alice's lullaby to me, and she called me Antares too, sometimes. Though I haven't had that dream in a while-"

"What did you see?" demanded Santi sharply.

Harry blinked, and glanced up at him, frowning when he thought he caught a brief expression of alarm crossing Santi's features, but it was gone in the next instant.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," gritted out Harry in frustration, shooting him a dirty look. "Because you were there… well, not at first…" He trailed off as he raked his brain to remember every single detail, as he continued in a mumble, "At first, I was alone. I was this Antares boy – well, he was older and taller-" he added bitterly "-than me, so I guess I should call him a young man."

He heaved a deep breath, as he trudged on, "The point is that I was running through some sort of , er… ancient-looking village. And there was a market, I think. Some sort of weird bazaar, but I couldn't see much. Sometimes I was him, and sometimes I was seeing him from the outside, as though I was floating by his side – but I could see and feel what he saw and felt, though most was a blur…"

Harry paused, before he added, his frown deepening, "And I was happy, delirious – I felt sort of drugged even. And you were suddenly there, chasing after me, telling me I couldn't breathe the air, but I knew I had to, and I already was. And I glorified in it, and there was fluff all around-"

"Fluff?" said Santi's voice faintly.

Harry blinked, gazing up at him, noting that Santi had turned so pale that for a moment he wondered if the man had lost the alleged control he had over his solidity, looking nearly as transparent as a ghost. Though since Santi was still seated on his bed instead of going through it, he reckoned that the man was still sturdily solid.

"Yes," said Harry, nodding jerkily yet keeping his eyes fixed on Santi's face to be able to catch any twitch, any nuance that could give him an indication of what was going on. He shot him a scowl, his eyes briefly traveling to the man's arms, pointedly. "And he – I, that is- was like you. I had those stupid speck things on my skin, like you do. Like the Grey Lady said she could see on me when I met her for the first time."

He cast him a belligerent look, briskly rolling up the sleeves of his pajama top. "But I've never had stupid golden, glittering freckles on my skin! See? So why did that Antares chap have them? Why did he seem to be like you? What does it mean? And why did I dream –or whatever the bloody hell it was– that I was that bloke! Who is he?"

"Tell me about the… fluff," suddenly pressed Santi hoarsely, fixedly staring at him.

Harry angrily clenched his jaw, but decided that if he satisfied Santi's curiosity perhaps the man would return the favor and begin answering his questions for once!

"I was breathing it," snapped Harry briskly, "and it affected me, I think. And when you tried to stop me I did something to you, and you couldn't move." He shot him a dour look. "That's when I –er, kissed you, but I was doing something to you." He frowned. "You were scared and tried to resist, but I didn't stop and it was causing you pain and I was enjoying it…"

He trailed off, highly discomfited as he clearly recalled, with a mixture of shame, guilt, and yet also a frisson of remembered pleasure, the things he'd done and how he had reveled in it, how he had thought at the time that Santi was getting his just deserts, but also how vital and necessary it all was.

He'd been a right, nasty, vindictive berk, he had been, and for the life of him he still didn't understand it.

"And then," Harry added in a slow murmur, "I was not the Antares bloke anymore, and he was looking at me as though I was there, and he spoke directly to me for the first time – he seemed surprised but also pleased, he knew I had seen all those things and he said…" He fiercely rubbed his throbbing head. "He said a load of weird stuff."

He shot a very pale Santi a narrowed-eyed look, his voice regaining strength, "For starters, he said I had little time left. That I had to hurry and find 'it', that I'd be dying soon. What does that mean!"

"He saw you?" said Santi in a thin thread of a voice, swallowing thickly. "He could communicate with you?"

"Yes!" barked Harry in angered exasperation, clenching his hands into fists. "Haven't I just told you-"

"I see," muttered Santi under his breath, and apparently he did, for he looked livid with both fear and blazing fury for a moment. "I must leave."

"Wait – what?" Harry gaped at him as Santi suddenly sprung to his feet. "Hang on! At least tell me-"

But in the next split second, the man had simply vanished without so much as a farewell.

"-if you know how Julian Erlichmann is fairing," finished Harry, trailing off as he found himself speaking to thin air.

Immensely peeved, he angrily punched his pillow, before he groaned and sunk his face into it.

Bizarrely enough, he had the strange sensation that he had just caused something that perhaps shouldn't have happened, as though he had betrayed that Antares chap – as though he had betrayed _himself_, somehow.

Harry rolled unto his back, and scoffed at his own stupid, weird thoughts. Everything was fine, Santi would probably come back soon if not in a few hours and he would clarify everything, at long last.

However, Santi didn't. He never did, come back.

* * *

The following days, after Santi had so unceremoniously left him in the dust, Harry had been in a roaring bad temper.

He had felt extremely ill used, spilling all his beans without getting anything in return. Indeed, even his housemates seemed to become wary of him, as though he was a spitting, hissing, and tetchy mammoth of a porcupine who would flare and savagely sting and pounce at the slightest provocation.

Even Tom gave him a wide berth.

Granted, that had been after they had attempted to discuss the 'Zar situation' which had ended up with Harry losing the short leash on his foul temper, exploding spectacularly, shouting, and Tom snarling back, and wands being drawn and insults flying, and Harry spitting that Tom was a 'complete idiot blinded by his own arrogance', and Tom hissing that Harry was in turn 'too much of an imbecile to seize such an extraordinary gift and advantage', and so it went until they both stalked out of the Room of Requirements, seething, and never again exchanging another word.

Meanwhile, their housemates seemed to tiptoe around them and wisely didn't take any sides, even though not having the faintest idea what it was all about.

"Are we going to do this or not?" snarked Harry irritably by the evening of the fourth day.

Alphard sighed, as he replied in a mollifying, soft voice, "Yes, we are, Harry. Give me a moment."

As Harry sat crossed legged in the middle of the Room of Requirements, refusing for the time being to even lift a finger, he watched Alphard setting all the potion ingredients in place before a large cauldron hanging from a hearth.

Fleetingly, he realized that his friend had a rather martyrized expression on his face as of late, and felt a pang of guilt. But he pushed it aside swiftly enough – that day, like all the rest, not feeling at all generous as to even consider how his temper was affecting others.

If he had been in Alphard's shoes, he would have sent himself packing by now. That Alphard had not, and was stoically putting up with him, was the boy's own problem, as far as a grouchgrouchyy, sulky Harry was concerned.

"Very well, everything's ready," said Alphard as he held up a chopping knife, shooting him a tentative, faint grin, which vanished when Harry balefully glared at him.

"I'm not cutting up the Valerian roots if that's what you're angling for," Harry informed him crisply. "I'm pants at Potions."

"So am I," said Alphard in a restrained tone of voice.

"You do it anyway," snapped Harry, huffing. "You read the brewing instructions a zillion times, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes at him. "Or were you lying?"

"No, I wasn't," retorted Alphard in a visible attempt to keep up his good cheer. "Alright. I'll do the ingredients preparation-"

"And the brewing," muttered Harry under his breath pointedly.

Alphard shot him a quick look, a strained smile plastered on his face. "Very well. But you cast the spells on the main ingredient."

"Where's the ruddy magical fungus, then?" demanded Harry acidly.

"Stretch out your right hand, Harry," supplied Alphard in a chipped tone of voice, his grin forcibly widening so much that it looked painful.

Harry glanced a few inches to his side, and saw the… thing, inside a jar. Grunting with vexation, he grabbed it, pinching his nose as he took off the lid and brought it closer.

The mushroom looked like some sort of diseased kidney, of a sickly brown with grey spots, pulsating and oozing some sort of yellow pus-like liquid, wafting off a revolting pungent odor.

"We've got to _eat_ this?" spat Harry disgustedly.

"After you cast the spells on it and we mix it with the brew – yes," replied Alphard, his tone turning much less milder at the mutinous, irked scowl on Harry's face. "This is mostly for you, you know? I am not the one with a magical creature as my Animagus form. The Mayan Ritual will help you, the most."

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Harry venomously, glowering. "No need to rub it in."

"Rub it in?" bit out Alphard sharply, for a moment looking as though he was going to yell at him. The next instant, though, a placid grin stretched over his face, as he said in a rather high-pitched, forced voice, "Just do your part, it's the easiest."

Harry snorted nastily, as he shot the guide book a skeptic glance. "Right. Sure."

Alphard's shoulders hunched, as though restraining himself with great effort from chucking something at his head –probably the chopping knife he was holding in a tight grip, at that.

Immediately, the boy turned around, giving Harry his back, as he hastened to chop the ingredients with unnecessary brutal force.

Sourly, Harry began perusing the chapter of the book that detailed the Mayan incantations to be used on the magical mushroom.

"These are impossible to pronounce," he groused churlishly, glaring at the back of Alphard's head.

"Then practice until you get them right," shot Alphard over his shoulder without looking at him. "That magical Peyote cost a fortune, and are impossible to find, so you can't mess it up."

Harry gritted his teeth and went back to the book, his mood sinking bitterly.

It was only about an hour later that Harry considered he might have gotten the hang of it. He still felt that the foreign words rolled uneasily off his tongue, but he deemed it passable enough and Alphard was by then already stirring the concocted potion with much vigor and enthusiasm.

Glowering at the ugly, pulsating and leaking mushroom, Harry brusquely poked it with his wand and muttered the strange spells.

"Is it ready?" asked Alphard excitedly, as he kept stirring the potion energetically.

"Suppose so," muttered Harry dourly, as he slouched closer with a now glowing, neon pink fungus in hand.

"Then drop it in – quick!"

With a splosh, in went the magical mushroom, making the potion bubble and rise alarmingly for a moment, before it settled into a sky blue, nearly clear liquid.

Scowling, Harry eyed it suspiciously. "Is it supposed to be that way?"

"Yes!" said Alphard happily, as he stirred with renewed vigor. "It means that the mushroom is dissolving in the brew. Just a few more stirs and it'll be done."

With a last burp, the potion swirled placidly in the cauldron, and Alphard wasted no time in ladling two flasks with the brew.

"Bottoms up!" said Alphard genially as he handed Harry one phial and lifted his own, grey eyes shining excitedly.

Harry grunted, grimaced, and chucked the contents of his flask down his throat in one swoop.

And he gagged. It was the most unbearably revolting thing he had ever tasted, forcing him to quickly cover his mouth with his hands as he kept painfully heaving and gagging nonstop, making him curl over himself, dazed and horrified.

Briefly, he caught sight of Alphard having the same problem, the boy's big grey eyes watery and scrunched in pain. Yet, Harry remembered vaguely that according to the book this was normal, that they had to keep the potion in no matter what, that wanting to puke one's entrails out meant it was taking effect.

No matter what the stupid guide tome said, it was near agonizing torture as he felt his stomach churning and twisting and rolling as though it wanted to leap out of his body through any available orifice to be spared from the potion.

And suddenly, just when he thought that he wouldn't be able to keep it in, that he had to hurl or he'd go mad, everything disappeared.

Harry felt as though he was floating on clouds, all worries of the world vanishing, leaving him blissfully carefree and exultant. It was rather like being under the effects of the Imperius Curse, just much more potent.

He felt utterly at peace with everyone and everything in the universe, his mind pleasantly groggy and mushy, his body utterly limp and relaxed. So much so that, before he knew it, he was sprawled on the stone floors, giggling, and sweeping his legs and arms up and down as though trying to make an angel on snowed grounds.

"Oh! Look at the pretty, pretty forest!" came Alphard's marveled voice somewhere to the right.

"It's clouds," said Harry thickly, his green eyes bright and huge as he stared up at the beautiful ceiling of the Room of Requirements, sniggering happily when snowdrift started falling from the puffy pink and blue clouds hanging in the air, beautiful snowflakes slowly falling down, as if floating and dancing, like glittering fairies.

One snowflake landed on the tip of his nose, and he went crossed eyed to stare at it in entranced awe.

"A snowflake blessed me!" cried out Harry happily. "Ow, I luuuv snowflakes!"

"Look at all my leaves!" said Alphard's voice in a delighted sing-song. "So many pretty, pretty leaves – of all colors! Look, have a purple one!"

"Don't want one - I luv my snowflakes," purred Harry as he curled on patches of snow, feeling as though he was being cradled, surrounded by pleasant, so very pleasant coldness, a howling wind of hail crooning him with its sound.

"There aren't snowflakes – prat," said Alphard with a high-pitched squeal. "There are tall, pretty trees all around us! Everything's so bright and green – pretty green, like your eyes, Harry – get it? Get it?" The boy sniggered loudly, to then apparently collapse into guffaws. "Where're in my forest – it's all mine!"

"Nope," said Harry as he nuzzled his face against the crisp snow, rumbling with pleasure. "Not forest. It's a – it's a –" He tried to rake his brain for a word that would encompass all the beauty and magnificence surrounding him, until he cried out in delighted triumph, "It's Heaven, Alphie – where're in Heaven!"

"Heaven? What heaven?" said Alphard's voice sounding momentarily confused, before he broke into loud chortles. "Oh, I'm gonna hug one of my trees - give it love, you know? And it will give it back, a thousandfold – trees are very sentimental, and so kind, and generous, and pretty!"

Harry snarled as he heard the boy blundering and staggering around, possessively gathering mounds of snow with his arms, as he let out a mighty, growling roar, "You're not stealing my snow! Go away – away, I say!"

"Don't want your stupid snow – snow's nasty, snow's cold and ugly!" piped in Alphard's voice as a crashing sound reverberated, followed by a slumping noise and a cry of ecstatic glee. "Found my tree!"

Harry found himself relaxing as he sensed that by the sounds, the boy was far away, and he stretched his body like a feline, purring as he rolled and frolicked in the soft snow.

Giving a jaw-breaking yawn that left him completely relaxed, he then flapped his arms. Frowning, disconcerted, when nothing happened.

"Al, somethin's wrong, Al," whined Harry, as he insistently flapped his arms again, becoming panicked. "They don't work! My wings don't work – I can't fly!"

"Fly?" chirped Alphard's voice, vaguely turning concerned. "No, no, no. You mustn't fly. Flying's dangerous-"

"I need to fly!" howled Harry in utmost misery, his eyes widening frantically.

"Come to my tree instead," offered Alphard happily. "If you bring loads of food, I'll let you in!"

"I like _my_ mountain!" snarled Harry savagely, blinking, before a goofy, wide grin stretched on his face when he realized that that was it – he was in his home! He could see it now all around him: a long range of snow-peaked mountains, its valleys covered by low, white clouds, so beautiful, so very beautiful.

"Then we'll stay in your mountain and in my forest together!" chirped Alphard's voice exultantly, as though it was the most commonsensical notion in the planet.

Harry felt himself bristling, as if raising his hackles, when he caught sight of the boy wobbling unsteady towards him. For a moment, he eyed Alphard as though considering a tasty morsel, licking his lips as he felt his mouth watering.

He so liked roasted meat – human flesh especially, when he burned it to a crisp and then devoured it, savoring every bite of taut, burned flesh, every lick of spurts of blood.

Harry opened his jaws widely, readying himself, when the boy suddenly flopped down by his side, nuzzling his face against Harry's neck, making an odd, chittering sound.

With another weird noise from the back of his throat, Alphard giggled as he slurred gleefully, "We're baaad boys, 'Arry… Very baaaad boys!" The boy guffawed drunkenly as he wrapped himself around Harry. " 'Cause we're thoroughly zonked, get it? So - we're Hogwarts' Bad Boys!"

Contemplating the cuddling, boisterously sniggering creature, Harry blinked and then relaxed, vaguely realizing the intruder posed no threat, that the human youngling felt familiar, distantly remembering that he shared a den with the creature for most cycles of the moon, for some reason.

His green eyes softened, as he opened his maw and let out a fiery burst of air that pleasantly scalded his tongue.

Purring with vast satisfaction, Harry settled around the snuggling human boy, coiling together on the snowed grounds and folding his arms around them, peacefully dozing off to sleep.

* * *

Harry grumbled when he felt something shifting by his side and then felt the sudden disappearance of his source of warmth.

Sleepily making a swipe with a hand to bring it back, he growled testily.

"Harry – Harry!" called out someone, insistently shaking him.

"G'way," rumbled Harry drowsily as he rolled over and stuffed his head under an arm for warmth.

"Wake up! It's almost midnight - we've got to go to our dormitory!"

"What?" muttered Harry as he cracked one eye open, peering from under the arm he had weirdly folded over his head.

He saw Alphard standing above him, looking distinctly ruffled and flushed. The boy's usually neat hair was completely disarrayed, his cheeks were pink and his big grey eyes looked a mite unfocused, though he was doing his best to hide both facts.

Feeling quite heady and confused himself, Harry slowly rose to his feet - or tried to, better said, because he found himself swaying alarmingly.

"Not so quick!" sniggered Alphard, who suddenly caught him by the shoulder, grinning widely at him.

Harry blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his swimming eyesight only to be confronted by Alphard's big grey eyes peering into his own, inches apart, with pupils so widely dilated that there was barely any grey left.

"What's wrong with yer eyes," slurred Harry a tad groggily.

Alphard sniggered again. "They're a bit fuzzy – much like yours, I dare say."

And he peered intently at him again, the tips of their noses bumping as the boy nearly went crossed-eyed trying to determine the state of Harry's own pupils.

The boy guffawed loudly a moment later, shaking his head. "We're still trippin', mate."

"Huh?" said Harry unintelligibly.

Alphard shot him a silly grin. "Effects, almost gone, but not yet." He beamed excitedly at him, as he rushed out, "But I told you it would be fantastic, didn't I?"

"Yeah," said Harry slowly, as his own mind was catching up with everything that had happened, now understanding why Alphard still looked flustered.

Harry almost groaned and went scarlet himself. Though he ended up merely rubbing a hand over his face, not knowing whether to snigger or moan with dismay – the bunch of stupid things they had said, the way they had acted!

"You did like it, didn't you?" came Alphard's voice, sounding stressed and hesitant.

Harry shot him a look, seeing that the boy was shifting nervously and uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his cheeks now redder than ever before. Though Harry didn't know why Alphard looked so mortified, he himself had acted much more bizarrely than the boy. He had even wanted to _eat_ his best friend!

What kind of magical creature was he, anyway?

Harry instantly wiped his frown off his face when he realized that Alphard was interpreting it wrongly, a hurt and devastated look growing on the boy's face.

"It was great, Al," quickly assured Harry, a wide smile spreading over his face. "Truly great."

And it had been, Harry admitted. Despite the weirdness, it had been very informative and fun. Someday, they would be laughing together about it, without feeling awkward, he was certain.

Alphard gave him a sort of feeble yet sincere smile, and then patted him on the shoulder as he declared in a deeply relieved tone, "Yeah, and what's better, you're back to normal, thank Merlin!"

"Normal?" repeated Harry slowly, bewildered, as he tried to point at one of his eyes with a finger and nearly poked himself.

"No, no," said Alphard swiftly as he pressed Harry's hand down. "I don't mean your pupils. I mean your nasty temper!" He toothily grinned at him. "Now you're just your usual short-fused shelf but not nearly as terrible as these past few days!"

Harry stared at him, before he noticed, rather surprised, that he wasn't feeling that burning anger at Santi any longer. It just seemed to be muffled, somewhere in a corner of his mind, still there, but manageable.

"Oh," mumbled Harry, before he shot his friend a quizzical look. "Was I really that bad?"

Alphard nodded repeatedly, a serious expression on his face. "You were. I was about to ply your morning pumpkin juice with Cheering Potion, I was, to see if that finally did the trick."

"Um, sorry about that, then," said Harry frowning.

Alphard faintly grinned at him, patting him on the back. "No worries. I can understand." He let out a long, suffering sigh. "When I quarrel with my sister Walburga I'm always left in a rather sour mood."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who said anything about me fighting with Tom?"

With a snort, Alphard rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? It was pretty evident. The whole House knew!"

Harry grimaced, remaining silent.

"What was it about?" inquired Alphard, peering at him.

Harry shot him a brief glance, and shrugged. "Nothing important."

"Sure," said Alphard disbelievingly, but thankfully didn't push the matter, as he then announced cheerily, "Well, we're good to go now, I think." He waved a hand dismissively at the Room that looked as though a tornado had passed through. "We'll clean it up tomorrow. Though…"

The boy trailed off as he glanced down at himself, and then at Harry.

Following his gaze, Harry noticed the problem. They looked completely rumpled and disheveled, with their robes so dirty that one would think they had been rolling in dust and grime – which they probably had, he realized, when he caught sight of the floor of the room.

"Never mind," said Harry swiftly, "if anyone asks us we'll tell them to mind their own business. It's Pringle and his ruddy raven catching us out of bounds after curfew that worries me."

Alphard flinched at the name of the nasty Caretaker of Hogwarts Castle and his equally sadistic pet. "True. Let's dash, then."

As they scurried through the corridors of Hogwarts on their way to the dungeons, they regaled each other in hushed whispers the experiences and impressions they had lived –neither mentioning, of course, the parts in which they had made complete fools of themselves.

"You're a dragon, then!" whispered Alphard excitedly, shooting him a partly envious, partly thrilled look.

Harry's brows furrowed. "No, I don't think so. I felt much smaller than a dragon."

"There are many species of dragons," persisted Alphard undaunted, grinning widely, "perhaps you're one of the petite ones."

"Oi, who are you calling 'petite'?" snapped Harry crossly, bristling immediately and glaring daggers at him. "Just because I'm a tad on the short side doesn't mean-"

"I was not criticizing your stature," interjected Alphard with a roll of his eyes. "The size of your Animagus form has no relation to your size as a human."

"Yeah, well," said Harry, still miffed, "we'll see."

"We will," declared Alphard, now with vast satisfaction as he grinned toothily. "Every night for two weeks!"

Harry nodded and grinned back at him just when they were reaching the blank stretch of wall that led to their common room.

All in all, after that first experience, he was rather looking forward to more. If they had brewed the potion they had imbibed correctly, according to the book they would be having similar hallucinatory experiences each night for a fortnight.

That first, had been their bodies adapting to the potion, but from then onwards they would only be feeling the effects at night during their sleep. It was the main reason why they had chosen the potion, since it forced the magical mushroom's proprieties to come into effect nightly after a first daytime experience.

Which was rather useful if they intended to never be caught messing with a mushroom that was considered Dark and illegal, which could easily get them expelled at the very least.

* * *

The following day, Harry stood before one of the metal snake statues adorning the Chamber of Secrets, precisely the one in the middle of the left-hand row, to which Slytherin's carved eyes were subtly directed towards.

Using the sharp tip of the knife he had transfigured from a quill, he nicked his fingertip.

With a scowl, he remembered how his brother always made him do the offering of Slytherin blood after the first time, Tom always watching the proceedings intently.

What did his brother think – that Harry was such a fool as to need supervision? That he would slash some main artery instead of just nicking his fingertip?

Harry snorted irritably, just as the snake statue shifted to a side to reveal a downward spiraling staircase. Soon, he forced himself to shove away his annoyance. It wouldn't do to be crabby from the start, now that he was about to confront his brother and have the conversation they had postponed for too long.

Hurriedly taking two steps at a time, he finally reached Slytherin's hidden study. He paused at the threshold, seeing Tom at the other end of the cavernous room, seated behind the desk whilst hastily scribbling on a stack of parchments.

His brother seemed so wholly immersed and focused on whatever he was working on that he didn't notice when Harry tiptoed forwards.

Harry's green eyes sharpened when he had almost reached the desk, as he realized that his brother was working on his translated notes - on the damned ritual!

"What the hell d'you think you're doing!" snarled Harry, pouncing like a leaping lion as he swiped the stack of parchments from under his brother's nose.

Tom looked startled at first, before he fixed Harry with a dangerous, narrowed-eyed look, holding up a hand. "Give those back."

Harry gave the parchments in his hands a quick perusal, seeing, as he had suspected, that Tom had indeed been working in trying to advance the brewing instructions of the ritual's potion.

Angrily, he waved the parchments at Tom, accusingly, as he spat, "We agreed that we wouldn't-"

"Agreed?" jeered Tom nastily, remaining seated on the high-backed chair behind Slytherin's old, ratty desk. "We reached no agreement, did we? You were too crotchety to listen to reason-"

"I'm sorry about that," muttered Harry grudgingly, before he scowled at him. "Not that you were any better, though!"

Tom arched a cool eyebrow at him as he rested back on his chair, drawling frostily, "Let us just say that neither of us was willing to reach a comprise." His eyes narrowed, darting to the parchments Harry had snatched from him, before returning to Harry's face. "However, I do not see how the situation has changed, as you're still clearly resolute in your notion of just leaving our ancestor to rot-"

"I don't want him to _rot_, but-" began Harry angrily, before he shook his head attempting to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath, and added much more calmly, "The costs and risks involved are simply too great-"

"What costs and risks?" sneered Tom contemptuously.

"What costs?" echoed Harry incredulously, before his face scrunched with anger. "The lives of thirteen muggleborns, to begin with!"

Waving a hand dismissively, Tom uttered with complete impassiveness, "They would be giving their lives to resurrect the greatest wizard the world has ever seen. We'd be honoring them by giving their worthless existences a purpose and a meaning far greater they would ever attain on their own-"

"What?" spluttered Harry, gawking at him, before he became instantly incensed and bellowed, "Oh, I see, and who are you to be the judge of something like that! To decide whose life is worth more-"

"Judge?" snarled Tom, his expression livid as he swiftly rose to his feet, so brusquely that his chair noisily clattered to the floor. "Of course I am the best judge!" He skewered Harry with a seething glare, as he thundered, "I, who am the most brilliant student to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts! I, who am Slytherin's Heir and have inherited his unique Parselmouth ability! I, who have spent months piecing together the ritual! I, who am the most powerful-"

"Being clever and good with magic has nothing to do with it!" spat Harry irately, as he violently slammed his hands on the table, making Tom's quill fly into the air before staining the desk with trails of ink as it rolled. "It doesn't give you the right to make a decision like this. We're talking about killing thirteen of our schoolmates!"

"_We_ wouldn't be killing them, you lackwit," sneered Tom scornfully. "He would-"

"It comes to the same thing, and you know it!" roared Harry furiously, glowering. "Neither one of us has the right to say that their lives are worth less that one single one-"

"When the 'single one' in question is that of Salazar Slytherin," hissed out Tom angrily, as he briskly strode around the desk and loomed over Harry, "I'd say the sacrifice of a thousand mudbloods is a trifle!" His face contorted with hatred and revulsion, as he spat virulently, "Mudbloods that are inferior in every way. Mudbloods who are pathetically weak and nearly magicless, who contaminate our world with their muggle notions, hatreds, fears and prejudices. Mudbloods who will never amount to anything. Who are they, what do they have to contribute to wizarding society, compared to Salazar Slytherin!"

"Oh, I see," laughed Harry nastily, "so a person's worth is measured by their power and by what they can offer to society, is it?"

"Of course it is, you fool!" spat Tom poisonously.

Harry shook his head, as he gritted out, "According to you. I see it differently." He heaved a breath and squared his shoulders, as he pierced his brother with a narrowed-eyed glare. "Besides, who's to say that the muggleborns you want to kill won't do great things in the future? Or their sons and daughters, or their grandchildren! Or their whole future line of descendants, if we come to that." He shot Tom a mocking look. "Tell me, brother, are you a Seer? Can you predict that none of them will be 'worthy' by your standards? Because we wouldn't be killing only thirteen, we would be killing countless! All those who could be born-"

"I see what this is," interrupted Tom in a jeering, ugly tone of voice, his eyes holding utmost contempt. "This is you, wanting to be a good little hero, is it not? This is you, thinking that mudbloods are good and innocent and need your protection. This is you, thinking that Salazar Slytherin is evil and thus shouldn't be aided-"

"The muggleborns Zar could kill would be innocent," snapped Harry impatiently. "They wouldn't deserve it!" He glowered darkly at him. "And I _don't_ think that Slytherin is evil, but that's neither here nor there-"

"Of course you don't," interjected Tom with dripping sarcasm.

Harry gritted his teeth, wanting to shout at him, for he truly didn't. The point was that Slytherin was an unknown quantity. No one really knew what he had been like.

The man had done great things, the stuff Alphard had told him about: creating all sorts of fertility potions to help wizards and witches of all kinds to have children, to solve the problem of stillbirths and squib-births, to allow those who loved a creature or someone of their same gender to have progeny.

However, he had also had terrible convictions, like blaming muggles and muggleborns for the dwindling of power in the magical lines, valuing only purebloods whilst clamoring for the exclusion of all the rest, if not to outright kill them.

The crux of the matter is that no one could really tell how good or bad, in the whole, Slytherin had been.

Even for more reason that the wizard hadn't had the opportunity to carry on with his life, to demonstrate what he would have done regarding his ideals. He had never had the chance.

He could have turned into a raving Dark Lord or he could have become someone who finally discovered and solved the problem of why magic had been dimming in power throughout the generations –if even that was to be believed.

"I find it amusing," hissed out Tom venomously, pulling Harry out of his musings, "how very hypocritical you can be."

Harry frowned at him in confusion, at that, and his brother gave him a deeply contemptuous sneer, as he continued acidly, "Why, here you are, pontificating about how terribly 'wrong and evil' it would be of us if we allowed Slytherin to kill a couple of 'innocent' people, when you didn't seem to have such scruples in Norway-"

"WHAT HAPPENED IN NORWAY, STAYED IN NORWAY!" boomed Harry furiously, instantly seeing red as his brother's words sunk in like piercing arrows, utterly enraged that his brother always used it as a way to imply that Harry and his values were a fraud, that he had no right to take a moral high ground since he had killed back then.

"You wish," whispered Tom, his tone so very soft and nasty, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction.

Breathing hard through his nose, with hands clenched into shaking fists, Harry spat stiffly, "We killed to survive. We killed to protect ourselves. It was different. What you want now, would be _murder_."

Tom shot him a cold, nonchalant look. "It would be an insignificant sacrifice of lives for that of a vastly greater one."

Groaning, Harry deflated as he rubbed his forehead. It was pointless to attempt to convince his brother with that thread of argument.

Especially since trying to make Tom see that they would be killing not only the thirteen required victims but all their possible offspring was an abstract notion at best. And certainly, Tom couldn't care a whit about it, not when they were talking about the future families of 'mudbloods'.

Quickly changing tacks, Harry sighed, as he asked pointedly, "Fine. But, at least, did you get a chance to read it?"

"Read what?" demanded Tom coolly.

"The book I left in your desk!" snapped Harry impatiently, as he plopped himself down on the table. "In our dormitory, you dunce!"

"I saw no book this morning," said Tom suspiciously, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "Which book are we speaking of?"

"The one I used the other day," gripped Harry in exasperation. "The one about the Animagus Transformation. I left it inside your top drawer!"

"Then," jeered Tom caustically, arching a mocking eyebrow at him, "how did you expect me to see it, you twit."

"I stuffed it in because I didn't want the others to see it," groused Harry, as he briskly carded a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't want to raise suspicions." He shook his head, before he bit out crisply, "I marked a chapter. I wanted you to read it."

"A chapter… regarding?" demanded Tom flatly.

"There're examples in there," rushed out Harry pointedly, "of how very dangerous the Animagus Transformation can be. Examples about wizards who had gotten stuck in their Animagus form, and what happened to them-"

"I see," muttered Tom, with a wholly uninterested expression on his face.

"I don't think you do," said Harry waspishly, his brother's dismissive, bored tone of voice rubbing him the wrong way. "There was one bloke who stayed in his Animagus form for eight years." His brows crinkled, as he attempted to recall all the details. "He was running from the law, he had done something bad –can't remember exactly what- the point is that the Ministry was after him and he changed into his Animagus form – a mockingbird. Eight years later, when by mere chance an Auror happened to realize that he was watching a bird acting strangely, that the bird was actually an Animagus, it was brought back to the Ministry, and made to change back and reveal his identity and reason for hiding-"

"Does this _gripping_ tale," interrupted Tom snidely, "have a point?"

"I was coming to it," said Harry hotly, shooting him a quelling look, as he hastened to continue, "The mockingbird changed into a wizard, and he died." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that, in a split second. Do you want to know why?"

"I am sure you will tell me," drawled Tom with pointed indifference, "whether I want to or not."

"He died," hissed out Harry irritably, "because in those eight years, he had acquired some of the characteristics of his animal form, unbeknownst to him. He died because a mockingbird dies by the time it hits eight years of age, and the trait the Animagus wizard just happened to acquire was his form's lifespan. When he changed back to a wizard, he was obviously much older than an eight-year-old, so in a second, he turned to bones and dust."

Tom arched a fastidious eyebrow at him. "And this is relevant because?"

"Because there're other examples of similar things happening to Animagus wizards who remained in their animal form for too long!" exploded Harry angrily. "And the same might happen to Slytherin-"

"If that is so, I do not see the problem. A Basilisk can live for over five millennia," cut in Tom coolly. "Slytherin's life will not be endangered-"

"But ours might!" bellowed Harry exasperatedly. "He might have acquired other traits from his Basilisk form that do not concern his lifespan. He might come back deranged, he might come back with basilisk eyes, he might come back with poisonous fangs and a tail and who knows what else!" He shook his head fiercely. "He might come back as not a human at all – don't you see!" He bore his gaze into his brother's, frantically. "Those are the risks I was referring to. We have no way of foreseeing just _what _Slytherin will return as, if we go ahead with the ritual, brother!"

In utter silence, Tom stared at him for a long moment, before he intoned with lofty arrogance, "I hardly think Salazar Slytherin would be unable to have control over himself when he returns to us." He shot him a sneer. "A wizard like him would not allow himself to become insane-"

"You don't know that!" snapped Harry angrily. "We truly know nothing about him. And even less, how it has all affected him-"

"Furthermore, even if he came back as a madman, or some type of hybrid creature," continued Tom, talking over him in a supremely superior tone, "he would not harm us." He pierced him with eyes narrowed to slits. "I – we are his Heirs. He would not attack us. He will cherish us-"

Harry let out a shout of derisive laughter, sharply guffawing so loudly that he had to choke out his next words, "We – are – halfbloods! He won't see us as worthy! He'll kill us instantly when he realizes that his precious line of pureblooded descendants is gone and that we are the only thing left, you idiot!"

"_He would not_," hissed Tom in a very low, vibrant voice, a smirk stretching over his face, taking Harry a moment to realize that his brother was speaking in Parseltongue, "_because we share his ability. Because, as you say, we are his last surviving heirs_." He narrowed his eyes at Harry, a glint of livid anger flashing. "And do not ever mention we are halfbloods again. Our unfortunately besmirched blood shall always be overlooked and, in time, forgotten, as our powers and Slytherin ancestry takes precedence over everything else."

Harry tossed his head to a side like a peeved horse, as he bit out accusingly, "You're purposely deluding yourself just because you want this so bad. And because you're arrogant enough to think that you'll be able to deal with him and anything that happens." He shot him a dour look. "You know perfectly well that nothing can assure us that Slytherin will 'cherish' us."

He paused, pinning his brother with a stern gaze, before he added pointedly, "And what about the things he might want to do once he comes back, huh? Have you thought about _that_?"

"He would want to continue his research, naturally," drawled Tom with dismissive indifference, before he shot him a wide, superior smirk, "and teach his Heirs, will he not? All his knowledge, all his powers, all his-"

"And he might just as well decide that he wants to become a Dark Lord, just for kicks!" snapped Harry briskly, skewering him with a glowering look. "Come on, brother! You know it's a possibility and you're not even considering it, not even mentioning-"

"According to history books - those that are not biased, of course," sneered Tom tartly, "Salazar Slytherin never showed any inclination or desire to become a Dark Lord-"

"That we know of!" gritted out Harry, his exasperation so deep that he was about to tear handfuls of hair from his scalp. "And maybe it's just because he didn't have the bloody time for it, you prat! What, with his 'best mate', Godric Gryffindor, probably watching his every move, I reckon Slytherin wasn't too keen on proclaiming his true goals in life. Probably, he was just vying for time."

Hopping off the table, Harry stood toe-to-toe with his brother, glaring up at him as he added sharply, "And I would have thought that you'd have enough with one Dark Lord as a future rival for you." He shot Tom a nasty, pointed smirk. "Do you really want to fight your _dear_, allegedly immensely powerful ancestor for the spot of most fearsome and mighty Dark Lord of all times, as well? Surely you'll have your hands full with Grindelwald, won't you?"

Stilling, Tom narrowed his blue eyes at him, as he whispered stiffly, "Salazar Slytherin would aid me in my ambitions, not thwart them. He would not be a rival, but a supporter and a mentor."

"Are you willing to risk it?" prompted Harry coolly, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Do you really think you could best_ both_ Gellert Grindelwald and Salazar Slytherin, if it came to that?"

That, finally, seemed to do the trick, as his brother abruptly clammed up. Tom was glowering at him with incensed hatred etched on his face, but remained silent.

"Right," said Harry airily, doing his best not to reveal his triumphant smugness on his face, though he suspected he was failing miserably, since his brother glared at him even more spitefully and venomously than before.

He jauntily clapped his hands together the next moment, shooting Tom an assuaging, warm smile, and cheerily said, as one offering a tantalizing sweet to a sulking, grumpy child who had suffered a profound disappointment, "Well, now that _that_ is settled, what do you say to a bit of Dark Arts practice?"


	62. Part I: Chapter 61

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Many little things happening in this chapter, mostly laying the foundations for what's to come :)

Hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

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**Part I: Chapter 61**

* * *

"….Lethifolds, also known as the Living Shrouds, are nocturnal creatures. They primarily attack sleeping humans. Although they have been known to chase awakened prey when particularly hungry…"

Harry did his best to mask his irritation as Professor Merrythought kept rattling off information in her usual harsh, strict tone.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, that had always been his favorite class in which he excelled as highly as in Charms, had lost some of its appeal for him. The reason was simple: it was the one class that Slytherins shared with Ravenclaws that year.

Even now he caught sight of Olive Hornby shooting Tom coy looks. The girl never lost a chance to sidle up to his brother during DADA, finding ways of getting partnered up with him when they had to practice spells and always managing to be selected into Tom's group when it came to projects.

"When attacking humans, a Lethifold enfolds them with its body, smothering its victim as it proceeds to digest them in a matter of seconds, leaving no trace at all behind…."

If Hornby and her gaggle of girlfriends weren't bad enough, there was also Tiberius McLaggen to consider.

The boy's pomposity had only increased after his grandfather, the erstwhile Minister of Magic Charlemagne McLaggen, had been sacked from office due to his incompetence and refusal to believe that Grindelwald could be a Dark Lord in the rise. After that rather ignominious fall from grace, the McLaggens had been quick to dissociate themselves from their relative, which resulted in Tiberius acting even more overbearing and pretentious than normal.

The Daily Prophet had recently reported that Charlemagne McLaggen had been sighted hiding in the jungles of Brazil, too afraid to return to England in case his own constituency had a mind to lynch him - news that had only turned Tiberius more outspoken and pedantic.

If the puffed up Ravenclaw boy confined his loud, self-important declarations to the subject of his disowned grandfather, Harry wouldn't have such a problem with him.

However, the boy didn't.

"…. yes, they won against Hufflepuff," Tiberius was saying as loudly as he dared, to a bunch of his housemates that had grouped together in one corner of the classroom - low enough not to be overheard by their teacher, but certainly wanting Harry and Alphard to overhear him, as they were just a few feet away. "But I saw no indication that their Chasers are particularly brilliant flyers as everyone else is saying."

The boy thrust his nose high in the air, as he shot Harry and Alphard a quick glance from the corner of his eyes. "It's quite clear that Black only got on the team because his aunt is the Captain. I don't think they're uncommonly talented at all. Evidently, it's all because of their brooms. After all, both Blacks have Comets 360, and Riddle has a Tinderblast, which I feel is quite an unfair advantage. It most certainly should not be allowed-"

In two days, Slytherin was going to play against Ravenclaw and all the usual intimidation tactics were being employed in the days preceding the match.

Not that his own housemates were above using dirty tricks to mine the confidence of Ravenclaws' Quidditch players, but that was expected from Slytherins, wasn't it? Harry wasn't even ashamed or annoyed by such schemes. They were useful, and more importantly, they _worked_.

However, it didn't mean that it did not irk him to the extreme to have Tiberius McLaggen pompously spouting about such things when they were in the middle of class – a class Harry valued and usually enjoyed.

"Can anyone tell me what is the only known defense against a Lethifold?"

Galatea Merrythought's demanding voice yanked Harry out of his grumpy thoughts, allowing him to take notice that, predictably, Tom's hand was already in the air before the teacher could finish her prompting.

"The Patronus Charm, professor," Tom said in a firm, matter-of-fact tone.

Professor Merrythought, usually a very stern and cold-looking witch, beamed at him. "Precisely. Twenty points to Slytherin!"

The Ravenclaws grumbled under their breaths –with the exception of Olive and her entourage, who shot Tom admiring looks- while the Slytherins smirked, eyeing Tom with a kind of possessive, proud zealousness.

Harry inwardly sighed with exasperation. That was another reason he wasn't enjoying his lessons as much as usual, lately.

In the months following The Slug Club's first gathering, all the teachers seemed to have softened even further towards Tom. Harry had the suspicion that their Head of House had told the whole Staff about what a self-sacrificing, humble orphan Tom was, in need of much aid to bolster up his self-confidence – to think of his own future and not only that of Harry's, supposedly.

Tom, of course, had played his part beautifully.

His brother had always answered questions in class with utter brilliancy and perfection, but progressively, he had begun voicing his replies with much more strength and conviction.

Their professors certainly thought that Tom was blossoming under their tender care. Harry had been catching sight of expressions of satisfaction and pride in most of their teacher's faces, like the one on Professor Merrythought right at that moment.

"Does that mean," piped up Tiberius McLaggen boldly, with a highly interested expression on his face that was shared by most of his housemates, "that you'll be teaching us the Patronus Charm, ma'am?"

A ripple of excitement washed through the class at that, thrilled whispers and murmurs quickly spreading.

"I'm afraid not," said Galatea Merrythought sharply, her eyes gaining their usual cold, harsh look as she glanced away from Tom to survey the rest of them. "The Patronus Charm is not part of Hogwarts' syllabus. It is a highly advanced-"

"Professor Tilly Toke," interrupted Capricia Carrow, her eyes narrowing to slits, her expression not crestfallen as that of all the rest, but rather sneeringly condemning, "promised to teach us the Patronus Charm on our Seventh Year."

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he stood, as Alphard shot him a quizzical glance, but he made a point of focusing on the Slytherin girl.

Trust her to have remembered that. Capricia Carrow had rather despised Toke after the wizard had used her as an example of how the Levitation Charm could be used to save lives.

It was one of Harry's fondest memories about the wizard who had died aiding him, no matter the man's reasons for it.

"As Professor Tilly Toke is, I believe, dead," snapped Merrythought briskly, not looking too fazed by it, "it is neither here nor there what he deigned to promise his students - with no authority or permission, I might add."

Disgruntled murmurs broke in the classroom, and the witch swept them all with a severe look, as she raised her voice, "However, we will be learning a rather simple manner of how to protect oneself from being chased by a Lethifold."

With a flick of her wand, a large trunk that had been at the furthest corner of the room and that clearly no one had noticed before, came skidding into the middle of the classroom where they were all standing, with desks and chairs pushed against the walls as usual when it was one of their practice lessons.

Professor Merrythought gave the trunk a brisk tap with her wand, and it rattled ominously, as she continued undisturbed, "As you'll soon see, Lethifolds move along the ground, gliding-"

"Soon see?" echoed Myrtle Mimbletinion in a screech, her eyes wide with horror behind her large, thick eyeglasses, her pimpled face going stark white. "You have one THERE?"

With his ears ringing, and gritting his teeth, Harry momentarily closed his eyes and tried to summon patience and understanding, failing miserably.

_She_, finally, was probably the main reason why Harry had stopped looking forward to DADA with the Ravenclaws.

That year they had finished with basic defensive spells and had begun studying dangerous magical creatures of all sorts and how protect themselves from such, and Moaning Myrtle had consistently shown utter terror for anything more frightening than a Cornish Pixie.

Though, by the look on her face now, it appeared that the mere idea of a smothering, murdering Lethifold caused abject, mindless fear.

"Yes," said Galatea Merrythought, almost spitting out the words as her gaze landed on Myrtle, one of the witch's eyebrows twitching with annoyance. "As in our all previous lessons, I have brought a live specimen for us to-"

Myrtle shrieked when the trunk shook and clanked once more, the girl jumping several steps back, which made her bump against Olive and her cronies, who made disgusted noises from the back of their throats and brusquely pushed Myrtle away.

Myrtle, of course, didn't take kindly to that, and began wailing in an ear-splitting, high-pitched voice, "I don't want to be here! I don't want to see a Lethifold!"

"Cease your whining, you silly girl," barked Professor Merrythought, her irritation now plain on her narrow, thin face. "You will be in no danger in my classroom-"

"I WANT TO LEAVE!" shrieked Myrtle in utter terror as the trunk rattled again, the girl now cowering further back, pressing herself against clumps of students, as though trying to find a way through which to escape.

"Go, then!" snapped Galatea Merrythought thunderously. "You are excused from this lesson!"

With a flick of the witch's wand, the classroom door flung open, and Myrtle certainly didn't think about it twice.

Letting out a wailing screech from the top of her lungs, she ran out of the room so quickly that she was merely a blur, as everyone instantly made way for her.

There was a massive sigh of relief when Professor Merrythought slammed the door shut with another wave of her wand, sparing their eardrums from further abuse when Myrtle's distant shrieks could no longer be heard.

"Form pairs of two," then barked Galatea Merrythought, rounding on them with a livid expression her face, her tone only softening a mite as she added, "Mr. Riddle, be so kind as to aid me in distributing these..."

Certainly knowing that she was referring to Tom and not him, Harry automatically moved closer to Alphard as he watched how his brother reached the teacher's desk, which was now laden with piles of pots.

Several minutes later, Harry and Alphard glanced down at the pot they had been given to share. Strangely enough, it was filled with small rubber balls.

"Very well," said Professor Merrythought sharply as she stood beside the rattling trunk once more, "as I was saying, Lethifolds glide over the ground. Yet, their movement can be impeded by throwing seemingly unobtrusive obstacles in their path, such as the rubber balls you are now holding. On the count of three, once I have opened the trunk, I want you all to begin throwing the balls in its way…."

As the witch began counting aloud, Harry instantly turned to grab a handful of rubber balls from their pot, which Alphard was holding.

And then blinked, befuddled, when he saw it was suddenly empty.

"Where are the-" began Harry as he glanced up at his friend, but his voice trailed into nothingness as he gawked at boy.

Alphard was standing there, with empty pot in hands and with a hazy, dreamy expression on his face, but that wasn't what was making Harry gape. But rather the fact that his friend's cheeks were weirdly distended, hugely round, like that of a blowfish, so big, as though he had stuffed inside-

Harry ogled at him, dumbfounded. "Did you stick the rubber balls in your gob?"

"W'at?" came a muffled, choked, unintelligible sound from Alphard's overstuffed mouth, and apparently the boy suddenly realized what he had inexplicably done, because he went red and began hacking and spitting out the contents of his mouth.

Harry stared at the pot now containing slimy, saliva-drenched rubber balls, and gawked at his friend once more. "Why did you do that?"

They were surrounded by enthusiastic cries. Distantly, he even saw a weird shadow weaving through the classroom, looking distressed, gliding jerkily from one side to the other as it was pelted with rubber balls by the rest of the students - undoubtedly the Lethifold, which resembled nothing but an undulating, misty, thick black cloak.

"I think I'm going mad," whispered Alphard in a strangled voice, his grey eyes distressed, his cheeks now pale, as he grasped Harry by the lapels of his school robes with the hand that wasn't clutching the pot.

Harry swallowed thickly at that, dismayed, because he thought he had an idea regarding what it was all about.

He had noticed Alphard acting strangely during the past week, every since they had drank the potion of the Mayan ritual. And he himself had felt some very weird things as well.

As the guide book had said, they had indeed been having nightly dreams about being their animal forms. Very much like the first hallucinatory experience they had had in the Room of Requirements: Harry always dreamed about soaring above snow-capped mountains, and roaring puffs of fire, and batting powerful wings, and even hunting… hunting humans.

Once, he had dreamed he had flown into what had decidedly looked like a muggle village, with claws extended as he swooped down in the middle of the night, grasping a little boy who had been lingering about. Clutching the screaming child and then soaring high up into the dark skies with a roar of delighted triumph – and hunger.

Harry had made himself not to think about it for too long. After all, it wasn't real. He was merely seeing scenes from the life of one of his Animagus form's kind – generic at best.

It was the other things –things that the guide book had certainly not mentioned- that had been worrying him.

Harry had always preferred any type of meat to be cooked medium-rare, at most, yet lately he had been hungering for nearly burnt steaks and chicken legs. Alphard for his part, seemed to have lost his appetite for the first couple of days, until one evening in which there had been a wide plate of corn cobs for dinner in the Great Hall.

Alphard had dived for it, nearly jumping across the Slytherin Table to reach it, with a strange sort of desperation. And in an instant, his friend had frantically nibbled and gobbled down eight cobs.

After that, Alphard had stopped attending the Great Hall for meals. Harry suspected his friend had resorted to going to the kitchens instead, as to no longer make a spectacle of himself.

He didn't know what the house-elves had been feeding the boy, but Alphard had certainly been looking less starved, as well as increasingly jittery and shameful.

Harry, for his part, had also been feeling weird sensations.

His eyesight –which he had considered excellent after he had lost his eyeglasses in Norway and Dorea had made him drink an eyesight-correcting potion- became even keener and sharper at the most unexpected of moments, never lasting for long, but always catching him by surprise, startling him when he could suddenly see every freckle on a boy's face from across the Great Hall or the grainy shape of every speck of dust at the furthest end of a corridor.

Furthermore, he could no longer sit still, not on the bench of the Slytherin Table in the Great Hall or on chairs during class time. He always squirmed on his seat, highly uncomfortable whilst feeling his backbone tingling, as though a long tail was about to spring out from his last vertebra.

And Tom was already giving him harsh glances every time he fidgeted on his seat, as though Harry was behaving like a little boy who hadn't yet learned how to hold his pee, or worse, shooting him narrowed-eyed, suspicious looks.

Not to mention that his shoulders blades kept itching and aching, as though a pair of wings were bursting to come forth.

It was all highly unsettling – because none of it was supposed to happen.

"I think," continued Alphard in a choked voice, his eyes wide with anguish, "that we botched it somehow. I think we made it more powerful than it was supposed to be."

Harry shifted nervously on his feet, feeling a twist of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn't been in the best of moods when he had been casting those strange-sounding Mayan spells at the magical mushroom. He was quite certain, then, that he had been at fault, and not Alphard's brewing skills.

"And it won't stop," whispered Alphard frantically, his voice carrying a high-pitched tone of agony. "I don't think it will ever stop until we manage to transform!"

"Maybe," murmured Harry quietly, shooting their surroundings a wary look to ascertain they weren't being watched or overheard. Thankfully, it didn't seem that way. Everyone was still distracted with the fleeing Lethifold. "Maybe we should go to the Infirmary. Miss Nightingale might know how to help us-"

"We can't!" nearly shrieked Alphard in alarm, violently shaking his head and looking more anxious and disconsolate than ever before, as he tightened his clutch on Harry's robes. "What we did is illegal – we could face the Wizengamot for it!"

"Then what do we do?" pressed Harry, highly perturbed.

Alphard gulped loudly, before he whispered frenziedly, "We have to find out what we are. And we have to learn how to transform as soon as possible!"

At that, Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting his head to a side, as a slow grin formed on his face. "I don't think _you_ will have any problems with the first part. After what I've seen-" he pointedly gestured at the pot in Alphard's hand "-it's pretty clear that you're some sort of –"

"Don't say it!" moaned Alphard, sounding distressed and abashed.

Harry blinked at him, startled. "But it's a good thing! We both know that small, inconspicuous forms are the most useful-"

Alphard shook his head at him, looking irked, mutinous, and decidedly sullen, as he turned his back to Harry and abruptly strode towards the teacher's desk with pot in hand, only then Harry realizing that the class had ended.

* * *

Three hours later, after their last class of the day, Harry was cheerily floating on clouds.

'Admit aloud that you're a complete dimwit-'

Harry slightly frowned as the silky voice permeated through his head, meshing with the warm and comforting folds snugly coddling his mind, making him feel utterly relaxed, blissfully unconcerned and happy.

Opening his mouth, he paused, his frown deepening.

Why had he been about to say that he was an idiot? Because he wasn't, thought Harry miffed and mutinous, no matter what other people thought-

'Tell what you know to be the truth,' insisted the soft, crooning voice, though this time with a touch of angered asperity. 'Say that you're a half-brained imbecile. And,' added the voice, now laced with smugness, 'state who is the most brilliant student of all, in Hogwarts.'

Well, that was easy, it was his brother Tom. But why would he say it aloud?

Harry slowly shook his head. His brother was already fatheaded enough and full of himself as it was.

And what if Tom overheard him? His brother would become unbearable if he somehow witnessed Harry proclaiming him 'the most brilliant of all' – and that sounded silly, anyway.

Not even if he was drawn through the streets by stampeding hippogriffs would he ever say such a thing-

'Say it!' snapped the voice crossly, reverberating in his mind like a whiplash.

No, he didn't think so, decided Harry firmly, unwittingly clamping his mouth shut.

He wouldn't be caught dead singing his brother's praises, ever, and something funny was going on: his forehead was burning fiercely and he wanted to rub his scar, and his body was itchy, and he was beginning to feel a mite irked-

Abruptly, he heard a loud snarl of fury and Harry blinked, his knees nearly buckling under his weight when he found himself limply standing in the middle of the Room of Requirements.

Momentarily disoriented, he staggered a few steps backwards, as he glanced around and slowly remembered – Room of Requirements, looking like the Slytherins' Dueling Chamber, imitating its appearance and magic, to be able to practice the Dark Arts unnoticed by the school's wards… right… and Tom's face, there, suddenly inches away from his, seething with fury.

"How do you do it!" demanded Tom irately, his handsome features contorted, his dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, like burning embers.

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then grinned widely. "It didn't work? You failed to Imperio me – again?"

"How. do. you. do. it," bit out Tom in a very low, ominous tone, portending great doom to befall him if Harry failed to give a prompt, satisfactory explanation.

Utterly unfazed by his brother's creepy, menacing aura – much used to it by now- Harry shrugged. "Dunno."

Tom shot him a look of utmost disgust, before he muttered under his breath angrily, as though raving to himself, "I don't understand it. I am infinitely more powerful than the idiot, vastly more knowledgeable and immeasurably cleverer… I cannot be surpassed in this when it took the imbecile months to learn the Killing and Cruciatus Curses, and I mastered those in just one week-"

"The 'imbecile' can hear you, you know?" interjected Harry waspishly, scowling.

Tom's gaze flickered back to him, with piercing intensity, as though trying to flay him layer by layer, as he continued in a louder voice, "It has to be something else." His eyes narrowed to slits once more, calculatingly. "Perhaps…" He cast him a nasty, scornful sneer. "Perhaps it's your idiotic pigheadedness-"

"Pigheadedness?" interrupted Harry, scoffing. "Funny. Grindelwald's book calls it something else, doesn't it? Says it's a matter of willpower and-"

"You do not have stronger willpower than I!" snarled Tom, venomously glaring at him.

"And yet," said Harry coolly, as he shot him a smug, toothy grin, "it wasn't me who was impersonating a chicken yesterday."

Tom flushed red with rage, and Harry was wise enough to not chuckle –though he did, in his insides, as he had done the other day for hours on end.

It had rather surprised them both that Harry seemed to have a knack for the Imperius Curse. It was the last of the Unforgivables Curses that they were learning, and it had become apparent at once that he could throw it off with relative ease. And even though Tom had mastered how to cast it almost immediately when practicing with live animals, so had Harry, much to their astonishment.

Maybe it was due to the fact that he had had such trouble with the other two Unforgivables because he abhorred causing pain, having to see the animals writhing and screeching with agony, or to see their bodies lay motionless on the floor, dead still and dull-eyed.

The Imperius Curse, though he considered it as awful as the other two, had the sole benefit that he didn't feel so terrible with himself after casting it. He didn't have to bear with shrieks of pain or deadened eyes, at least.

Furthermore, he had rather enjoyed himself the other day when they had entered the phase of leaving animals aside to practice on each other.

On the other hand, Tom hadn't been amused when Harry had made him prance and hop around the room, flapping his arms as though they were wings, cackling and cooing.

And by the time that Tom had crouched on the floor with knees set wide apart, following Harry's order of 'Now lay your baby egg like a good mother hen', he had known he had been in serious trouble.

His scar had flared with blinding pain, making Harry wince, grunt, and realize that even if his brother couldn't throw his Imperio off, Tom was still managing to plot his death in his befuddled, fuzzy brain.

As one who had come to highly value his own hide, Harry had quickly flicked his wand and ended the curse just as Tom had begun to look constipated, and it was only thanks to his fast reflexes that he managed to dodge his brother's savage retaliation.

In the second that it took Tom to recover and stand up straight with a hiss of outraged fury, a jolt of light had shot towards Harry –and by its color, he suspected it had been one of his brother's well-practiced Cruciatus Curses.

Of course, it had narrowly missed him as he dived to a side, and he hadn't thought about it twice before he scampered out of the Room of Requirements, guffawing with laughter.

"Do not dare to ever," spat Tom, his eyes flashing murderously, "mention that again. It was merely a fluke!" He skewered Harry with an intense gaze, as he added crisply, "Today, you will cast the curse on me until I manage to defeat it."

"Alright," muttered Harry with a roll of his eyes.

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, as he whispered in his most silky, soft, and lethal of tones, "Beware. Make me humiliate myself again and you shall pay direly for it, little brother."

Instantly, Harry wiped off the expression on his face, swallowed thickly, and gave a jerky nod of the head.

Apparently having decided that he had instilled abject, wary fearfulness in him, Tom smirked as he waved a hand grandiosely. "Begin."

And Harry did.

Though, just like the other day -no matter what he had promised to Tom- he wasn't about to forego the chance of bringing his brother down a couple of notches, of enjoying some good-natured fun that could really hurt no one, and of gifting himself with memories that he would treasure till his last breathing day.

Thirty minutes later, after having cast a nonstop succession of Imperius Curses making Tom believe he was a kitten licking itself clean to then chase an imaginary ball of yarn, a monkey scratching fleas from under its armpits, and a baby seal playing ball with its tail and flapping flippers, Harry instantly hightailed it and dashed out of the room, followed by Tom's furious roar, "YOU COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE-"

"Sorry!" shouted back Harry as he kept running as fast as his legs could carry him, choking with sniggers and chortles. "Got Quidditch practice - see you later!"

Secure in the knowledge that as soon as he was back in the midst of the general population of Hogwarts he would be untouchable, Harry reveled in the images forever etched in his mind – his best to date, he admitted quite delightedly and proudly.

Nevertheless, he would make sure to sleep in some empty classroom that night – no point in giving his brother an easy chance to get even.

Especially since he knew that Tom was holding a grudge ever since Harry had managed to make him see reason regarding the 'Zar issue'.

* * *

A screechy, wailing sound made Harry jerk awake, groaning as he grasped his wand from the nightstand and gave it a flick, muttering sleepily, "Tempus!"

Floating, glittering red numbers made him realize it was seven in the morning, as expected since he had cast the alarm spell the previous night and set it precisely for that ungodly hour.

Groggily rubbing his face and squinting in the darkness, Harry muttered, "Lumos!"

He gawked as the bright globe of light emanating from the tip of his wand washed his surroundings.

He was in his bed, amidst mounds of feathers, with bed sheets thoroughly torn, and he even caught sight of several holes and burn marks.

Not to mention that both his pajama top and bottom were dangling off his body like pieces of tattered rags joined by flimsy, frail threads, as though having been attacked by a pair of demented scissors.

Dazedly turning around, he eyed his pillow, which was completely ravaged, with the stuffing ripped out of it – which would explain the feathers….

Harry swallowed thickly. It all seemed to indicate that something had happened during his sleep, when he had been dreaming that he was his animal form, fighting against what had looked like some sort of enormous hawk.

Was it possible that he had transformed?

Shaking his head and grumbling under his breath with a hitch of dismay, Harry quickly rose to his feet. He didn't have the time to spend in befuddled musings, he had a Quidditch match to prepare for.

After casting a series of haphazard spells to mend it all as best he could, he tiptoed around the dormitory, accompanied by the snores of Neron Lestrange and Thaddeus Avery, collecting some of his belongings to take a quick, invigorating shower.

Though he paused by Alphard's bed, seeing that the boy's curtains were drawn shut.

Harry shook his head, realizing his friend still hadn't woken up.

"Al, get up, quick," hissed out Harry quietly, as he yanked one curtain open. "We can't be late-"

He stared, feeling a frisson of alarm and worry. Alphard's bed was empty. It looked slept in, but the boy wasn't there.

Harry quickly darted glances around the gloomy darkness of the dormitory. All the others were still asleep but there was no sign of Alphard anywhere.

Taking a deep breath, telling himself that it just meant that the boy must already be making his way to the Quidditch Pitch to fly around and warm up, he hastened to get ready – just in case.

Two hours later, donning his Quidditch robes and with his Tinderblast in hand, Harry was truly panicking.

The whole House was awake by then, even though most slept in on Sundays, clearly because they all intended to go to the game.

He had already seen Dorea and his other teammates in the Great Hall for breakfast, but there was no sign of Alphard anywhere.

"What do you mean that he wasn't in your dorm?" bit out Dorea Black, pining him with grey eyes narrowed to slits, as she paused a fork holding a piece of fruit from reaching her mouth as Harry anxiously hovered by her side of the Slytherin Table. "Where is he, then?"

"I don't know!" said Harry fretfully. "I've looked everywhere for two hours-"

"Then look some more!" snapped Dorea as she slammed her fork on the table, glaring at him. "The match against Ravenclaw starts in an hour and I want to go over tactics with the whole team-"

Harry didn't linger to hear the rest of it as the girl began to get more wind under her sails, her tone rising in anger.

He was soon running all over the castle, asking random students if they had seen Alphard.

The only thing he got in return were giggles from some girls that eyed him in his Quidditch uniform with appraising glances and fluttering eyelashes, grunts of denial from older boys, or just shakes of the head from the rest.

All the while, Harry kept casting the Tempus Charm, seeing his time running out.

He had even gone back to their dormitory, to check there once more, but with no success. At least he had had the presence of mind to get Alphard's Quidditch equipment –robes, pads, boots and gloves- along with the shrunken Comet 360 from the boy's trunk, stuffing it all in a rucksack.

It was a good thing that Harry knew the locking charms of Alphard's trunk, since the boy had insisted on it. The times they had asked Charlus Potter for his Invisibility Cloak, Alphard always kept it in his trunk and had wanted Harry to be able to access it if he wanted to.

With rucksack now hoisted on a shoulder, and panting to catch his breath, Harry stood before the great, opened front doors of Hogwarts, frantically glancing at all sides as lingering students passed him by in a rush.

The last Tempus spell had informed him that he merely had twenty minutes to go before the match began, most students having already left for the Pitch.

"HAS ANYONE SEEN ALPHARD BLACK?" Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs, at the world in general, absolutely frenzied and at the end of his wits.

"Black haire' boy, ain't he? Runty?" said a gruff voice, with a thick cockney accent.

Harry swiveled around at that, and had to crane his neck far back to see who had spoken.

A massive, hulking boy was squinting down at him, of wiry, bushy, tangled dark hair and beady black eyes, wearing scruffy, woolen school robes smudged with dirt.

Harry recognized him. He was that half-Giant first-year boy that the Prewetts twins had taken a shine to.

"Runty?" echoed Harry momentarily bewildered, before he realized that anyone would seem 'runty' to the enormous boy before him. "Yeah, I suppose." His green eyes widened hopefully, as he rushed out, "Have you seen him, then?"

"I might've," grumbled the boy, squinting down at him, suspiciously. "Ye're his friend, ain't ye? I've seen the pair of ye runnin' around – always togethe'."

"Yes, we're friends," said Harry impatiently. "So have you seen him or not?"

The half-Giant gave him a considering, narrowed-eyed look. Harry noticed the boy's small, beady eyes straying to the large Slytherin crest on his green and silver Quidditch robes. Clearly the boy didn't think much of it, as an expression of dislike, wariness, and even greater suspicion crossed his broad, blunt face.

"Fine. Com' wit' me," grunted the boy a second later, as he clumbered around and took thundering steps down the entrance stairway of the castle.

Having to sprint to catch up with the boy's immense strides, Harry flung his Tinderblast over a shoulder, secured the rucksack, and followed him, panting.

"I'm Hagrid," rumbled the boy, shooting him a quick, assessing look. "Rubeus Hagrid."

"Harry Riddle," said Harry wheezily as he attempted to keep up with the boy's lumbering gait.

Hagrid grunted at that. "I know. Prewetts told me about ye." He shot him a squinty-eyed look. "Said ye were alrigh', even if ye're a Snake."

"I reckon I am," said Harry absentmindedly, puzzled as he realized they were heading towards the Forbidden Forest. "Where are we going?"

"To yer friend," replied Hagrid gruffly.

Harry shot him a look of great astonishment and concern, as he said thickly, "He's… in the forest?"

"Aye," grumbled Hagrid shortly.

Not knowing what else to ask or say to the strange, intimidating boy, and rather wanting to distract himself from the fact that time was running short, Harry observed him as they made their way into the Forbidden Forest.

He caught sight of the weirdest wand he had ever seen poking out from of the boy's pocket. It was very short, thick and stubby, with big knots in its wood.

A moment later, Harry nearly tripped over a tree root as he caught sight of something else: a spindly, hairy thing had crawled out of the half-Giant's bulging pocket, looking like some sort of stick-like, furred leg-

"What's that?" Harry gasped in alarm, pointing at it.

"Whot's wot?" Hagrid frowned at him, before his beady gaze followed the direction of Harry's fingertip, and he quickly stuffed a massive hand inside the pocket, shooting him a shifty look, as he muttered quickly, "Just, er… a Chocolate Frog I'm savin' fer laters."

"That didn't look like a –"

"We're almost ther'!" boomed Hagrid as he suddenly quickened his earth-shattering strides.

Everything else vanishing from his mind, Harry hurried after him, urgently glancing around to catch sight of wherever Alphard was.

Though he was beginning to think that maybe he shouldn't have been so stupidly trusting. Perhaps the half-Giant was luring him there to waste his time, to get revenge on Slytherin House by making him be late for the match, or something.

He wouldn't put it past him, the boy was a Gryffindor after all. Not the smartest and certainly not too cunning in general, but they did like their nasty pranks.

"Ther'," said Hagrid as he halted abruptly.

"There?" repeated Harry, glancing around. He saw nothing but immensely tall, ancient trees all around them. "There what?"

"He's up ther'," said Hagrid gruffly, gesturing with a massive hand. "I saw 'im earlier when I was – er…" The half-Giant shifted uncomfortably, for some reason wriggling the hand he had stuck inside his bulging pocket. "Well… was just strollin' around, I was, for a bit of fresh air - and saw 'im." Hagrid's tone softened, as he added, "Didn't have the heart to wake 'im. He looks so peaceful, dozin' up ther'."

Having barely caught half of what the boy said, Harry had already glanced up and paled.

Indeed, there Alphard was, still in his pajamas, high up in one of the branches of the tree in front of them, curled on himself and snoring placidly, as though it was the most comfortable spot in the world and his best, restful sleep in ages.

Harry couldn't entirely fathom how Alphard had managed to get all the way up there, though there was little doubt that he had to come down, post-haste.

However, he wasn't sure that shouting his name would be a good idea, not if it would startle Alphard and perhaps make him fall.

Hastily glancing around, Harry immediately leaped to a side to grab several pebbles as he settled his Tinderblast and rucksack securely against a nearby tree.

Squinting up his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, he took aim and hurled a pebble.

It struck the dozing Alphard right smack in the middle of the forehead. Though the boy merely scratched his forehead sleepily, and didn't wake up.

Exasperated, Harry took aim and tried again, with all the strength he could muster. This time, it hit Alphard squarely in the face, hard and right between the eyes, as Harry had planned.

With a cry of pain, the boy's grey eyes flew open, and then widened in horror as he scrambled on his branch, obviously stunned and panicked when finding himself in such a place.

"Don't move!" shouted Harry immediately.

"Harry?" Alphard said in a high-pitched squeak, as he attempted to balance precariously on the branch, hugging it tightly with arms and legs. "What's happened? Where I am? What am I doing up here!"

"Wouldn' we all like to know!" chortled Hagrid cheerily. "Reckon ye have a thing fer nature and the outdoors. I do too-"

"Who's that?" Alphard stared down at them with wide eyes.

"Rubeus Hagrid. He…um – found you," replied Harry, before he glanced at the half-Giant. "Can you do a Levitation Charm? It would be best if we both cast it at him to bring him down, to be safe-"

"Ain't great shakes at magic, meself," muttered Hagrid, before he brightened. "No need fer magic, most times, really. I can catch 'im!"

"What? What did he say?" yelled Alphard, sounding highly alarmed.

"Tiny, short thing of a wizard, me dad is," Hagrid rumbled on, chortling with fondness. "I've always carried 'im around, easy. He likes it!" He gazed up at Alphard, assessingly, before he cracked a good-natured grin. "It'd be easy with ye too – I'll catch ye!"

"No, no! I don't think that's a good idea-" began Alphard in a clearly highly dubious and panicked tone of voice. "I rather you use a Levitation Charm, Harry-"

"Rubbish!" chuckled Hagrid, demonstratively holding out his thick arms. "I can catch ye, ye'll see! Jump!"

"It would be faster, Al," said Harry musingly. "But I'll cast several Cushioning Charms around Hagrid to break your fall, just in case you don't land in his arms. Alright?"

"I suppose," said Alphard feebly, not looking at all thrilled with the idea.

Harry cast around the charms on the grounds surrounding Hagrid and then gave Alphard the thumbs up. "Ready – jump!"

Visibly swallowing, Alphard disentangled himself from his branch, crouched and scrunched his eyes shut, before he leaped.

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards as he saw that everything went splendidly well, in an instant. Hagrid effortlessly caught Alphard, not even buckling the slightest at the impact of the weight or taking an unsteady step back.

Soon, the half-Giant gently settled Alphard on the ground, grinning. "See? Told ye."

"Thanks," breathed out Alphard, looking winded nonetheless, with pine needles sticking from his disheveled hair and smudges of soil staining his pajamas.

Harry nodded, shooting the halfbreed boy a warm smile. "Yeah, we owe you."

Really, Felix and Felicity's open displays of affection for the boy seemed to be deserved. The half-Giant wasn't that bad after all. Rather kind and good-natured, to be honest.

Hagrid's cheeks flushed, as he flapped a massive hand and mumbled awkwardly, "No nee' to mention it."

Harry smiled at him even more widely, before he remembered and went white, flicking his wand as he muttered anxiously, "Tempus!"

"Is that the hour?" cried out Alphard utterly aghast.

"We've only got five minutes left," said Harry urgently as he reached his rucksack and thrust it to his friend. "Everything's there, change – quickly!"

They were soon shouting their thanks and farewells to Hagrid as they dashed above the Forbidden Forest on their brooms, zooming towards the Quidditch Pitch, from where they could hear the Commentator obnoxiously wondering where the two missing Chasers of Slytherin's Team were.

* * *

Three hours later, Dorea Black was shouting at them, looking so beside herself with fury that her charmed hair was no longer a sleek sheet of glossy black hair but a frizzy, disorderly mane, bristling, as though crackling with electricity.

"Never have I been so disgusted – so humiliated!" she shrieked, her grey eyes looking as though they were spitting fire. "What were you thinking? What were you doing! I've never seen anyone play so dreadfully in all my years as Captain!"

Alphard had his head hung low, looking miserable. Harry wasn't feeling much better, though he kept holding Dorea's outraged, furious glare with a steady gaze.

He felt immensely guilty, yes, and deserving of the harsh scolding, though he couldn't see how they could have avoided everything that had happened during the match.

It had all gone wrong.

Alphard had at times flown as though terrified of being in mid air with nothing solid connecting him to the ground, fumbling several passes Dorea had made at him. Or just seemingly became distracted, a weird expression of longing crossing his face as he gazed at the distant Forbidden Forest, dreamily.

Harry, for his part, hadn't been any better, though his ailments had been different.

All throughout the match his shoulders blades had kept itching, his Tinderblast felt unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and redundant under him, and at times he had dazedly found himself flying off high up into the sky, soaring aimlessly but with a glorious sensation enveloping him, only coming back to himself due to Dorea's roars and shouts from the Quidditch Pitch.

Needless to say, they had lost the match. Though, he supposed, the very last part had been the worse-

"And you, Riddle," she spat as though his name was a dire malediction as she pointed a finger at him, visibly trembling with rage. "Why did you catch the Snitch, for Mordred's sake? You're not the Seeker!"

"I didn't mean to!" howled Harry heatedly, for what he felt was the umpteenth time. "I told you, I told Professor Sykes – I just felt something fluttering around me. I didn't even see it. I thought it was a bug or something and I just caught it to get rid of it, so that it wouldn't bother me!"

"That's no excuse!" thundered Dorea looking livid. "You should have paid more attention. And if you were going to decide to catch the Snitch, you should have done it when we were in the lead – not when Ravenclaw was winning!"

"I didn't _decide_ to catch it!" roared Harry indignantly. "And how was I supposed to know that Sykes would rule that the match was over when a _Chaser_ caught the Snitch-"

"You heard her," growled Dorea through gritted teeth. "She found a precedence in Quidditch Throughout the Ages. In the World Cup of 1356, the Ukrainian Chaser caught the Snitch and-"

"And they settled it with a penalty for the Ukrainian Team, yes, I remember," snapped Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wasn't my fault, though, was it, that you missed the goal hoop?"

Dorea looked ready to throttle him as she snarled, "How was I supposed to score the Quaffle when I had the entirety of Ravenclaw's Team piled up in front of the hoops!"

"Maybe if you had let either Harry or me do the penalty," murmured Alphard softly, "we could have scored-"

"As if I had been about to trust either of you two idiots!" bellowed Dorea irately, glowering at them. "After that ignominious, pathetic display of-"

"We're sorry," Alphard was quick to mumble, shamefacedly.

"There will be consequences for this," spat Dorea, narrowing her seething eyes at them. "For both of you. Do not believe that there won't."

And with that, she shot them her most disgusted, dirty look and stormed off.

Alphard let out a long bout of breath, turning to Harry, his face pale and distraught. "We certainly messed up."

"Do you think," began to whisper Harry, swallowing thickly, though he cut short as he caught sight of several people glaring at them all around the common room.

Harry quickly grabbed his friend by the wrist and pulled him out into the corridor, soon finding an empty classroom in the dungeons.

They both plopped down on chairs, downcast, as they stared at each other.

"Do you think the potion is affecting us more and more after each passing day?" Harry finally murmured, worriedly. "I think it is. I've been feeling-"

"Of course it is!" said Alphard frantically. "And it's turning very unpredictable, isn't it?" He moaned dejectedly. "I don't even want to know what will come next!"

Harry shot him an intense, pointed look. "What happened to you this morning? Or – er, last night?"

Alphard instantly snapped his mouth shut, looking nervous, sulky, and wary, before he said grudgingly, "I think I sleepwalked."

"I've never seen you sleepwalk before," said Harry slowly, piercing him with his eyes.

"I know!" groaned Alphard disparagingly, as he sunk his face in his hands, mumbling dispiritedly through his fingers, "I tell you, I'm going around the bend. I don't think I can stand it for much longer-"

"Al," said Harry softly, as he stood to his feet and approached the boy, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can tell me. What do you remember? Do you think that you transformed?"

Alphard instantly snapped his head up, glowering at him, as he bit out, "What makes you say that?"

"Because there's no other way you could have gotten up that tree unless you'd turned into a…" Harry trailed off at the furious look his friend gave him, and sighed. "There's no shame in your Animagus form, Al. I don't know why you're so disappointed with it-"

"Who said anything about me being 'disappointed'?" snapped Alphard truculently, scowling. He snorted loudly, as he shot him a dark glare. "And how can I be, when I don't really know what it is to begin with?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't press the matter. It was rather obvious what Alphard's Animagus form was, as they both knew perfectly well.

"Look," Harry tried again, his tone mollifying, "I'm just saying that perhaps you did transform last night because I think I did too."

"You did?" breathed out Alphard, looking momentarily gobsmacked, before his grey eyes went wide with excitement and curiosity. "Then you know what you are!"

Harry shook his head. "No. I didn't feel it happening. I was asleep. When I woke, I was myself."

He quickly explained the state of his bed and pajamas that morning, and Alphard stared at him, gaping and looking rather hysteric.

"Then it can happen again!" said Alphard in a high-pitch, all color draining from his face. "And maybe next time, it won't be when we're in our beds. It could happen during the day, in the middle of the Great Hall!"

Harry sighed with deep weariness, as he slumped back down on a chair. "Maybe it could. I don't know. But there's nothing we can do about it, is there?"

Alphard shot him a disconsolate look, as he whispered shakily, "We're so going to get expelled."

* * *

The new Pariahs of Slytherin House, that was what he and Alphard had become.

It made Harry recall his less than fond memories from when he had been an outcast during his first two years at Hogwarts, when they had all thought him to be a 'mudblood' who had cheated his way into Slytherin House.

He liked it even less now that he knew it was well deserved, given his disastrous performance against Ravenclaw.

Not a day went by when their housemates didn't nastily jeer at them or throw them very filthy looks, as they grumbled about the Quidditch Season's statistics and what their only chance at the Cup hinged on.

As both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had already played against Hufflepuff and won, it all depended on which of the two would win against the other, and for how much.

If Gryffindors trounced the Ravenclaws with a minimum lead of 150 points in the next match – a tall order, indeed- then Slytherin would still have a chance if they then defeated Gryffindor, by over 200 points.

It wasn't looking good, such scores were nearly impossible, but the Slytherins were giving it their best to manipulate the tricky situation to their benefit.

They had begun unleashing a fierce campaign of intimidation and hazing against the Ravenclaw Quidditch players, intended to crack their confidence to such degree as to render them useless in the Pitch.

Feeling a twang of guilt, Harry had to admit that it was working. So many Ravenclaw players had been hexed, jinxed, found unconscious in bathrooms, cruelly pranked, brought to tears by nasty, merciless insults, suddenly sprouted boils and tentacles, or fallen ill with mysterious diseases, that not a day went by when there wasn't at least one Ravenclaw player moaning in the Infirmary.

The Mediwitch Miss Nightingale and the rest of the Staff were livid, but of course, if there was one thing Slytherins excelled at, it was covering their tracks.

Not one was caught, not one shred of condemning evidence had been found, to in any way allow the professors to point their fingers at Slytherin House, though they surely knew who the culprits were without a doubt.

However, that wasn't stopping the Astronomy teacher and Head of Ravenclaw House, Perpetua Fancourt, from docking points like a madwoman, right, left and center, when a Slytherin in her class so much as breathed too loudly.

Of course, Tom saved the situation as the vaunted hero of the House, by redoubling his efforts in class to earn as many points as possible with his perfect answers and essays, so as to not damage their chances of winning the House Cup as well.

The only positive event, as far as Harry was concerned, was that he and Alphard had not yet sprouted scales, feathers, or fur in the middle of the Great Hall. In fact, neither of them had had any indication that they had unwittingly transformed during their sleep either.

The potion was still in effect, since they still had their dreams, but it seemed that Alphard had been right and it had now turned so unpredictable that it seemed to have entered a somewhat dormant period.

Though, it just made them feel more wary and frazzled, especially in Harry's case, who hadn't had a good night sleep in ages.

Tom was furious with him, for having performed so pathetically against Ravenclaw, still for having thwarted his plans for the 'resurrection' of Salazar Slytherin, for disappearing at odd times, and particularly –as Harry highly suspected- for still being better at him in the Imperius Curse.

Well, Harry had always known that his brother could hold unto grudges like none other, but it had become ridiculous.

He had begun camping in empty classrooms at nights, once more, not to mention always sidling into large packs of students during the day in between classes.

It seemed that Tom's vicious, vindictive streak had only increased with the passage of days as Harry's exhausted grumpiness did so as well.

Finally, he did what any sensible person would do: negotiate.

"If you want me to help you with the Imperius Curse," Harry snapped at his brother hotly, "no more trying to Crucio me when I've got my back turned in the Room of Requirements! Or hexing me in the hallways! There's only that many curses that I can dodge in time, you know?"

"Fine. I promise," spat Tom tartly.

Harry scoffed at that. "I'm no idiot." He glowered and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll take your Wizard's Oath or nothing at all."

Tom looked ready to do murder, but eventually, with much ill grace, virulent snipping, and seething glares, he had grudgingly acquiesced.

Harry breathed a little more easily after that, but not completely, he still kept an eye on his brother _dearest_. Especially since his brother was once more butting in his nose where it wasn't welcomed.

"Where do you keep disappearing to?" Tom demanded acidly, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

Harry arched an eyebrow at him, as he paused in his study of German –duty still foisted upon him by Tom, of course– and simply flipped him the bird in response.

His brother hadn't appreciated that display of 'disgustingly mugglish, low-class rudeness'.

The fact was that, when he wasn't carrying on with his many 'side projects' or revisions for their end of year examinations, he was spending some time with the half-Giant boy.

Both he and Alphard had struck a tentative friendship with Hagrid after the boy had helped them out, and they enjoyed themselves quite a lot.

Hagrid was affable and kind-hearted, a bit barmy at times with his interest in strange things –like when he had asked them to show him the Thestrals they had been studying in Care of Magical Creatures- but on the whole, he was fun and pleasant company.

Though Harry had the inkling that the half-Giant was keeping something from them.

Hagrid would sometimes get that strange, shifty look on his face, looking half wary, half mutinous, and he kept going about with a pocket of his robes filled with something big, as though he carried a Quaffle around, which –for some reason- he petted often through the fabric of his robes.

Harry and Alphard exchanged glances in those occasions, but never pressed the boy. Hagrid would tell them if he wanted to.

His budding friendship with Hagrid not withstanding, as much as it lightened his days, it didn't dispel the fact that his housemates were very angered with him for having let them down in Quidditch.

To make matters worse, Harry had the feeling he was being stalked once more.

It had to be Myrtle again, though apparently she had gotten much better at stealth, for Harry hadn't been able to catch her in the act, much to his extreme annoyance.

* * *

On an early Saturday morning, Harry was trudging through the Forbidden Forest rather placidly, glad to be away from the buoyancy of the castle for some time.

The other day, Gryffindor had thoroughly smashed Ravenclaw House in the Quidditch Pitch, and the Gryffs had been boisterously celebrating ever since.

Even though it meant that Slytherin House could win the Cup if they beat Gryffindor in the last match of the year, it didn't mean that his housemates were taking their eternal rivals' smug partying any better.

Furthermore, Harry had already been thoroughly harassed by his housemates, some even threatening him that he'd better play his utmost best against the Gryffs 'or else' – all reverence towards his condition as Parselmouth and Slytherin Heir momentarily forgotten.

Thus, he had decided to disappear for a while and pay Nagini a visit. Last time he had seen her, he had thought something wasn't quite right.

She had looked as knackered and frazzled as he had, very short-tempered, and prickly. Haughty, willful, little snake that she was, Nagini had refused to tell him what had been bothering her.

He was planning on hashing it out, this time.

When Harry stepped into the vast, scorched clearing that was her home, he frowned. His ears ringed with the numerous hisses coming from the large tangle of snakes that were frantically slithering all around the grounds, such a cacophony of voices that he couldn't quite catch what they were saying, except that they all sounded disgruntled.

What worried him the most, besides their peculiar behavior, was that Nagini was nowhere in sight.

"_Where's Nagini?_" Harry hissed in alarm, as he stepped into the middle of clutches of rowdy male snakes.

It was a serpent that Harry identified as an Ashwinder that answered him in a sullen, grumbling hiss, _"Nagini has left us. We have been searching for her. We cannot find her."_ The snake swayed, as it groused in a sharp hiss, _"She has duties to fulfill with us!"_

Bemused, Harry blinked at that, but his worry was too great to bother with the snake's cryptic complaint.

Hurriedly striding to one edge of the clearing –though careful not to step on any of them- Harry settled his wand on an outstretched palm as he murmured quietly, "Point me Nagini!"

His wand instantly spun in his palm until it pointed to the furthest edge of the clearing. As surreptitiously as possible, Harry followed the direction, doing his best not to be noticed by the other snakes that had kept slithering about searchingly for her.

With some amazement, Harry rubbed his eyes when he caught sight of a faint glow burrowed under a thick tree root, the glow almost completely hidden.

Understanding slowly came to Harry as he crouched on the ground and peered into the hole beneath the root. At first, he saw nothing but the glow again, as though it formed a tangled curl.

In the next second, though, stressed yellow eyes were peering back at him, as Nagini suddenly appeared before his eyes where the glow had been a moment before. She looked thinner than usual and was tightly coiled around herself, looking scared.

However, Harry could only fixate on one thing, as he hissed in a marveled, exultant hiss, _"You did magic!" _He widely grinned at her._ "I knew you could! I told Tom I had once seen you camouflage with my pillow in the orphanage." _Harry shook his head, snorting._ "He didn't believe me, the git – but this proves it, you're of some sort of magical species-"_

"_Be silent!" _hissed Nagini frantically, who didn't seem to have listened to him. She had tensed, her flat yellow eyes staring past him.

Harry understood why a moment later, apalled.

"_The Speaker has found her!"_

With that hiss that sounded like a triumphant battle cry, the riotous mob of male snakes came hurling towards him, as Nagini reared herself in the air, to her fullest –not that impressive- height as she hissed furiously, "_Go away – away! Leave me alone, you lesser creatures!"_

Harry didn't need to think about it twice. Foolishly prideful creature that she was –trait that she shared with Tom, the idiots- she wouldn't be asking him for help any time soon, though it was evident it was much needed.

He instantly picked her up in his arms, as the other snakes swarmed by his boots, all hissing loudly at the same time, their voices incomprehensibly meshing together, until Harry suddenly caught one phrase.

"…_must mate with us more!"_

"_I do not wish to mate again!"_ Nagini spat in a rattling, indignant hiss, as she coiled in Harry's arms, her head dangling low as she menacingly snapped her maw at the crowd below her. _"Presumptuous, vile, unworthy creatures – begone from my territory!"_

Harry's eyebrows climbed upwards, as it came apparent to him that Nagini's once idyllic affair with her harem of male snakes had taken a turn for the worse.

"_You have yet to bear us hatchlings!"_

Nagini reared and ominously hissed at that, as Harry gawked at the Ashwinder from before, that had spoken.

Without a second thought, as he cradled Nagini protectively against his chest, Harry snarled furiously as he aimed a hard kick at him.

The serpent went flying high into the air, nearly landing at the other end of the vast clearing.

Harry became alarmed, though, when all the others pounced on him like a mass of furious, wriggling, spitting, fanged hellions.

"_Flee!"_ commanded Nagini in a frenzied hiss. _"Take me away!"_

Needing no further encouragement, Harry turned heel and ran for his life, shooting spells over his shoulder as he clutched Nagini with his free hand.

It was about fifteen minutes later that he finally realized he had managed to leave them all behind, some stunned or petrified, as he weaved through the forest like a madman, intent on vanishing from their sight.

Pausing to catch his breath, Harry slumped against a tree trunk, wheezing, as he glanced down at Nagini. _"What on earth happened with them?"_

"_Pestered me - nagging, worthless creatures!"_ hissed Nagini in a outraged tone, as she then mimicked acidly, _" 'Mate, mate, mate with us!' Tired me, they did, with their complaints and demands!" _She haughtily lifted her small, flat head high in the air. _"I did not bear hatchlings – because they are not worthy of siring my hatchlings! It is not my fault!"_

Harry stared down at her, having picked up not only a resentful tone, but also one of bitter dejection.

"_Um, maybe you cannot bear their hatchlings because you're too young," _offered Harry pensively, as he soothingly caressed her.

"_I am not too young!"_ spat Nagini bristling at once, fully stretching in a clear attempt to impress him with her girth and length.

She didn't succeed, though. She looked outright emaciated and exhausted, and still as small as always. It was clear that there had been much 'mating' going around for some time, and they had left poor Nagini absolutely knackered.

"_Or," _continued Harry in a mollifying tone,_ "because they're not of your same species."_

That caught Nagini interest, who pulled her head up until she pierced him with her yellow eyes, and hissed demandingly,_ "What is my species?"_

"_No idea." _Harry shot her an assuaging smile_. "But now that we know you can definitely do magic, I can look into it."_

"_I can do magic?" _Nagini sounded confused for a moment, before she regally tossed her head to a side._ "Of course I am magical – and very powerful too!"_

Harry eyed her with amusement, before his expression turned grave as he frowned._ "What am I supposed to do with you now?"_

"_Protect, cherish, and worship m_e," hissed Nagini imperiously, shooting him a jaundiced look,_ "as is your duty! And find me a new nest," _she added, as an afterthought.

"_Yeah, I reckon you need a new place to live,"_ muttered Harry, as he glanced around their surroundings. _"But I don't know if the forest is safe for you anymore - not with that lot after you."_

Nagini briskly flung out her tail. _"I do not wish to remain in this foul place any longer!"_

Harry sighed. _"I suppose I could take you to the castle…"_

"_To your dwelling?"_ Nagini perked up, before she added haughtily, _"I would consent to it, if you vouch to give me the softest, warmest place in your nest-_"

"_I cannot take you to my dormitory,"_ hissed Harry softly, shaking his head. _"It'd be too risky. Snakes aren't allowed as pets at Hogwarts. You have to remain somewhere hidden…" _

He trailed off as an idea struck him. Perhaps not the best, but they would have to make it work.

"_Nagini,"_ he hissed in a cajoling tone, as he scratched the soft scales of her underbelly, making her let out a purr-like hiss of pleasure, _"remember that slumbering creature you once found?"_

Nagini's contented hiss halted abruptly, as she tensed, fixedly staring up at him. _"No. Not with It. It… scares me."_

Harry eyed her with sympathy, knowing how much it must have cost her to admit that much.

Nevertheless, he petted her again as he hissed coaxingly, _"It is a Basilisk. His name is Zar. But I promise that he won't hurt you. I'll tell him not to."_ He shot her a wide smile. _"And he'll adore you, Nagini, like the rest of us do. You'll see."_

Nagini didn't look too certain about that, but after some more flattery and caresses on her key spots, she yielded with a sleepy, exhausted hiss of acceptance.

"_Now, remember all the rules for Hogwarts of before,"_ rattled off Harry as he helped Nagini slither under his sleeve to coil around an arm. _"You cannot be seen by other humans. You cannot speak when there are others around. And do not go exploring on your own or you'll be caught."_

"_Yes, Master,"_ hissed Nagini drowsily, as she affectionately nuzzled the slits of her nose against his skin, flicking out a caressing tongue.

Harry could only see the tip of her small forked tongue poking out from under his sleeve, and he sniggered. _"Don't let Tom hear you call me that. He won't be pleased that you've replaced him with me."_

"_Tom is not worthy of being my Master,"_ hissed Nagini grumpily. _"He didn't visit me. He didn't take care of me. You did." _

Harry petted her fondly through the fabric of his sleeve, and recommenced his trek through the forest.

It was not long after, when he felt the unmistakable feeling of a pair of eyes on him, watchful.

They were nearly reaching the edge of the forest that gave way to Hogwarts' grounds, and with wand in hand, Harry swirled around angrily. "Who's there?"

He blinked when he caught sight of a pair of big, sky blue eyes peering at him from inside a bush, bright with interest and curiosity.

"Come out!" Harry snapped, gripping his wand tighter, aiming in the bush's direction.

There was a nervous scattering, before the unmistakable sounds of small hooves cantering on the ground echoed, as a very small, palomino centaur came towards him, and halted, peering up at him once more.

"I know you," said Harry slowly as he stared at him, raking his brain to remember the name. "Er – Fiery? Or something like that?"

"I am called Firenze," piped in the small centaur in a high-pitched voice.

"Right," muttered Harry, bemused when the little creature merely kept gazing at him, looking excited but also nervous, anxiously glancing around as though knowing he was misbehaving and feared getting caught.

"And you are The Fate's Companion," chirped the little centaur in a whisper, his sky blue eyes wide as he gazed at him. "We met when you were carrying the Founder's daughter in you."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I remember." He tilted his head to a side. "Do you need anything?"

Firenze shook his mane of long, pale blonde hair, before he shot him a jittery look and squeaked urgently, "You are being followed. Take care."

And with that, the little centaur cantered away in a dash, disappearing into the forest.

Harry tensed and became on guard as he spun around, wand once more aimed in all directions.

Surely the centaur hadn't meant that _Myrtle_ had followed him into the forest? She was too scared of her own shadow to ever come there.

But, if she had…

Harry furiously gritted his teeth. The Ravenclaw girl was just asking for trouble!

"Come out, Myrtle!" he yelled with vast irritation, doing his best to not show his anger. "I know you're there. This is a very dangerous place – you should not be alone!"

Nothing moved in the surrounding trees and shrubs, as though everything had gone suddenly still, except for the pleasant breeze that fluttered around.

The utter strange silence was abruptly broken by the sounds of thundering, reverberating footfalls and a pleading shout, "No, Aggy! Com' back her'!"

Harry had no idea what was the thing scuffling towards him at top speed - for a moment he thought it was some sort of furry ball. Though he recognized the hulking figure that came galumphing after it, giving desperate chase.

Later, he would damn his fast reflexes that had apparently been honed by Quidditch and Dorea Black to the point of automatically grasping anything resembling a moving ball.

Without a thought, Harry had swiped the skittering thing from the ground just as it attempted to dodge past him.

Harry took a look down.

Six pairs of small, dull black eyes stared back at him, from a many-legged, horrendous hairy thing, with menacingly clicking pincers.

A high-pitched shriek came out of Harry's mouth –which he would later refuse to admit to himself– as he flung his hands up in the air in utter horror, the thing being catapulted into the sky.

"No!" moaned Hagrid distressed. "Aggy!"

To Harry's utter astonishment, Hagrid managed to catch the thing as it came down, instantly cradling it in his massive arms with much tender protectiveness.

"Aggy," croaked Hagrid, with watery eyes. "Ye bad boy, ye! Runnin' away from me, when ye know…"

Apparently, the half-Giant was too overwhelmed with relief and lingering anxiousness to be able to continue, sniffling, as he then eyed Harry.

"Thank ye," choked out Hagrid. "Dunno know wot I would've done if Aragog'd escaped!"

"Aragog?" echoed Harry faintly, still staring at the creature with wide green eyes filled with horror. "You mean to tell me that - you know it?"

" 'Course I do," said Hagrid, as he gazed down at the creature with misty, adoring eyes. He glanced at Harry, as he then declared proudly, "He's mine. He ha'ched in the castle. I've been feedin' 'im."

"But," spluttered Harry incredulously, taking a terrified step back. "Hagrid! I think that's an Acromantula!"

Of course that he had never seen one before, but as with every highly dangerous creature, their Care of Magical Creatures teacher had taught them about them, and showed them pictures and the sort. Since, certainly, not even Professor Kettleburn was insane enough to actually show them a living, breathing Acromantula!

"Aye, I know," purred Hagrid in a sickeningly, loving tone. "Me dad bought me an egg from a traveler when we were stayin' in Hogsmeade fer me eleventh birthday. I'd never been to Hogsmeade befor'." He beamed at Harry. "I brought the egg wit' me when I started Ho'warts. And the lil' thing just ha'ched in a few days!" Hagrid went dewy-eyed as he gazed down at the creature in his arms once more. "Ain't he go'geous!"

"Gorgeous?" mumbled Harry feebly in a hitched voice, staring at the boy in stunned, disbelieving stupefaction.

Only when he felt Nagini stirring from her sleep –no doubt due to all the noise and yells - was Harry yanked out of his tongue-tied incredulity.

He hastened to pull down his sleeve when Nagini threatened to poke her head out in curiosity, giving her a reproachful jab with a thumb, and then rounded on the half-Giant who had clearly lost all his marbles.

"If that _thing_ is an Acromantula, you must kill it immediately. They're very dangerous, Hagrid – they eat people!"

"Kill?" repeated Hagrid, looking utterly confused as he stared back at a frantic Harry. "Kill Aggy, ye mean? Are ye mad?" He blinked, bemusedly, at him. "Aggy's a good boy-"

"Acromantulas are extremely dangerous!" bellowed Harry frenziedly.

"Nah, they ain't," said Hagrid with a dismissive chuckle. "They're just misunde'stood, ain't they?"

Harry goggled, at that.

Though Hagrid didn't seem to notice, as he carried on, shooting him a blazing look, "I'll show ye!" He patted the Acromantula on its hairy back, as he prompted softly, "Aggy, this is 'Arry, me friend. Greet 'im like I've taught ye."

"Hullo Harry friend of Hagrid," came a rather alarming, deep, grave voice from the Quaffled-sized, lethally poisonous spider, it's tone dull and disinterested.

Harry took a step backward automatically, shuddering as he gripped his wand more tightly, choking out, "Hagrid, I really think you should best-"

"He gets these silly ideas, that's wot the matte' is," grumbled Hagrid as though talking to himself, shaking his wiry tangle of hair as he shot his 'pet' a reprimanding look. "Keeps tryin' to escape from the castle. Keeps tellin' me that sumthin' scares 'im but he doesn't know wot!"

Harry blanched, as he suddenly remembered all the things he had read about Basilisks. Like the fact that spiders were terrified of them, and instinctively fled from their vicinity.

"If he doesn't like Hogwarts," said Harry in a strangled, thin thread of a voice, "then why don't you let him live here in the forest? As he clearly wants to?"

"Are ye mad?" Hagrid gave him a scandalized look. "Aggy's jus' a baby! There're many dange'ous things in the forest – centaurs, even, I've hear'." He shot him a wild, panicked stare. "Wot if they trample all over 'im wit' their hooves? Wot if sum' other creature eats 'im!"

Harry rather thought that it would be the centaurs who would be in danger and not the other way around, especially when 'Aggy' got older.

"I can't leave 'im her'," said Hagrid resolutely, shaking his head. "I'm takin' 'im back to the castle. Ye could come wit' me," he then added, gazing at Harry hopefully. "I could use sum' help to feed 'im…"

The boy trailed off, shooting him a watery, pleading look.

"Er - look," stuttered Harry, alarmed, "I don't think that would be a good idea-"

"Now that ye know about 'im," said Hagrid, sniffling and peering down at him dolefully, "I'd like to count wit' yer help – fer when he tries to escape, ye see? An' to bring 'im food from the Great Hall an' all."

Harry bit his lip. He definitely didn't want to become involved in this madness. But then, he did owe the half-Giant a favor for helping him with Alphard when the boy had disappeared. And Hagrid was looking so miserable that Harry found his determination faltering.

"Oh fine," muttered Harry waspishly. "I'll help you, as much as I can."

Hagrid's broad face glowed as he beamed at him. "Ye won't regret it, 'Arry, I promis'. Look, he already likes ye!"

Harry bit back a very nasty retort at that, given that the Acromantula was balefully eyeing him in a decidedly foul-mood as they both began heading towards Hogwarts' grounds.

Hagrid happily chattered away about every bit of 'amazin' feat Aggy had ever accomplished.

Thankfully, Hagrid wasn't so much off his rocker as to not realize that he had to hide Aragog once they began approaching the castle. The Acromantula didn't go quietly, but the half-Giant finally managed to stuff him inside his overlarge pocket once more.

"The p'oblem is," Hagrid was telling him in a hushed voice as Harry followed him up a moving staircase, "that I can only nick the scraps left on me House table afte' meals. But Aggy doesn' like any of the food I give 'im."

'Of course he doesn't!' Harry had half a mind to shout. 'He'd much rather have a student for snack!'

Nevertheless, he didn't have the heart to do it, not when Hagrid was looking so fretfully worried.

"There's a solution for that," Harry said with a deep sigh, and proceeded to tell him about how to get into the kitchens by tickling the pear in the painting of a bowl of fruits.

Hagrid stared at him in worshipful gratitude, as he said thickly, "Thank ye! I'll do that!" His expression then turned to one of mild interest. "I've neve' seen a house-elf befor'. What're they like?"

"They're very nice," said Harry with a wide, warm smile. "They can give you anything you ask for – of food, that is."

"Oh," mumbled Hagrid, his bright curiosity instantly vanishing at the word 'nice', apparently.

Harry rolled his eyes, a mite exasperatedly, just when Hagrid made them halt before a cupboard in a corridor.

It took him a moment to realize that they were on the second floor. In fact, not very far away from Myrtle's bathroom.

Not liking Hagrid's chosen location at all, Harry couldn't do much about it without raising suspicions. Especially when the boy proudly showed him what the cupboard held inside.

It seemed that Hagrid had crafted some type of large, squared wooden box. Big enough for Aragog at the moment, but Harry did wonder what the half-Giant was planning to do when the Acromantula got as large as an elephant, as they supposedly did when reaching maturity at the young age of five-years old.

"Good." Hagrid clapped his massive hands together once they had left a sullen Aragog inside his box, closing the cupboard. The boy seemed to hesitate, before he added softly, "Ye won't tell anyone abou' it, will ye?"

"Of course not," said Harry tiredly, before he shot him a very pointed, stern look. "If anyone finds out, it would get you in loads of trouble."

"I know," Hagrid grumbled gloomily, before he cast him a glance vying for understanding. "But I must keep 'im wit' me. He's so lil' and youn'."

Wearily, Harry refrained from voicing his opinion once more. He would work on making Hagrid see reason some other day. He had no doubt that at some point the half-Giant would simply have to face the facts, at least when the Acromantula got even bigger.

"Who's that?" abruptly said Hagrid, sharply.

Harry flung around, only in time to see a flick of platinum blonde hair vanishing around the corner.

His eyes green widening with sudden understanding, Harry roared furiously, "Malfoy!"

Without another hitch of breath, so enraged that he was seeing red, Harry pelted after the boy.

It hadn't been Myrtle following him around lately, but Abraxas!

A jolted Nagini stirred and hissed in annoyance under his sleeve, but Harry paid her no mind as he ran down a moving staircase, took a turn, and saw Malfoy's figure speeding down a corridor.

"You prat!" bellowed Harry infuriated, as he leaped around a corner. "You've been stalking me – again? What did I tell you last time!"

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy didn't halt one bit at his yells, and Harry redoubled his efforts as he jumped three steps at a time down another stairway.

Soon, they were in the labyrinthine, narrow corridors of the dungeons, this fact making Harry feel an ominous twist in the pit of his stomach.

He spat the password and entered their common room moments after Malfoy, skidding to a halt.

Some Slytherins shot him looks of curiosity at his manner of entrance, but Harry saw nothing but Abraxas standing at the other end of the room, leaning down to whisper in Tom's ear.

Tom, who was seated in one of the best couches in the room right in front a merrily crackling fire, and who had apparently been revising for Arithmancy, given the tome in his hands.

However, Tom was not reading his book any longer, but intently listening to whatever Malfoy was murmuring.

Utterly incensed, Harry stalked towards them, his hands balling into shaking fists.

As he reached them, he caught the last thread of a whisper.

"…with an Acromantula, Marvolo."

Harry instantly stiffened, before he shot his brother an acrid jeer. " 'Marvolo' already, brother?"

Clearly his brother had forgotten to mention that little fact to him. Obviously, Tom had at some point made those 'closest' to him adopt his new name. Harry had no doubt that if Abraxas Malfoy was calling him by that, Orion Black, Neron Lestrange and Thaddeus Avery of their year must also be in the know. And who knew who else from the upper years.

Tom didn't smugly smirk at him as he would have done any other time. Instead, his dark blue eyes flashed dangerously as they narrowed at him.

Harry bristled, as he spat furiously, "So Malfoy has been following me around, spying on me, under your _orders_?" He fulminated Abraxas with a sneering, contemptuous look. "How the mighty have fallen, eh, Malfoy? You're my brother's lap dog now, I see."

Abraxas stiffened as he pulled himself up to his full height, shooting him a very nasty, chilly look.

"Malfoy has been telling me," drawled Tom with deceitful placidity, which was belied by the fierce burn in Harry's scar, "many interesting things, little brother."

"_Can I bite them both, Master?"_ hissed Nagini gleefully, suddenly poking her head out of Harry's sleeve, opening her maw to reveal her small yet very sharp fangs. _"I can feel your anger. I would be pleased to strike at those who annoy you. And the pale one smells delicious."_

Abraxas, though certainly not understanding her, couldn't mistake the menacing tone of her hisses, and was quick to take a step back, his widening silvery eyes darting from snake to Harry and back.

Tom, however, went utterly still, his eyes fixed on Nagini, before they blazed with rage as he pinned Harry with his gaze, and hissed, _"What do you think you're doing, you twit! You cannot bring her into the school-"_

"_A snake goes where it pleases,"_ hissed Nagini with a disdainful arrogance she had certainly learned from Tom long ago, as she swayed and undulated before the boys, displaying her magnificence. _"A snake choses its Master, and obeys those Speakers who prove themselves worthy." _

"_You obey ME," _hissed Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at her._ "As you have always done, Nagi-"_

"_You have ignored me. Ignored my needs," _she hissed tempestuously, flicking her tail at him as though to banish him from her sight._ "I have chosen a better, worthier Master, this time."_

Not that Harry hadn't enjoyed Malfoy's reaction at the sight of Nagini, but now it was only causing undue trouble.

Many of their housemates had gathered around, to look at her and listen to their hisses with fascinated, greedy looks in their eyes. Which was only making Tom seethe all the more, given the piercing pain in Harry's scar.

Undoubtedly, because it was Harry the focus of attention this time. Harry openly displaying his ties with their housemates' revered Salazar Slytherin.

Tom rose to his feet, slowly, coolly, as though utterly unflappable, as he hissed in a calm tone for their audience to pick up on but not understand the furious words, _"You dare steal her from me?"_

"_Don't be a prat,"_ snapped Harry irritably. _"She'll always be yours first, we both know that-"_

"_I won't!"_ spat Nagini in a rebellious hiss, punishingly slapping both their arms with her tail –or better said, as much as she could reach with it, as she dangled precariously from Harry's arm in an attempt to make herself longer.

In her tiff with Tom, she could say whatever she liked, but the three of them knew perfectly well that Nagini had always been Tom's.

Tom had been the one to find her in the backyard of the orphanage when she had been a mere hatchling, had been the one to teach her more words, to teach her as much as she could learn at the time.

Harry had only found out about her existence several years later, when his brother had deigned to share the secret with him –of her, and the fact that they could somehow understand and speak to snakes.

Thus, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that no matter Nagini's anger at Tom for having been so inconsiderately cast aside by him, Tom would always be her favorite –no matter how much of a git he was.

Suddenly, a clearly stupid, bold sixth year girl attempted to touch Nagini –apparently to pet her or see if she was really- and the snake, obviously nettled beyond endurance, pounced.

Like a spitting Fury, Nagini flung herself at the girl, jaws wide open ready to strike-

"_Enough!"_ hissed Tom angrily, catching Nagini in mid air by the head, bending it mercilessly to a side in a constricting grip.

"_Don't hurt her!"_ Harry cried out apalled, as Nagini twisted madly in his brother's vise-like and clearly painful grasp.

As Nagini made a furious, retaliatory attempt to dig her fangs into Tom's fingers, his brother hurled her back at Harry, so harshly that Harry had to stagger to catch her as gently as he could.

Nevertheless, Nagini's display of untamed fierceness seemed to excite their housemates all the more, and that appeared to push the limits of Tom's restraint.

"_You and I, it seems,"_ hissed Tom thunderously, _"have much to discuss – in private." _

And with that, Harry was brusquely yanked out of the common room, Tom dragging him down to their dormitory in a relentless, punishing grip, as Nagini spit, hissed, and writhed in his arms.


	63. Part I: Chapter 62

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Several questions have again popped up – questions I've answered many times before, in Author's Notes or my Yahoo Group. So finally, I've created a brief FAQ section in my Author's Profile in this site, please check it out ^.^

And congrats to RedBlueFish, who was the first to figure out Harry and Alphard's Animagi forms two chapters back! :D :D

As always, I hope you enjoy this chappie and let me know what you think ;)

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**Part I: Chapter 62**

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"Leave us!" thundered Tom a second after they had entered their dormitory, as he brusquely let go of Harry, flinging him forward, making Harry wince as he smashed against a poster of his bed, Nagini hissing wildly in his arms.

Neron Lestrange and Orion Black had apparently been entertaining themselves, playing Exploding Snaps on one of the empty beds. At Tom's commanding roar, both boys jumped to their feet.

Orion Black took one glance at the furious expression on Tom's face and practically fled from the room. Neron Lestrange, on the other hand, shot them a quizzical, intrigued look.

"Leave – at once," bit out Tom, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits.

The hulking boy grunted, and trailed after his friend, nonetheless casting them a curious look over his broad shoulder before he closed the door behind him.

Once Lestrange was gone, Tom immediately rounded on Harry, towering over him, looking livid, as Harry squirmed nervously on his bed.

"I don't know why you're so angry," began Harry in a valiant attempt of befuddled innocence, as he restrained and petted Nagini, trying to calm her down –she was still writhing and hissing in his arms, as though dying to have a go at Tom. "I've done nothing-"

"You have done plenty, according to Malfoy," hissed out Tom, his eyes so narrowed that they were mere burning slits. "He has told me-"

"Whatever the git blabbered about," interjected Harry, huffing as he squared his shoulders, "it's all a bunch of lies-"

"Have you or have you not," spat Tom in a seething tone, "been cavorting with the halfbreed?"

"Don't call Hagrid that!" snapped Harry hotly, glaring at him, perfectly aware that he had once thought of the boy in those terms, especially after one day when Alphard had told him how very savage and dangerous Giants were. But after getting to know him, seeing that Hagrid was kind and harmless, he always became indignant when he overheard other people calling him by that rather demeaning term.

"I see," said Tom very quietly, pinning him with his angered gaze. "Hagrid, is it? So you have been acquainting yourself with that oaf - who barely knows how to read and write and can scarcely do any magic at all, from what I have heard." His eyes narrowed to slits. "That is what you have been doing when you disappear."

"Maybe," retorted Harry truculently, shooting him a mutinous look. "So what?"

"So," sneered Tom acidly, glowering down at him. "You will end it at once. It reflects very poorly on me-"

"I won't!" snapped Harry hotly. "I'll be friends with whomever I want-"

"I tolerate your _friendship_ with your sidekick," sneered Tom venomously, "because he is a pureblood and a Black. I even tolerated your former friendship with the Prewetts because they are purebloods and members of a well-respected family-"

"I'm still friends with them!" gritted out Harry, nettled.

"However," carried on Tom sternly, wholly ignoring the interruption, as his expression hardened, "I will not allow you to tarnish my reputation by liaising with a halfbreed brute. You will quit that friendship, immediately-"

"I've already helped you out with your stupid reputation by playing Quidditch," retorted Harry crossly, "as you wanted-"

"Fat good that did," jeered Tom caustically, "seeing how badly you and your pet played against Ravenclaw. Do not think I did not notice, you seemed… drugged." He pierced him with narrowed eyes. "Why would that be, little brother?"

"Drugged? I don't know what you're yapping about." Harry shot him an utterly confounded look, before he scoffed loudly. "What – do you think we've been sneaking into Hogsmeade to down some shots of firewhiskey?"

"Or something else," hissed out Tom, menacingly looming over him, his expression darkening. "Malfoy has seen the two of you often disappearing into the Room of Requirements." He waved a hand dismissively. "Of course that Malfoy doesn't realize that the door he has seen appearing before you is that of one of Hogwarts' secret attributes, but I recognized it for what it was when he described the events to me."

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "Alphie and I just go to the Room for a bit of playtime, nothing more-"

"Not to mention," continued Tom, his tone becoming acrid, as he kept boring his eyes into Harry's skull, "that you have both been acting very strangely lately." He arched an eyebrow at him, sneering. "Most peculiar, the way your food predilections seem to have changed. Both of you disliking dishes that before were your favorites." His eyes narrowed again. "Both of you displaying strange behaviors during class, and playing Quidditch very badly, on the same day-"

"We're just tired," interrupted Harry waspishly, scowling. "Dorea has been making us practice like maniacs. We were bound to play badly one day, at the rate we're going!"

Tom skewered him with highly suspicious eyes, before he sneered scathingly, "Very well, keep your secrets, but then do not expect me to-"

"Secrets – right," interjected Harry curtly, as he glared at him, pointedly. "Funny thing you should mention 'secrets'." He held Nagini closer to his chest, and scowled at him accusingly. "What are you and Malfoy up to!"

"I beg your pardon?" intoned Tom coolly, arching an eyebrow at him.

Harry seethed, jumping to his feet, only taking the trouble of settling Nagini on his bed before he rounded on his brother, furious. "You know what I'm speaking about! Why is Malfoy suddenly obeying you? It's not like him at all, is it?"

And indeed, it wasn't. Even after they had discovered the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk, and after Malfoy had vouched before their housemates that it was all true, Abraxas had still behaved as though he still felt superior to them, for being a pureblood and a Malfoy.

Even if he and Tom were of Slytherin blood and Parselmouths to boot, it had been clear that Abraxas Malfoy thought that all those traits were trumped by the fact that they could be nothing more than halfbloods.

"And suddenly," carried on Harry, narrowing his green eyes at his brother, "he's doing anything you ask of him? And calling you 'Marvolo', too?"

Tom smirked at him. "Malfoy has simply realized the errors of his way and has come to understand that he stands much to gain by associating with me-"

"Or," bit out Harry, crossing his arms over his chest, angered, "he's asked you to repay him for having acted as witness of our discovery of the Chamber of Secrets." He shot him a dark glare. "I'm not an idiot, you know? I remember the weird stuff he said over the holidays, in Von Krauss Castle. He said he wanted some wizard dead – that he wanted that in return. And you seemed to know exactly what he was referring to." He pointed an accusing finger at him, as he barked indignantly, "You two are plotting murder, you are! Who's the poor chap?"

"Don't be ridiculous," sneered Tom acerbically. "Why would either of us risk a sentence in Azkaban just to dispose of someone?" He glared at him. "And don't change the subject. We were discussing your connection with the halfbreed oaf-"

"I'm not ditching Hagrid," said Harry hotly, puffing with anger. "He's nice and kind." He cast him a dirty look. "Much better friend to me than _you_ have ever been-"

"I am not your _friend_," spat Tom disgustedly, before superiorly smirking at him, "but your older brother. And as such, you are bound to obey me-"

"Older for just a couple of minutes!" roared Harry, as always extremely miffed when his brother tried to pull that one over him. "And anyway, that doesn't give you the right to dictate who I have as a friend!"

"You will do as I say," hissed out Tom, his expression thunderous, "or I will just go tell the Headmaster about the Acromantula."

Harry blanched at that, snapping his mouth shut, before he glowered at him. "You wouldn't."

"Oh yes I would," sneered Tom acidly, his eyes flashing with fury. "Especially given that the halfbreed is keeping a spider very close by the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. And I expect that even a dunderhead like you realizes that spiders-"

"Fear Basilisks, yes," gritted out Harry, fulminating him with an angered scowl, "but the Acromantula doesn't know about Zar. He just senses something. And hasn't told Hagrid anything that could endanger us-"

"Not to mention," continued Tom crisply, as he jabbed the silver badge on the lapels of his robes, "that I am a Prefect. It is my duty to ensure the safety of all students. And that great oaf has been raising a highly dangerous creature in the castle, according to what Malfoy overheard-"

"You don't care a rat's arse about the 'safety of students'!" cried Harry indignantly, as he became frantic. "If you tell about the Acromantula, Hagrid would be expelled, at the very least! And it's not his fault, he's just… er, confused. But I'll make him see sense-"

"And do you think you'll succeed?" interjected Tom scornfully.

"Yes!" said Harry adamantly, jerkily nodding his head. "I just need some weeks and I'm sure I'll convince him that he needs to take Aragog to the forest-"

"I could grant you some time," began Tom in a silk, soft voice that instantly made Harry feel wary, as it then acquired a tone of calculation, "but what will you give me in return for my silence?"

Harry stared at him, before he growled, "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Only if you allow yourself to be so. Only if you are willing to pay any price to protect a _friend_," sneered Tom acidly, before he shot him a disgusted, scornful look. "And since I know you do, as pathetically sentimental as you have always been, then why should I not take advantage of your stupidity?"

For a moment, Harry considered the situation. Was he truly willing to be in his brother's debt just to save Hagrid's hide? He wasn't quite sure. The half-Giant boy should really know better than to keep an Acromantula in the castle, treating it as though it was a harmless little baby pet in need of protection.

He didn't see why he should cover the idiot's back. Hagrid had become a friend, yes, but Harry didn't feel as protective of him as he did of Alphard, or the Prewetts, or Tom even.

But then, just picturing the look of devastation on Hagrid's face if Aragog was found, or if the boy himself was expelled from Hogwarts – a place which Hagrid obviously treasured highly, always looking to be in awe when he glanced around his surroundings in the school, as though in disbelief that he had ever been accepted in such a wondrous place- made Harry's furious irritation with the half-Giant dwindle, to be replaced by a frisson of sympathy and pity.

Finally, Harry clenched his jaw and spat churlishly, "Fine - what do you want?"

"I will have to muse it over," intoned Tom, his dark blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "For the time being, you can end your relation with the halfbreed-"

Harry let out a bark of nasty laughter at that. "If you want me to convince Hagrid to get rid of his stupid pet, I need to keep being his friend. He won't listen to me otherwise."

Tom pinned him with a narrowed-eyed, considering look, before he merely sneered, "Very well. Yet, at least-" he gestured angrily at Nagini "-you'll return her to her proper place."

Nagini, who seemed to have contented herself to wait while Harry yelled at Tom up until that point, now let out a bristling hiss.

She couldn't have understood what they had been talking about –she hadn't been around other humans for long enough to allow her to understand plain English- however, she couldn't mistake the way in which Tom was now eyeing her.

"_What did he say?"_ demanded Nagini testily, as she imperiously flung her head around to stare intently at Harry.

"_He wants you to return to the forest,"_ hissed Harry with a deep sigh.

"_I won't!"_ spat Nagini immediately, her yellow eyes spitting fire at the pair of them_. "I refuse to go back to that swarm of unworthy-"_

"She can't," said Harry, cutting short their snake's affronted rant, as he attempted to make his brother understand the prickly situation, gesturing tiredly at her. "A bunch of horny male snakes are after her. I had to save her from them, in fact. She'll have to stay with us-"

"Horny. male. snakes," enunciated Tom flatly, stiffening as he fulminated Harry with an enraged stare. "Explain."

And Harry did so, seeing how Tom's expression turned increasingly more outraged after every word he spoke.

"What do you mean – she has been 'mating'?" snarled Tom by the end of it, looking livid.

For a moment, Harry felt a powerful wave of relief. It was clear that Tom was absolutely furious about the situation in which Nagini had stuck herself in. Admittedly, his brother did display, from time to time, a streak of protectiveness towards those he considered to be his.

"_You have no right to mate,"_ hissed Tom irately, as he glared murderously at Nagini, _"unless I choose for you and give you my express permission!"_

Stunned for a moment, having expected his brother to gently tell her that she was too young or something of the sort, Harry gaped, before he bellowed angrily, "That's not the point, you idiot! This is not about her not obeying your every little command – this is about her safety, you twat!"

"_Safety?"_ hissed Tom contemptuously, as he eyed their snake with a disgusted, malevolent look. _"It sounds to me as though she deserves everything that has happened to her. Want to be a loose floozy, do you? Then, you will have to learn how to deal with the consequences of your promiscuity on your own."_

Nagini let out a screeching hiss that sounded like a battle cry, and catapulted herself from Harry's bed, looking like a spitting demon come from Hell, so furious and outraged she was.

Alarmed, seeing how Tom lost no time in whipping out his wand, Harry instantly snatched Nagini from mid air and enfolded her in his arms, shooting his brother a reproachful, jaundiced look, as he petted her, soothingly._ "There, there... He didn't mean it, Nagini. You're not a tart. You're just – um… overeager, I suppose."_

Tom nastily scoffed at that, but Harry skewered him with a dark look, as he announced,_ "She'll live in the castle. I'm taking her to the Chamber of Secrets. She can keep Zar company." _

Tom paused to pin him with his gaze for a moment, before he sneered snidely, "Very well." He shot Nagini a look of utter repugnance. "Hopefully, the Basilisk will gobble her down and we'll be spared from having to suffer more of her appalling, adolescent behavior."

Thankfully, Nagini didn't understand his words, but it nonetheless made Harry mutter under his breath, vastly vexed.

At least it was a good thing, he reckoned, that his brother had never expressed a desire to form a family of his own. Evidently, Tom would make a terrible father.

* * *

"Our discussion is not over," hissed out Tom virulently as they made their way to the Chamber of Secrets through the passageway behind the mirror.

Regretfully, the much easily accessible entrance through the sinks of the girls' lavatory had not been an option, since they had heard Myrtle's muffled wailings coming from within, raving to herself, something about Olive Hornby having once more made fun of her ugly looks.

Which, of course, had made Tom venomously rant about 'the mudblood' for a whole quarter of an hour, as Harry did his best to keep Nagini calm in his arms as he continually petted her, putting as much distance between herself and Tom as possible.

It didn't seem as though Nagini would be forgiving Tom any time soon for having called her a 'floozy' – Harry suspected that she didn't even fully understand the insult, though had picked up the gist of it easily enough.

Though why Nagini would feel affronted at being called that, was anyone's guess. It wasn't as though snakes followed a set of moral rules, was it? Harry thought it was more due to the fact that Tom had acted completely indifferent to her plight, than anything else, since she had surely wanted to be coddled and pampered by him – to be once more Tom's cherished and treasured one.

Harry irritably shook his head, at how stupidly the both of them were acting, before he retorted curtly to his brother's crisp prodding, "The day you tell me what you're up to with Malfoy, I'll tell you what I've been doing with Alphard."

Tom hadn't stopped pestering him about the matter, certain that he and Alphard were doing something behind his back, certain that -since they had been seen by Malfoy entering the Room of Requirements so frequently- they had to be up to no good, up to something 'moronic'.

When they finally reached the Chamber of Secrets, Harry breathed a little easier, though feeling a frisson of wary awkwardness nevertheless.

He hadn't been down there since the day he had discovered that Zar was Salazar Slytherin, trapped in his Animagus form by Gryffindor's spell.

He had shied from visiting the Basilisk, actually. No matter what he had told his brother, and the arguments he had used to convince Tom that they couldn't bring their ancestor back, the fact was that he still felt twangs of uncertainty, and worse, guilt.

Even now, as Tom hissed grandiosely, _"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts' Four!"_, Harry shifted uneasily from foot to foot as the Basilisk came slithering out from the carved mouth.

Zar looked crumpled and slightly ill, his scales paler than the last time Harry had seen him, as though the creature hadn't had a good meal or restful sleep in ages.

Although given what Zar had frequently expressed his favorite meal to be, there wasn't much they could do about it, since letting him eat muggleborns was not an option.

Nevertheless, Harry once more felt that wave of uncomfortable disquiet as he gazed at the creature after so long. If he had been in Salazar Slytherin's shoes, he would have liked if someone aided him, after all. He would have been desperate to be released from the cruel magic that bound him, that robbed him from his mind and humanity.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, swiftly looking away from the Basilisk, and stared down at Nagini, who had tensed in his arms.

"_It's alright,"_ he hissed softly, caressing her small, flat head. _"He won't harm you."_

Though he realized, a moment later, that she wasn't scared. On the contrary, she seemed furious. Harry understood the reason as he followed the direction in which she was gazing at: seeing Tom hissing fondly at the Basilisk, petting it with great worshipful reverence and gentleness.

In a second, Nagini flung herself out from Harry's arms and scurried like a flash towards the other pair.

Rearing herself into the air as much as she could, perching on the tip of her tail, she spat in a rattling, infuriated hiss, _"He is my human! Tom was mine, first!"_

At that, Tom shot her a malicious sneer from over his shoulder, not pausing in his pampering of the Basilisk, while Zar looked momentarily confused, squinting down at the floor from his impressive height, as though trying to catch sight of the thing that had spoken.

Because, indeed, Nagini was barely visible now. She looked like nothing but a tiny, thin thread, attempting to be noticed, swaying menacingly, before the intimidating immensity of the Basilisk's body, which vastly overshadowed her.

Harry groaned as he rushed up to them, realizing that she had not adopted all of her personality traits from Tom, as he had always thought. Oh, her selfish possessiveness surely was, but the sort of reckless, stupid bravery she was now displaying, Harry had to admit, was all his –and her evident jealousy too, though he rather not think about_ that_.

"_Come here, you silly snake,"_ Harry mumbled in a hiss as he quickly picked her up from the floor, wary that Zar would take offense and attack.

Nagini, not so stupid after all, allowed his protection of her, but remained glaring up at the massive Basilisk. Thankfully, though, Zar still seemed unsure of how to react to the little creature.

He was slowly blinking his outer eyelids at her, as if trying to figure out just what she was.

"_Um – Zar,"_ hissed Harry awkwardly, the whole thing feeling surreal as he made the introductions, _"this is Nagini, our…er, friend. You are not to harm her but treat her nicely." _He patted her on the head, glancing down as he lowered his voice, "_Nagini, this is Zar. Don't cross him or he'll have you for lunch, you fool._"

Nagini bristled at that, looking even more furious as she glowered at the imposing Basilisk before them. Zar, for his part, had already glanced away and returned his attention to Tom, not looking remotely interested in her.

With thumb and forefinger, Harry was quick to snap Nagini's jaws shut when the little snake made an attempt to speak again, hastily taking her away from Tom and Zar, who were once again absorbed with each other in conversation.

"_Right, I'm leaving you here,"_ said Harry as he settled her on the stone floors of the Chamber of Secrets, at the other end from where Tom and Zar were quietly hissing to each other.

"_I don't like it,"_ hissed Nagini at once, glancing around with a fastidious, haughty air about her. _"It's cold and damp. And ugly!"_

"_This is all there is,"_ snapped Harry irritably. _"You'll have to make it work."_

"_What are they hissing about?"_ spat Nagini crossly, shooting an irked glance at the distant pair.

"_Dunno,"_ said Harry with a disinterested shrug of the shoulders, before he frowned.

In fact, he had no idea what Tom had been doing all the times he had been visiting Zar since the day that Harry himself had stopped coming. Feeding and keeping him company, surely, but Harry wondered that his brother hadn't yet got tired of it. Or that it wasn't painful, as it was for Harry, to look at the Basilisk and know that they could do nothing for him.

"_Nagini,"_ then whispered Harry as an idea struck him and he crouched on the floor, piercing her with his eyes, _"I want you to do something for me."_

"_Whatever you wish, Master,"_ hissed Nagini importantly, as though wanting to give him an example of how much better behaved she was in comparison to the Basilisk, to which she was still shooting heated glances now and then_. "Ask and I shall obey."_

Harry's lips twitched wryly, before he murmured in a very grave hiss, _"I want you to come to my dormitory and find me if you ever think that the Basilisk is acting strangely."_

That caught her attention, as Nagini whipped her head around to stare at him with a kind of gleeful interest. _"Strangely? Like what?"_ She undulated her tail with vicious delight. _"The creature is a bad companion, I knew it! Not like me who always-"_

"_Listen," _snapped Harry, a mite exasperated_. "I want you to come to me if you ever hear him say that he wants to kill_." He shot a frown over his shoulder, as he added in a thread of a whisper,_ "If he says he wants to kill students, or 'mudbloods'." _He turned to bore his gaze into Nagini's startled one_. "Alright?"_

"_Yes, Master," _hissed Nagini quietly, sounding confused._ "I will."_ She then flicked her tail, looking annoyed._ "But how can I reach you, and without being seen, as you've said before-"_

"_I'll show you the passageways you can use to reach the main corridors of the school," _interjected Harry swiftly_, "and how to get to the dungeons_. _If you can't use the passageways, you can use the pipe system_." He shot her a speculative look._ "And if you learn how to control your magical ability, then no one will see you."_

"_What magical ability!" _hissed Nagini, sounding aggravated and deeply bitter.

"_You did magic in the clearing of the forest,"_ said Harry sternly, _"I told you."_ He scratched his forehead, musingly. _"Just as you did years ago, in the orphanage. I think it's a matter of necessity. A matter of wanting to, on your part."_ He shot her a piercing look, as he said dryly, _"When you camouflaged with my pillow in the orphanage, you had surreptitiously slithered up to it, knowing perfectly well that Tom didn't allow you to sleep on our pillows. You must have been trying to make yourself small or something, so that I wouldn't notice that you were trying to steal my pillow. And in the clearing, you were hiding from the other snakes, not wanting to be found – and that's when you became sort of invisible, camouflaging with the ground. I only saw you because I could see your magic."_

Nagini slowly blinked at him, looking bemused.

"_Do you understand?"_ pressed Harry impatiently, before he waved a hand, not waiting for her reply. _"If I have time, I'll go to the library and see if I can find what kind of magical snake you are. If not, you just have to practice. I'm sure you can get the hang of it."_

And with that, he rose to his feet, shot the distant Tom and Zar a frown, and then swiftly departed before his brother had a chance to remember the many things they still hadn't hashed out.

He wasn't going to give Tom more opportunities to pester him with his nosey, demanding curiosity into his affairs, and Nagini would just have to learn how to fend for herself – he had enough on his plate as it was.

* * *

"Harry, wake up, you dunce!" came a distant, distressed yell.

Sleepily, Harry growled under his breath and rolled to a side in his bed.

"Harry!" this time, the familiar voice was accompanied by the muffled patter of footfalls on their dormitory's floor carpet.

Nevertheless, Harry wholly ignored it, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He didn't think he could move a muscle. He was completely exhausted.

The other day, he had borrowed the Invisibility Cloak from Charlus Potter and spent hours giving Nagini a tour around the castle.

The last time she had lived at Hogwarts had been for such a short duration of time that she hadn't gotten to know it well, especially because neither Harry nor Tom had allowed her to go exploring by herself unless they were with her.

Added to the fact that Ulysses had promptly jumped on Harry's shoulder, clearly with no intention of being left behind, Harry had found himself with the unpleasant experience of having to act as arbiter between snake and Scorcrup, neither of which liked the other much.

The only positive fact was that, gratefully, Scorcrups couldn't speak or understand Parseltongue. So when Nagini had let out a constant, vitriolic onslaught of hissed insults, Ulysses hadn't been fully aware of just how very rudely he had been criticized.

Nevertheless, Scorcrups were part Kneazle, and Ulysses obviously caught the gist of Nagini's incensed, jealous hisses, and retaliated by swiftly transforming his fluffy tail into that of a scorpion. That had promptly made Nagini shut her maw, but she had remained sulky and tetchy for the rest of the day.

At least Harry had managed to show her all the secret passageways, discovering to his surprise that she, unlike Zar, could open them with her hisses.

The only explanation for it was that Slytherin's descendants had purposely enchanted the passageways in and out of the Chamber of Secrets so that only the Basilisk's hisses wouldn't work on them – clearly fearful of the possibility of having their ancestor run amok, escaping from their control.

Having to spend a whole day with a disgruntled, irritated Nagini had been no fun. Harry thought that the living arrangements between her and Zar weren't working too well, though he certainly didn't ask. He had never gone back to the Chamber of Secrets –he knew Tom was feeding both of them, nowadays- and preferred it that way.

At least, if Nagini was to be believed, she had been making progress in controlling her magical ability, though Harry had yet to see solid evidence of it.

Nevertheless, he had been left completely knackered. Between that, and the whole other slew of things that had been happening, Harry had been very grumpy lately.

Abraxas Malfoy was still stalking him around –though this time keeping his distance- whilst Harry chose to absolutely ignore him, Hagrid was still mulishly refusing to heed Harry's advice regarding Aragog, Myrtle was spending more time than ever bawling in her lavatory since everyone was mocking and spurning her more than ever before –rather understandably, since the girl had become outright unbearable- which meant that a highly irked Tom was being forced to daily use the passageway behind the mirror to access the Chamber of Secrets, his temper flaring when viciously nagging Harry about it, and everyone else in the school seemed to have gone mad and frantic.

Only a month and a half was left before the school year ended, and nerves were flying high. The Fifth Years had their O.W.L.s, the Seventh Years their N.E.W.T.s, the rest of them their end-of-year examinations which were no easy chore, and Tom all the while pestered and threatened him to get good scores on his tests, or else.

They had all begun revising like madmen, Dorea Black had turned into a demented banshee with her pre-match hysterics, since they would be playing against Gryffindor –their last chance for the Quidditch Cup- in just three weeks, the Daily Prophet kept printing articles claiming that they were all doomed since Grindelwald seemed more unstoppable than ever, they had received a letter from Konrad Von Krauss telling them he would be waiting for them in Platform Four and Three-Quarters under his guise of 'Lord Alistair Ascfroft' and that they would be spending another summer trapped in his castle, and apparently, this time the Dark Lord would deign to pay them a visit, which had all left Harry extremely wary and jittery.

"Harry! Dorea has called for a meeting of the Team in the common room – get up!"

Stubbornly keeping his eyes shut, Harry turned a deaf ear to his best friend's shout. He could hardly move, his whole body ached –from tiredness, no doubt- and he felt so heavy and expended that he just wanted to wile away the whole day dozing off.

"For Morgana's sake!" snarled Alphard's voice sounding annoyed beyond endurance, accompanied by the sound of bed curtains being ripped apart. "Will you get up, you lazy-"

Suddenly, such a loud, high-pitched shriek sounded bare inches away from Harry, that he irritably cracked one eye open, just as Neron Lestrange's voice roared furiously, "Will you shut your pipe, Black! It's seven in the freaking morning!"

Harry blinked though, when he saw Alphard standing right by his bed, the hangings framing him, with such a discombobulated expression on his face that Harry stared.

Alphard was staring back at him, grey eyes huge, with mouth hanging open, looking horror-struck, his face stark white, to such point that Harry could even see, to his vague, sleepy surprise, that his best friend had a couple of pale freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose – he had never noticed those before.

Alphard made a sort of strangled, choked noise from the back of his throat, before he instantly spun around, disappearing as he yanked the bed curtains shut.

Thinking nothing of it, too sleepy to care, Harry dozed off.

It couldn't have been more than half an hour later when he heard the unmistakable noises of his dormmates waking up to get ready for breakfast. He even had the vague suspicion that Alphard had been checking on him all the while, having heard his bed hangings being opened a slit now and then – the last time, accompanied by a panicked 'eep!'.

Regretfully, the loud voices were finally managing to ebb away his sleepiness, and Harry began to groggily open his eyes.

"Has anyone seen my tie?" Orion Black's voice was demanding irritably, just as a pajama-clad Alphard slipped behind the bed curtains once more, staring at Harry with a strange mesh of expressions, looking half terrified, half frenzied, and above all, determined, as he held a large blanket in his hands.

'Wha-' Harry tried to say, though didn't get the chance, he was instantly attacked.

The blanket was thrown over him as the boy pounced, Harry instinctively fighting him off, alarmed.

"Will you stop struggling!" whispered Alphard's voice sharply, panting very haggardly as he wrestled with Harry's flailing limbs. "I'm trying to help you, you idiot!"

Harry attempted to speak again, this time to shout for help, certain his friend had lost his marbles – but he froze a moment later, as no sound came from his mouth but a plume of smoke.

He heard Alphard coughing, before the boy took advantage of the opportunity of having Harry frozen in stupefaction, and the blanket was wholly wrapped around him, just as Harry felt himself being hoisted up against Alphard's body, the boy panting with the effort.

Harry felt as he was being carried by his best friend, barely jostled by the slow, unsteady steps, tucked amidst the folds of the rather smelly blanket, as he was paralyzed with momentary astonishment.

"What are you carrying there?" Orion's voice inquired abruptly, just as Alphard came to a sudden stop.

"Um… my dirty laundry. I'm going to wash it – er, by hand."

"Why would you?" snorted Orion scathingly. "Leave it to the house-elves, you dunce."

"No! I…er – need to understand how difficult muggles have it, you know, doing chores without magic and all that tosh. It's a project for Muggle Studies!"

"You're not taking Muggle Studies," said Orion's voice suspiciously. "Uncle Pollux didn't allow you-"

Harry was jostled when Alphard took a hasty step back, apparently because Orion had been about to part open the blanket hiding him. He had seen, through the fabric, a dark shadow coming closer, bare inches from his head.

"Fine!" bellowed Alphard, sounding half hysteric. "I'm going to the bathroom, to have a wank, alright?"

"What – with your dirty socks?" scoffed Orion snidely. "Go to your bed to have a toss, cousin, like the rest of us. You're not monopolizing the bathroom – I have yet to do my hair-"

"The world won't collapse if you don't groom your hair for one day!" roared Alphard at the top of his lungs, sounding demented. "I'm going to wank – in the bathroom! And I don't want any of you butting in – I'LL BE WANKING THE WHOLE DAY IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES! So stay clear!"

"Alright," mumbled Orion's voice, clearly taken aback and wary. "If you're that desperate to have some action, go ahead, though I would recommend the real thing-"

"Leave him," came Neron Lestrange's jeering, guffawing voice. "Little Black is feeling quite needy, obviously – what, with Riddle not giving him the release he so yearns for-"

"What is all the ruckus about?" snarled a tetchy, sharp voice, which Harry distantly recognized as Tom's, surprising him, since it sounded sleepy and exhausted, as if recently awoken after a very long night. Usually, his brother was always the first to get up in the mornings. "And what did you just say, Lestrange?"

"Shut your traps – all of you!" barked Alphard in a strangled voice, and apparently, he decided that fleeing was the only option left for him, since Harry was abruptly jostled to all sides as the boy broke into a sudden, mad dash.

The moment a door was slammed shut, the blanket was ripped from him and Harry spun, suddenly finding himself in mid air, before he deftly landed on cold stone floors, blinking, when he saw two paws before him.

And very strange paws they were. He shifted, and saw how one of his razor-sharp talons clicked on the floor.

"Ha-rry?" said a wheezy, hesitant voice, just as Alphard appeared in his line of sight, crouching on the floor, some safe distance away from him, looking frenzied and pale faced, still panting from exertion. "That's - you, right?"

Harry peered at him, befuddled, as he opened his maw and spoke – only for a very long, blazing, blast of fire to come out.

Alphard yelled, scrambling back, and immediately patted his eyebrows which had caught on fire. "Gulping gargoyles! Don't try to speak, you prat, or you'll roast me alive!"

"You- you're a – a –" then stuttered Alphard once he had recovered, his singed eyebrows vanishing into his hairline as he stared at him with a flabbergasted, awe-struck, yet faintly fearful expression on his face as well, as he weakly gestured towards the other side of the room, swallowing thickly. "Well, take a look, and you'll see."

Harry blinked, before he realized his friend was gesturing towards the wide mirror spanning across the entire wall at the other end of the bathroom.

He began making his way towards it, feeling very strange indeed, walking on four legs, as he attempted a sort of gangly trot. Furthermore, his shoulders were twitching and aching, as he felt a very weird, heavy weight on them.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, and suddenly, a feathery mass smacked him on the face, making him yelp and land on his hindquarters.

Behind him, Alphard gave a half-snigger, half-choking sound, which Harry didn't appreciate, getting up to his four legs once more as he shot the boy a dirty look and an irritated snarl.

Smoke puffed out from what had to be his nostrils, and Alphard jumped, 'eeping', as he said hastily, "Alright, alright – I won't make fun of you!"

Finally finding a rhythm to his four-legged strides, Harry halted before the immense mirror, cocking his head to a side, utterly bewildered.

What he saw reflected on the surface had to be, decidedly, the weirdest creature he had ever seen.

His size was that of a dog, yet his body was definitely feline, lithe, powerful and strong, his torso, tail and hind-legs like that of a lion, covered by fur with a golden sheen to it. His head, though, was that of a hawk, with a curved, rounded beak, feathery ears poking from the top. His front paws too, were rather hawk-like, with the sharp, dangerous-looking talons.

However, there was something of a dragon to his form as well: even though his wings were feathery, black and glossy, the shape of them were dragon-like, his eyes, bright green, had slit pupils, and his tongue, he realized as he gaped at his image, was definitely serpentine - long, sinewy, and forked. Not to mention the blasts of fire that kept erupting from his beak, escaping his control-

"You're a Griffin," breathed out Alphard by his back, and Harry instantly whipped around to stare at him, not having liked the sound of that at all.

The term didn't ring any bells, their Care of Magical Creatures professor had certainly never mentioned anything about any 'griffins', but the word itself sounded like-

"Also known as Gryphons," continued Alphard in a faint murmur, before he shot him a speculative look. "In fact, if I'm right, you _should_ be able to talk. In Parseltongue, that is." A thrilled gleam appeared in his grey eyes, as he rambled excitedly, "Remember? A Gryphon was one of the creatures in your brother's list of possible Parseltongue-speaking monsters that could be guarding the Chamber of Secrets. I never paid it any mind because… Well, Gryphons are so very rare, aren't they? Practically extinct – one hasn't been sighted in ages, and-"

Suddenly, a loud bang reverberated on the door, accompanied by an irate, snarling voice, "Open up at once! What is happening in there, Black?"

Alphard went completely pale as he rounded on Harry, whispering distressed, "Change – change back – quick!"

Harry shot him an incredulous look. How was he supposed to do _that_? Forgetting himself for a moment, he tried to express his quandary-

"Morgana's tits!" howled Alphard exasperatedly, as he hastily jumped away from another blast of fire. "Stop trying to speak until you manage to do it in Parseltongue, instead of breathing fire at me, you idiot!"

He shot Harry a frantic look, as Tom's voice rose through the closed and clearly spell-locked door of the bathroom, the boy gesturing wildly with his hands, as he whispered sharply, "It's very easy. Just close your eyes, Harry, and picture yourself as a human! Do it now!"

Casting him a dubious look, Harry nevertheless obeyed him. For a split second, he felt nothing, but then he was abruptly encompassed by a very bizarre sensation – as though he was spinning at top speed on the spot, hurling in a whirlwind.

"You have to picture your clothes too!" squawked Alphard's voice, just as Harry opened his eyes, finding he was, once again, a boy.

Alphard had gone beet red as he anxiously flung a towel at Harry, which he automatically caught in mid air, just as the door of the bathroom was smashed open by a spell, and a troop of people came striding inside.

Urgently wrapping the towel around his waist, Harry stood stiffly in the middle of the bathroom, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Alphard, for his part, looked dismayed and mortified, as their dormmates stared at them.

Orion was sniggering under his breath, Neron Lestrange leering at them, Abraxas Malfoy had his cold, silvery eyes narrowed, flickering from Harry to Alphard and back, and Tom… well, his brother looked livid.

"What," hissed out Tom in a very low, dangerous tone of voice, piercing them both with dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, "precisely, were you two doing in here?"

Harry felt his scar split with blazing pain as his brother's eyes darted to his naked chest, down to the towel haphazardly tied around his waist.

"It seems," tittered Orion, now chuckling loudly, "that what my cousin had in his 'dirty laundry' was Harry." He shot Alphard a highly amused look. "What have you been going, Alphie? Shrinking him to a manageable size so that you can carry him around, and pop him out whenever you feel the fancy to get a bit frisky with him-"

"No!" spluttered Alphard, going scarlet. "I don't – I wasn't - I would never-"

Harry ogled at them. "What?"

"Then explain this situation," drawled Abraxas frostily, angrily arching a pale eyebrow at them. "It looks quite condemning to me."

"It's nothing of the sort!" said Alphard in a high-pitch. "I would never – not to Harry – not that way-"

"I have been told," said Tom in a soft, dangerous voice, skewering him with his gaze, "that you distinctly said you were going to the bathroom, to touch yourself-" he shot Alphard an utterly disgusted look "- to 'wank', in your own uncouth words. And here I find you – having 'wanked'? With _my_ brother for company?"

"No!" stammered Alphard, seemingly choking on his own tongue, as he continued spluttering unintelligibly, "We weren't – we didn't – I would never risk –"

"It's not like that - we're _best mates_!" snapped Harry bristling as he realized what they were all thinking, feeling rather discomfited and hot around the ears as he cast them a look of absolute disbelief, before he turned to Alphard. "Al doesn't like me that way – right?"

Alphard went bright pink, swallowing thickly, before he shook his head. He shot them all an incensed scowl, before addressing Harry, vehemently, "You're my one true friend. I'd never do anything to mess that up!"

Feeling a powerful wave of relief, Harry nodded and grinned at him, before he rounded on the others, squaring his shoulders –ignoring the fact that he was starkers except for the flimsy towel- and crossing his arms over his chest, glowering. "And I don't see what you lot have to do with it. What we do in the bathroom is none of your business!"

"I'll have to disagree with that, little brother," spat Tom, his face contorting with such fury that Harry had rarely felt his scar burning with such intense pain, making him groan and slump as he rubbed it fiercely. "Whatever you do is very much my business." He shot him an enraged glare, as he added in a snarl, "And do cover yourself up!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, feeling as though Tom was ready to spout to him the same nonsense he had at poor Nagini. The next thing he'd be hearing from his brother was that Tom would be the one giving him permission to 'mate' or not, and choosing his partners for him, to boot – by the looks of it.

"This is stupid," bit out Harry acridly, glowering at them as he grabbed Alphard by the wrist, "and we've got to leave." He shot his friend a quizzical look. "You said something about Dorea wanting to see us?"

"Yes. Yes!" said Alphard in a loud voice, as though holding onto that fact as if it were a lifeline. "In the common room – we're so late!"

Harry lost no time in dragging his friend out of the bathroom, plowing into the other boys to push them a side.

Once in their dorm, he hastily went for his wand and summoned all his clothes, hurriedly putting them on as he ran up the stairs.

"This subject is not over!" he heard Tom's voice calling after him, viciously, but Harry paid him no mind as he finished buttoning his robes.

* * *

Alphard was seemingly too overwhelmed by events to even think about changing out of his pajamas, and it was a rather infuriated Dorea who glared at them both as they approached the group gathered in one corner of their common room.

"We've been waiting for you for over an hour," she bit out mordantly, giving them the evil eye.

"We had... trouble getting ready," mumbled Alphard feebly, with two pink spots lingering on his cheeks.

Harry eyed all his other teammates, who looked rather grim, before he scowled at her. "What's all this about? We don't have Quidditch practice today, do we?"

"We do now," snapped Dorea shortly. "I've changed our strategy."

Feeling a very ominous twist in the pit of his stomach, Harry stared at her. "Oh. How?"

She shot him a nasty, gleeful smirk. "Why, Riddle, it's rather simple. You'll be our new Seeker, of course."

"What?" spat Harry indignantly, seething. "Absolutely not! I won't-"

"You will do as I say," growled Dorea darkly, "or you're out of the Team!"

Harry's temper flared, and he instantly rounded on a tall, lanky girl by Dorea's side – the current Seeker, Berenice Bole. "What about you?"

The girl waved a hand dismissively. "I'm out. I've been telling Dorea for some time that I want to quit." She shot Dorea a brief scowl, before turning to him. "I'm in my seventh year. I have my impending N.E.W.T.s to worry about."

Harry gave her a dirty look, feeling betrayed. Not that he had ever thought that she was a good Seeker. If she had been halfway decent _she_ would have caught the Snitch in their last match instead of him, by accident.

Berenice arched an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over him. "And Dorea is right. You do have the body type for the Seeker position."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" bit out Harry truculently, glaring at both girls, for all he had ever heard about Seekers was that it was best when they were 'lithe and small', and as always, any aspersions cast on his lack of impressive height nettled him.

"And the skills and personality," interjected Dorea smugly. "You're a stupidly reckless flyer, Riddle, and it's that sort of mindless daring that we need to win the match against the Gryffs. Charlus won't see it coming."

Harry glowered at her, feeling that he had been thoroughly insulted instead of praised in any way.

"But you can't make Harry the Seeker," groused Alphard, scowling at his aunt. "He's an excellent Chaser! And he knows all our formations and tactics – we can't play just with two Chasers-"

"We won't," said Dorea with vast satisfaction. "I already have someone in mind to replace Riddle as Chaser." And she swiftly turned to call over her shoulder in a cheery voice, "Varian!"

Harry blanched as he saw who was responding to her summons. He had already had the misfortune of getting acquainted with Varian Vaisey in The Slug Club's gatherings. The latest of which had been spent with Horace Slughorn salivating over the fifth-year boy, filthy rich and well connected, given that the Vaisey family were the current owners of the Comet Trading Company, manufacturers of racing brooms, along with being the founders and owners of the Puddlemere United team.

Furthermore, Vaisey had a reputation of being quite a 'dandy', with his wavy, sandy hair and honey-colored eyes, as flirtatious and generous with his attentions to anything that moved as Orion Black, 'dreamy' as many girls – and not only Slytherins, at that- kept constantly gossiping and giggling about, and supposedly, possessing such handsomeness that it rivaled with that of Tom's.

Harry snorted acidly at that, hardly thinking that anyone could compare to his brother's good looks, and then going a bit green around the edges at that thought. But it vanished instantly as Vaisey left his gaggle of simpering girls behind, and approached them with a saunter.

"Have you told them already, 'Rea?" said the tall boy, flashing them a smirk.

Harry shot him a poisonous look, realizing he was not alone in his aversion. Their Keeper, Antonin Dolohov, grunted with dislike, while the two massive, muscled, and broad-shouldered Beaters - Nefarius Nott and Malgrant Mulciber- grimaced.

Alphard, for his part, seemed to be of two minds, as though assaulted by warring, powerful desires clashing within him, a pinched expression on his face. As if trying to decide whether to ask for autographs of his favorite team's players or stick with his staunch support of Harry, if Harry had to hazard a guess.

Thankfully, his best friend was apparently inclined to go for loyalty, as he mimicked the expression on Harry's face, biting out, "I've never seen you play before. I doubt that you can be as good as Har-"

"I have often trained with Puddlemere United," interrupted Vaisey in a conceited drawl. "Did so last summer, in fact. Father's been wanting me to get a hands-on experience to see how the team works. I will, after all, be helping him manage the business once I'm out of school."

"And," interjected Dorea in a reverent voice, blazing with giddy glee, "his father has promised to donate brooms to the Team if Varian is part of us. It will give us just the extra advantage we need. Their newest model, not yet released to the market-"

"The Cleansweeps," said Vaisey proudly, smirking widely. "The best of the very best. They will far outstrip anything on the market nowadays." He shot Harry a pointed look. "Even the Tinderblast." He waved a hand importantly. "We've already equipped Puddlemere with the Cleansweeps, and all the other teams in the League have put in their orders as well."

"I'll stick with my Tinderblast," gritted out Harry acidly, "thank you very much."

"This is most unfair!" grumbled Alphard angrily, glowering at his aunt. "I don't care about the stupid brooms – Harry doesn't deserve to be replaced-"

"I'll tell you what's unfair, nephew," spat Dorea in a tempestuous tone. "What's unfair is that I haven't been able to beat Charlus at Quidditch in all my years as Captain! What's unfair is that I've spent years listening to him boast about how vastly superior flyers the Gryffs are when compared to us Slytherins, and it makes me spitting mad. What's unfair is that I refuse to graduate from Hogwarts without winning the Cup and thoroughly destroying my fiancé in the Pitch, and I have only you lot to make it happen! So we are going to make this work!"

"But," began Alphard with a mutinous look on his face.

"And you both _deserve_ this," snapped Dorea, steamrolling over him as she skewered them with a hard look. "I said there would be consequences, did I not, to your disastrous performance against Ravenclaw? Well, this is it." She shot Alphard a baleful look. "Perhaps, if you don't have your little friend with you, you'll focus on playing better." She then glowered at Harry. "And perhaps, being a Seeker, Riddle, will make you value what you had before and lost, due to your appalling idiocy during our last match. You decided to snatch the Snitch – so you'll be doing _that_ from now on!"

"I didn't _decide_!" roared Harry furiously, feeling as though he had told her that a thousand times before and she still kept accusing him of the same ridiculous thing.

"I'll see you all in the Pitch, in one hour!" barked Dorea at the top of her voice, looking ferocious. "And we'll spend this whole Sunday training until we drop from exhaustion, until our new team plays so seamlessly, so perfectly well tuned and honed, that it looks as though we all share one mind!"

"Let us not have any ill feelings between us, shall we?" said Vaisey, patronizingly patting him on the back, having the gall to look amused when Harry slapped the hand away from his shoulder as he gave him a venomous glower.

* * *

Three hours later, Harry felt nothing but embittered wretchedness.

The fact that Varian Vaisey was proving to be a rather good Chaser was making it all worse.

Flying high up in the air, Harry gazed down at his teammates far below, feeling a pang of painful longing as he caught sight of Dorea and Alphard passing the Quaffle between them and Vaisey, their expressions one of delighted enjoyment.

Harry scowled, and didn't think about it twice when he saw a Bludger zooming by. Taking advantage of the fact that Dorea allowed them to carry their wands during practice, he flicked it at the Bludger and muttered a spell under his breath.

In an instant, it jerked and abruptly changed directions, shooting like a bullet towards Varian Vaisey's overinflated head.

There was an alarmed shout, and the fifth-year boy spun around in his broom, just in time to dodge the ball.

"What do you think you're doing, Riddle!" shrieked Dorea furiously.

Not feeling at all repentant, Harry glared at her, his dark expression intensifying when he caught sight of Vaisey smirking at him instead of looking angry or affronted.

'Git,' mouthed Harry nastily at him, bristling even further when the boy's smirk widened in response.

"Concentrate on getting the Snitch!" bellowed Dorea irately, for what must have been the umpteenth time. "If you don't prove that you can, I swear I will kick you from the team, Riddle!"

Grunting, Harry flung around on his broom, so as to no longer have to see how all the rest were having the time of their lives and he was stuck up there, looking for a stupid, fluttering golden ball.

The whole point of why he had always liked Quidditch was that it was a team effort. That he got to play with Alphard and Dorea, with people he liked and valued.

He had never liked playing alone – there was no fun in that. He had always had others to play with, like Billy Stubbs, Eric Whalley, and Amy Benson in the orphanage. When it came to that, he felt he had always been a sociable, outgoing person.

He had never been like Tom, who preferred and cherished being alone.

The Seeker position now seemed the very worst to him, utterly boring.

Indeed, there it was again, fluttering by the goal hoops. He had sighted the Snitch a couple of times by then, but couldn't make himself muster the will or interest to go after the silly thing.

This time, though, he resignedly veered towards it, sighing as he flattened himself against his Tinderblast, making it fly at top speed.

Predictably, sensing his approach, the Snitch shot into wild flying patterns, disappearing, before Harry spotted it low near the ground.

He dived like a sinking weight, not even enjoying, as he usually did, the way in which the wind fiercely slapped against his hair and robes.

He simply flung out a hand, grasped the Snitch in a tight fist, and abruptly jerked his broom's handle upwards, just in time to avoid smashing against the ground.

A cry of triumph rent the air, as Dorea's voice roared exultantly, "I knew you had it in you – I knew you'd be an outstanding Seeker!"

Paying her no mind, nor to the stunned, impressed expressions on his teammates' faces, Harry released the Snitch, floated back to the ground, and hopped off his Tinderblast.

Without a backward glance, not even when he saw from the corners of his eyes how Alphard was about to approach him with a blazing, happy expression on his face, no doubt to congratulate him, he hoisted his broom on a shoulder and was quick to dash out of the Quidditch Pitch, utterly sullen and depressed.

What his teammates had apparently regarded as an awesome display of Seeking abilities, merely felt like ashes in his mouth.

* * *

"Are you still sulking?" murmured Alphard with a roll of his eyes. "I don't know why – you're a great Seeker, Harry-"

"Stuff it," grumbled Harry without much feeling. "I don't want to talk about that." He shot him a pained look. "Are you really sure that Griffins have nothing to do with Godric Gryffindor?"

"I've told you already," said Alphard, sounding half exasperated, half amused. "The name Griffin has no association with the Founder's surname."

Harry scowled, as he flipped the pages of the tome in his hands. They were in the Room of Requirements, which had turned, for him, into a veritable library filled with books regarding his animal form.

So far, the tidbits of speculative information regarding the rare creatures had been interesting enough, but it was their name that bothered him the most.

He could only imagine what Tom would say if he ever knew that Harry could turn into a 'Griffin', which, to boot, resembled a lion quite a lot, when it came to his body and tail.

His brother had often viciously accused him of not being Slytherin enough, of having many traits he termed as 'pathetically Gryffindorish of him'. The name of his Animagus form would be the last straw, Harry was certain. He would never hear the end of it.

Harry glanced at his friend, and opened his mouth.

"And I won't ever tell Tom," said Alphard instantly in a tired monotone. "I promise, for the hundredth time."

Scowling, Harry glanced back to his book, as he grumbled under his breath, grimacing, "I just wish they were called something else."

"And I just wish," interjected Alphard, shooting him an envious look, "that _I_ was a Parselmouth, so that I could have a magical creature as my form – a fierce, scary-looking one like yours."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at that, as he closed his book and indolently leaned back on his plushy sofa. "You still have to tell me what _you_ are."

"Who's said that I know?" retorted Alphard briskly, his expression immediately closing off.

Harry snorted at that. "Come on. You knew exactly what I had to do to change back." He shot him a roguish grin. "You even said that it was 'easy'. It can only mean that you've done it - that you've been doing it perhaps for quite a while."

"Maybe I have," said Alphard caustically, shooting him a baleful look as he crossed his arms over his chest, "maybe I haven't."

The boy deflated though, when Harry wriggled his eyebrows at him, and he snapped, "Fine. I have. Happy now?"

"I will be, when you show me what you are," said Harry, grinning toothily.

"You'll just make fun of me," groused Alphard gloomily, shooting him a half-assessing, half-accusing look.

"I won't," said Harry rolling his eyes. "I swear. Don't be a prat, just show me already!"

"Alright," muttered Alphard reluctantly, rising to his feet, before he fulminated Harry with a grave, menacing look. "But I promise, if you chuckle –just once– I'll… I'll…"

He seemed to rake his brain for evil, nasty things that his Animagus form could do to Harry in retaliation, and apparently came empty-handed, because he scowled at him with a pinched expression on his face, as he barked, "Just don't laugh!"

"Just get on with it, Al," said Harry, impatient with excitement as he leaned forward in his sofa.

Alphard shot him a peeved look, before he deeply sighed, scrunching his eyes shut, for a moment looking pained in his effort of concentration.

Though, in a blink of an eye, the boy disappeared, and Harry gawked, marveled at the boy's swift skill, to then erupt into peals of laughter when he caught sight of what Alphard had transformed into.

Of course that he had known that his friend was bound to be something of the sort, but he still found it immensely funny. It explained so much for starters, since Alphard did look rather cuddly –and he had acted so during their first hallucinatory experience.

The little critter on the floor before him seemed to be scowling, and Harry sniggered.

"Hullo," said Harry with a wide grin, as he outstretched a fingertip, scratching the little creature's puffy, furred cheeks. "Here, here, Chippy, Chippy-"

"Ouch!" cried out Harry a second later, though he couldn't stop grinning around his bitten finger as he stuck it in his mouth.

Alphard was, indeed, quite an adorable-looking chipmunk. A foul-tempered, revengeful one, nonetheless, especially now when the little squirrel was making odd, angry chittering noises, glaring at him.

But still, Harry broke into guffaws, seeing how the chipmunk's tail had puffed up in irritation, so much so that it had slapped Alphard on the face, and the squirrel was now angrily battling with his own tufted tail in an attempt to keep it under control, making skittering, annoyed motions with his tiny paws, looking increasingly ill-tempered with his animal form.

Harry wished he had one of those photograph cameras to take a shot. A shame that it would be in black and white, but still, Alphard's Animagus' main traits could have still been preserved for eternity: the black and white stripes running from his head to the tip of his tail, the tiny white dots decorating his tail and sides of his furry back, the curly, white-dipped tip of his tail, and especially, the big, liquid-like and all-grey eyes glowering at him.

"Don't know what you're complaining about," Harry informed the little critter with a wide grin on his face. "I think your form is rather useful. You can easily squirrel around wherever you like, and no one would bat an eyelash. They'd just think you're scavenging for food or have lost your way from some forest."

The chipmunk made another series of irked, chattering sounds, before Alphard suddenly bloomed before Harry, as though abruptly enlarging and shooting upwards from the floor.

"It's downright shameful!" snapped the boy, as he slouched on a sofa, glowering at him. "I wanted to be something impressive and intimidating – not funny!" He shot him a resentful look. "And you did laugh, you git!"

"Couldn't help it," said Harry unrepentantly, widely smiling at him, before he shook his head. "And you're wrong. Your Animagus form is perfect, there's nothing to be ashamed of – it's inconspicuous, so it's definitely better than mine."

Alphard harrumphed at that, not looking at all mollified.

"I need to learn how to transform with my clothes included," then mused Harry, as he eyed his friend, highly impressed that Alphard could apparently do it without a second thought.

"Yes, you'd better get a hang of _that_, we wouldn't want a repeat performance," said Alphard dryly, his tone at odds with the flush suddenly suffusing his cheeks.

* * *

The following weeks flashed by, in a mesh of frenzied excitement for the incoming match and in a chaotic jumble of a general state of nerves due to the end-of-year tests in all their subjects.

Nevertheless, despite how they had been revising their class notes like maniacs, he and Alphard still found some time to transform into their Animagi animals.

Alphard seemed to come to peace with his form, increasingly feeling more comfortable in his own fur, to the point of nagging Harry so that they went to the Forbidden Forest, to run wild and frolic around for a bit of carefree fun.

However, Harry had his misgivings. It was true what he had said: his Griffin form was too noticeable, too unique. He was wary of transforming anywhere that wasn't the Room of Requirements. If anyone saw him, even in the Forest, word could spread around and someone could suspect that he was no real, nearly-extinct Griffin, but an unregistered, law-breaking Animagus wizard.

He didn't want to risk it, particularly because they were eyes watching in the Forbidden Forest.

It had happened several times, when he had been flying around in the Quidditch Pitch during practice, or even striding across Hogwarts' grounds to reach the greenhouses for Herbology lessons: he had seen a now familiar pair of big, sky blue eyes observing him – from amidst a bush or peeking around a tree trunk, bright with interest and curiosity.

He knew whom the eyes belonged to: that little centaur, Firenze, who seemed to be utterly fascinated with wizards in general and Harry in particular. Always looking skittish, ready to canter away at the slightest chance that he could be caught red-handed.

It was evident, from what Harry recalled the other, belligerent centaurs saying to him once, that Firenze wasn't supposed to be spying on the students, wasn't supposed to feel the slightest bit of curiosity towards humans, whom they considered vastly inferior to themselves.

Not that he particularly distrusted the little centaur, but it gave him another reason to refuse to transform in the Forbidden Forest.

The day of the match against Gryffindor, Harry was feeling rather morose. After the game, only two weeks were left –filled with examinations– and then he'd be leaving for Germany, to spend another oppressive summer in Von Krauss Castle, now with the added threat that they would be meeting Grindelwald.

He was not looking forward to it. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to be almost cheery. A rather alarming good mood had taken hold of his brother, and Harry was highly resentful of it.

That Tom could feel near happiness at the prospect of finally meeting Grindelwald, while he could only feel dread, didn't seem fair to him.

Five hours later, Harry was dragging his feet into the Castle, leaving a thick trail of mud behind, his body drenched in sweat, his Quidditch uniform splattered with soil, as he tiredly hoisted his Tinderblast on a shoulder, paying no mind to the heated, sullen glares that Gryffindors were shooting him, while he heard the buoyant, triumphant cries of his housemates, as they were all returning from the Quidditch Pitch.

His teammates were still in the Pitch's changing rooms, taking showers after the match. Harry hadn't bothered.

He had simply nodded when Dorea had tightly hugged him, nearly crying with elation, informing him that the Cup-pricing ceremony would take place in the Great Hall in two hours and that he was expected to later attend the party in their common room.

The match, to him, hadn't been at all eventful or enjoyable. He had simply done as Dorea had bid him. He had aimlessly flown for over three hours, as the rest of his teammates played their best and dirtiest against Gryffindor.

Harry wouldn't have even minded doing the things he had seen his teammates do, like nastily knocking players unconscious, savagely careening into Minerva McGonagall with their brooms when she had been in possession of the Quaffle, take hold of Charlus Potter's broom twigs, as a maniacal-looking, cackling Dorea had done to stop the boy from scoring, or even take hold of a Beater's bat to slam it in the head of the Gryff's Keeper.

For once, he would have done any of it, if it had meant that he could have been flying down there with the rest of his teammates, taking part of it all.

However, his task had been simply reduced to waiting: waiting until his teammates' outrageous tactics had allowed them to have a 200 point lead over Gryffindor, and then, catch the Snitch.

And so he had done, to the tumultuous roar of the Slytherin stands, as it dawned on them that Harry's abrupt, effortless capture meant that they had won the Quidditch Cup.

Harry hadn't even been bothered by the fact that, for once, his brother hadn't been in the audience.

"Wait up!" came a panting voice, and Harry hardly slowed his strides as Alphard came trotting to his side. "Why didn't you stay? We were about to throw a veritable party in the changing rooms!"

Harry shot him a glance, seeing that his friend looked half-soaked, half-dirty, as though he had suddenly noticed Harry's absence from the changing rooms, in mid way of taking a shower, and had ran after him.

"You did great!" Alphard slammed a hand on his shoulder, beaming at him with the power of a thousand suns. "You won us the Cup, Harry!" He chortled ecstatically. "Dorea is beside herself with giddiness, I think she's about to name you an honorary Black!"

Harry gave him a faint smile, and continued dragging his feet.

"Where are you going?" said Alphard, shooting him a confused and partly concerned frown.

"To bed," muttered Harry, with a shrug of his shoulder. "Just for a bit. I'm tired." He cast his friend a forced grin. "Have to be fresh for when they give us the Cup before the whole school, don't I?"

"Sure," said Alphard hesitantly, piercing Harry more intently with his gaze, as though having a vague suspicion that not all was well with him. "But I think you should go back with me and-"

_Kill… I must kill…_

Harry halted in his tracks, his green eyes popping wide, his heart suddenly jumping to his throat. "Did you hear that?"

Alphard gave him a worried look. "Hear what?"

_Must…. must kill…_

"Zar!" choked Harry in a strangled, half disbelieving, half appalled voice, as he wildly stared at the wall by his side.

They hadn't entered the dungeons, they were still in the entrance hall of the school, but he was certain that it was coming from within the walls, from-

"The pipes," he gasped out horrified. "Someone opened the latch!"

"What are you-"

Not even thinking about the Tinderblast, his numb fingers letting it drop, he broke into a crazed dash, jumping up the nearest moving staircase three steps at a time, such panic encompassing him that he could barely hear Alphard yelling after him, fast on his heels.

He was completely focused on following the voice, hearing how it was moving much faster than him inside the walls, knowing he might not make it on time, as he ran with all the speed his aching muscles could muster.

Harry swiveled on the first landing and gave a great leap to catch the already departing steps of the following moving staircase, frantically pin-wheeling his arms to regain his balance and avoid falling two-stories down into the entrance hall.

He managed to grasp the stone railings, and catapulted himself forwards up the stairs, finally reaching the second landing and wasting not another hitch of breath as he haggardly rushed down the familiar second-floor corridor.

He saw her just as he was turning around a corner, a small, tendril-like glow, slithering at top speed along the edge of the walls, as Nagini's voice hissed gleefully, _"Master - master! The creature is misbehaving. He-_"

"_I know!"_ shouted Harry in a frenzied hiss. _"Go hide, keep using your magic, and don't let anyone see you!"_

And he sprinted past her, finally turning the last corner, as he entered the corridor of the girls' lavatory.

But now, he could hear muffled voices as he sped towards the distant door. Even above all the noise of the students below, he could hear them quite clearly.

"… what have you done? What is that!" Myrtle's voice was screeching, sounding terrified and fearful. "I want you to leave, go away, or I'll tell the Headmaster what I know – I'll tell what I saw in London, I'll tell about your locket!"

"I see," Tom's cool voice answered. "Is that what you threatened my brother with? Is that the true reason why he took you to the Yule Ball?"

"You wear the sign of that terrible, evil wizard everyone's been talking about!" shrieked Myrtle with an ear-splitting wail. "I know what it means! I know what I saw and I'll-"

"I am afraid that you will not be doing much-"

Harry panted as he finally reached the door and yanked it open, wand in hand, as he pelted inside.

Though for a moment, he froze at the scene that awaited him.

Myrtle and Tom were standing by the stalls, and just behind them, the sinks –opened, revealing the immense, gaping black hole of the pipe, a huge scaly head rising from it.

Myrtle looked mad with vindictive, spiteful anger, Tom looked… demented, with the sort of expression that Harry had never wanted to see on his brother's face again, contorted with vicious and gleeful anticipation, with horrible pleasure, with feverish madness, as he kept staring at the Ravenclaw girl, and hissed as though he was aware of nothing but her impending doom, _"Open your inner eyelids – kill her!"_

Zar's body was already partly swaying above the sinks when Myrtle began to turn her face around, and to Harry, it felt like an eternity, as though she was moving in slow motion, and just as abruptly, everything sped up.

"No!" yelled Harry as he instantly aimed his wand at the girl. "Conjuntivitus!"

The red beam of light blasted across her face, making her thick eyeglasses fly away, as Myrtle staggered, shrieking in agony, clutching her swollen, leaking eyes - just a split second before she would have met the Basilisk's lethal gaze.

Tom snarled and flung around to stare at him, looking furiously deranged, as though just noticing his presence, as the Basilisk let out a rattling, furious hiss.

"Don't interfere!" thundered Tom irately, his handsome features monstrously contorted with wrath. "This must happen! _Kill her – kill her now!_"

Zar instantly leaped at the girl, jaws open wide and Harry was too late, even though he jumped between wailing, hysterically sobbing girl and Basilisk, trying to shield her with his body, the Basilisk swooped down, sinking his large, sharp, lethally poisonous fangs into her chest.

Harry screamed in horror as Myrtle gasped, toppling backwards to the floor, two immense, gaping wounds on her robes, quickly drenching with spurting, bright red blood.

"What have you done, Tom!" bellowed Harry frenziedly as he crouched by her side, staring at her heaving, mangled chest in horrified disbelief. He shot his brother a wild, incomprehensive look, as he choked out, "What have you done?"

"What was necessary," spat Tom, as he eyed Myrtle's dwindling pants for air with detached interest. He then cast him an exultant, triumphant look. "I've finished it. I completed the potion-"

"What?" croaked Harry faintly.

"What do you think I've been doing these past months in the Chamber of Secrets," sneered Tom acidly at him, before a feverish, elated gleam sparked in his eyes once more. "I completed it! She's the first sacrifice – now, only twelve more will be required, and then, I can make Zar imbibe the potion - I can finalize the ritual and we'll have Salazar Slytherin back!"

"But we agreed!" roared Harry in a strangled voice, beside himself with rage, and betrayal, and desperation, and such devastation that he could barely string two words together. "Never this – we agreed!"

"No," snarled Tom viciously, shooting him a deeply contemptuous look. "I never said I agreed. You forced me to play along. You never listened to what I wanted. You never accepted it. Hence I had to act, on my own. It's your own fault!"

A loud gasp suddenly came from the door, and they both spun around, seeing Alphard standing there, staring with wide grey eyes, looking white and aghast, with a now visible Nagini dangling from his arms.

Tom shot him a spiteful sneer, before he sauntered towards the door, knocking a frozen Alphard to a side as he began leaving, whispering in a deadly tone as he passed him by, "Ever say a word about this to anyone, Black, and you'll be next."

"Where are you going!" shouted Harry frantically. "We must help her – we must reverse this-"

"I'm going to finish it," spat Tom crisply over his shoulder, before he coolly strode away.

"Harry," breathed Alphard in a feeble voice, as he took a shaky step inside. "Is she – is she…" His eyes widened with sudden hope, as he gasped out, "I can go fetch Miss Nigtingale! Wait here and I'll-"

"No!" Harry jumped to his feet, grabbing his friend by the shoulder, his mind working as fast and hard as it had never done before, his green eyes filled with urgency. "She can't help. The only thing that can is-"

His eyes widened, a mad plan unfolding in his mind, and he gripped his friend tighter as he added frenziedly, "The Lethifold! The one Professor Merrythought keeps in a trunk – it must be in her office, you must let it loose, Al!"

"What?" Alphard shot him a bewildered look.

Harry gritted his teeth, not knowing what his brother had gone off to do, but aware that this was of the utmost importance. "Let it loose in the castle, Alphie. Go – now!"

"But the girl," spluttered Alphard confusedly, his gaze darting back to the barely breathing Myrtle. "She needs help-"

"I'll deal with her!" shouted Harry frantically, as he gave his friend a hard shove. "For Merlin's sake, go release the blasted Lethifold!"

Alphard swallowed thickly, gave a jerky nod of the head, and vanished.

Nagini had sprung from the boy's arms just in time, now slithering up to the girl splayed on the floor, looking curiously at her. _"Is the human dying?"_

Paying her no mind, Harry instantly went back to Myrtle and rent her robes apart, nearly gagging when he caught sight of her condition.

Her breathing had turned very faint and weak, her mangled chest barely moving, her brassier was slashed open, revealing the fang wounds that had ripped the flesh of her breasts open, a black fetid liquid oozing, mingled with her blood – the Basilisk's venom.

For a split second, Harry glanced up at Zar, seeing red with horrified fury, his wand shaking in his hand with the need to shred the beast to pieces.

But then he shook his head.

After attacking, the Basilisk had merely remained there, a portion of his strong, thick body protruding from the sinks, the rest still inside the pipe, swaying his huge head from side to side, as if merely contemplating his victim with a rather dotty air about him. His inner eyelids had been closed shut at some point, his eyes now looking greyish with the film.

And yet, it hadn't been Zar's fault – the 'Basilisk' knew no better and understood little.

Harry stared back at the barely conscious Myrtle, and instantly made up his mind, as he desperately cried out with a voice raw and burning in his throat, "FAWKES!"

His fingers clenched jerkily on Myrtle's torn robes. It had to work! It had worked twice before – it simply had to work this time too!

"FAWKES – I need you, help me!" yelled Harry again, so frantically anxious and fearful that he felt as though his thundering heart was about to leap out of his constricted throat.

Suddenly, with a blaze of fire, the magnificent bird flashed into existence, batting its beautiful golden and fiery wings, letting out a loud trill, as his black eyes darted to the opened sinks, looking startled, before his gaze followed the long scaly body emerging from the pipe.

His trill abruptly turned into an ear-splitting shriek, as though it was an earth-shattering battle cry, something Harry had never heard before or even imagined that could come out of a Phoenix, as the bird swopped, and attacked.

Directly going for Zar's eyes, Fawkes' dangerously large and sharp beak looked like a lethal dagger, as he flew straight for the Basilisk with a screech of bloodthirsty triumph.

"No!" roared Harry, as he jumped to his feet, not having expected the reaction, as the Basilisk instantly reared backwards, letting out a fierce, rattling hiss, maws widening and snapping menacingly, sharp fangs poised to kill. "I can't let you harm him – he's innocent!"

But the Phoenix seemed utterly unaware of anything but his prey, and Harry slashed his wand through the air, bellowing, "Diffindo!"

The spell hit Fawkes on one of his wings, making the bird let out a screech of pain, as it hurled to the floor like a rock, its injured wing flapping uselessly.

Furious, Harry leaped and brusquely grabbed the Phoenix by the neck, hoisting him up in the air, as he rounded on Zar, and spat in a mordant hiss, _"Go back to the Chamber of Secrets – back to your Lair – now!"_

For a moment, Harry thought the Basilisk wouldn't obey him, as the creature's veiled, lethal eyes remained fixed on the Phoenix, but then Zar let out a rattling, disgruntled hiss, and began sinking back into the pipe.

"_Go with him!"_ hissed Harry sharply, as he rounded on Nagini.

The little snake flung her tail at him, looking irked. _"I wish to remain, Master-"_

"_I said go!"_ snarled Harry, as he tightened his grasp on Fawkes' neck, who had started to wrestle frenziedly against his hold, his beak savagely piercing the flesh of his fingers.

Nagini didn't go quietly, grumbling nasty hisses under her breath, but the moment she had disappeared into the pipe, Harry hissed briskly, _"Close!"_

As the sinks shifted back into place, he instantly shook Fawkes hard, feeling no mercy or compassion at all. "Stop that! This is not about the Basilisk, this is about her!"

Harry immediately flung the Phoenix to Myrtle's side, crouching himself to check her state, not knowing if he had already wasted too much time.

"Heal her!" he barked desperately, as Fawkes hopped unsteadily on his talons, his mangled wing limp and sticking in an odd angle. "Save her like you tried to save Sherisse Slytherin – Myrtle's an innocent too! Use your tears!"

The Phoenix cast him a sharp look at that, before he turned his magnificent head towards Myrtle's motionless body.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as Fawkes suddenly tilted his head down, trilling softly as he blinked very slowly, glistening tears forming in his black eyes and rolling down his feathery cheeks, splashing on Myrtle's ravaged chest.

The phoenix repeated the process twice more, and Harry, with his heart racing and pounding hard, watched as her flaps of skin began to knit back to together, as the soft pulp of her breasts ebbed back under her skin, as the fetid, black poison of the Basilisk's fangs began to sizzle and disappear, as though evaporating, the girl's wounds becoming pinker and smaller with each passing second, until they were nothing but unblemished skin.

To his surprise, Fawkes gave several hops, and then shed his tears on Myrtle's shut, swollen, pus-filled eyes, turning them back to normal in a split second, dispelling the effects of Harry's curse.

But it was when Harry abruptly detected a faint movement in the girl's chest, quickly holding two fingers under her nose to make sure he wasn't imagining things, that he turned to gaze at Fawkes with a blazing look on his face, as he breathed out quietly, "Thank you. Thank you."

The Phoenix squawked at him, clearly none too happy with him or anything that had happened.

"I could – erm," said Harry uncomfortably as he eyed the bird's injured wing, "try to heal that for you."

Fawkes screeched at him, tossed his head to a side, and was gone in a blast of fire.

Well, it didn't look as though he was going to be forgiven any time soon, after all.

Not too bothered by it, Harry quickly cast a series of spells and charms on the girl's clothes, cleaning them from any stains of blood and repairing the damage as best he could.

By the time he was done, Myrtle was weakly cracking her eyes open.

"Where am I? What – I was attacked!" she then shrieked, jerking upwards on the floor and then swaying, looking about to faint from blood loss.

Harry instantly wrapped an arm around her waist as he helped her get up on her feet, biting his lip. "How are you feeling?"

"You attacked me!" she screeched, so loudly and close to his ear that Harry winced and thought he had gone momentarily deaf. "And then-" she gasped, letting out a terrified wail "-something else attacked me! I felt knives! Knives tearing me open!"

Harry pierced her with a hard look, for a moment debating if he dared cast on her an Obliviating Charm. The spell had always sounded horrible to him, one of the worse things that could be done to another person, no matter if Ministry officials often did it to muggles for security reasons.

And perhaps, he would have cast it on her, if it weren't for the fact that he had only heard about it, didn't even know how it was done, and decidedly didn't dare do it lest he damage her mind.

Myrtle had had enough for one day.

Nevertheless, he couldn't let her go as she was. And, regretfully, the Imperius Curse was not an option in these parts of the castle where Hogwarts' wards would instantly detect it and inform the Headmaster.

"Myrtle, look at me," said Harry softly, and when the girl did, shooting him a very nasty and suspicious look, he flicked his wand, muttering with all the potency of his magic that he could invest in it, "Confundus!"

Her expression went blank for a second, her myopic eyes fogging, as she staggered in his hold.

Then she blinked, looking deeply confused and groggy, slowly glancing around. "W-where am I? What happened?"

"You were attacked, Myrtle," said Harry at once. "It seems that Professor Merrythought's Lethifold managed to escape somehow, and my brother and I heard your screams and found you here, with the Lethifold about to enfold you, and we scared it away."

Myrtle stared at him incomprehensibly for a moment, and Harry shook her brusquely, as he continued in a sharp voice, "Don't you remember? The Lethifold – you were terrified of it in class, Myrtle! It came after you when it escaped!"

At that, Myrtle let out a high-pitched, wailing whimper, her frame shaking, and Harry released her, greatly relieved.

"Your glasses are there," said Harry swiftly as he spotted the broken spectacles at the other end of the bathroom. "Pick them up and wait for me here-"

"Where are you going?" shrieked Myrtle, instantly wrapping herself around his arm, looking terrified. "You can't leave me alone!"

"I need to see if the Lethifold's still in the corridor – Let go!" snapped Harry angrily, as he yanked his arm away from her clutches. "Stay here!"

And with that, he didn't waste another hitch of breath and sprinted out of the lavatory, slamming the door shut.

He had to find Alphard and check if the boy had managed to release the creature. And he definitely had to find his brother!

Harry sprinted down the corridor, taking a quick turn around the next corner, and nearly tripped when he overheard some very familiar voices.

"I've told ye!" suddenly bellowed a thick, desperately pleading voice. "Aggy couldn't've don' it!"

"A student was attacked, Hagrid, by some beast. Only your Acromantula could have possibly done that to her. I've seen her –she's dying, probably dead by now – I couldn't save her from your monster quick enough-"

Harry became pale and livid, as he realized what was going on, spurring his legs further to allow him to reach the pair as soon as possible.

"But Aggy's been locke' in 'is cupboar'!" howled Hagrid's voice disconsolately. "He couldn't hav' gotten out on 'is own!"

"You were watching the Quidditch match, Hagrid. You can't know what your monster did or did not do. That you found him in his cage when you returned proves nothing. The Acromantula probably hid back after he attacked the girl-"

"Aggy's no monste' and he didn't do it – I'm sure he wouldn't! Tell 'im, Aggy!"

"I've had enough of this nonsense. You're coming with me. I'm taking you and the beast to see the Headmaster – let him decide what to do with the pair of you-"

Harry turned the next corner just in time to see Tom aiming his wand at Hagrid, both of them standing by the opened door of the cupboard. Tom looking stony-faced and grave, Hagrid with thick tears rolling down his wide cheeks, with Aragog wildly struggling for release in his wide arms.

Without a second thought, Harry aimed at his brother's back and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"


	64. Part I: Chapter 63

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

First off, sorry for the long delay. I've had a couple of very busy and hectic months and wasn't able to spare a moment for writing. I can't promise that I'll be able to update frequently from now on, but I'll do my best.

Answering some doubts, this story will be SLASH, as was mentioned before and as all my fics are, thus far. We're certainly seeing some elements of it now that the boys are in their third year and fourteen years old, though nothing will be happening until they are a bit older – expect them all to be more mature when they start their fourth year ;)

On another note, several people told me that chipmunk is not the same as squirrel, that they are different species and all. I had no idea about this but I finally checked on the web and it seems that chipmunks are indeed a type of squirrel, so I'm leaving it as is, alternating between the terms indistinctly to avoid repetition. After all, what I like about chipmunks is their body –with cute black and white stripes- and what I like the most about common squirrels is their puffy, curled tail, so just imagine Alphard's form as a merging of both ^.^

Someone pointed out that Griffins don't breathe fire nor have any dragon-like traits. And I did notice that when I was looking up creatures, but since they are mythological creatures after all and can be whatever our imagination fancies, Griffins in this fic are as what was described in last chapter :P

And Harry doesn't like being Seeker because this Harry is not exactly as canon-Harry, as we have surely realized by now. He has some of the same basic personality traits, of course, but there are many differences between them. One of them being that the Harry of this fic has always been very sociable, having been an orphan in a depressing place, yes, but he was loved and cared for and always had his friends and made them easily. He's used to having people around who like him, not like canon-Harry, so of course that he isn't going to enjoy the Seeker spot, which is quite a lonely one.

Someone asked how could Harry have Slytherin blood if it has been said that Dumbledore long ago, with Gellert, "discovered that Cadmus' descendants had mingled with Slytherin's, Ignotus' with the Potter line."

I'm just following canon here and finding a way of how it could be explained. The point is that Harry is a Potter, Potters who come (as seen in a chapter) from Sidony Slytherin and Ignatius Peverell (descendant of Ignotus), so they must have had an only child, a daughter who married the first Potter, that's why the Slytherin tree line, in a library book found by Tom, pointed out this couple as precursors of the Potter line and why Harry had been momentarily excited when discovering he was 'very distantly related to Charlus Potter' through marriage and not blood, he believes, since Harry doesn't know he's actually a Potter himself.

So, in truth, Harry has Slytherin blood due to Sidony Slytherin –just from one person.

On the other hand, Tom doesn't come from this couple but from the main Slytherin line, meaning that he has almost the entire Slytherin tree line as ancestors. Plus, he comes from the main line which Cadmus' descendants married into, that's why in canon the Gaunts had the Resurrection Stone in a ring, as a heirloom (how they came to have it, in this fic, was explained with the whole Sherisse Slytherin-Morgon Gaunt issue). And why only Tom can be considered Slytherin's true Heir, because Harry only has Slytherin blood from one sole ancestor, who was a woman, while Tom comes from the lot of them, who frequently intermarried each other incestuously, so he has Slytherin blood many times over.

I hope this made sense and clarified matters

**PICS:** I've finally gotten around uploading the fanart sent to me. You can find it in my Yahoo Group in Twist of Fate's folder in Pictures. Do check them out, they're brilliant! And leave comments if you can, we all like our efforts to be appreciated :) And thanks to Skarp and Laura again for your lovely fanart :D

You can also find Laura's wonderful sketches at: cj09ck13. deviantart

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 63**

* * *

Tom's wand flew into the air, shooting towards him, and Harry jumped to catch it with his free hand, just as his brother, looking startled, spun around to stare at him, his expression immediately contorting into one of rage.

" 'Arry!" croaked Hagrid, though a moment later he was crying out a different name, "No – Aggy!"

The Acromantula had taken his opportunity and sprung out of Hagrid's restraining arms, scuttling at top speed towards the end of the shadowy corridor.

Harry cursed under his breath as Hagrid went madly lumbering after it, shouting desperately.

He hesitated for a split second as he began rushing past his brother – he was so horrified, stunned, and crushed, so thoroughly devastated by Tom's plots, that he didn't know how to react or what to say to him.

He would have liked to ask for his help, so that his brother could aid him in dealing with Myrtle and what she remembered happening. But he couldn't trust Tom any longer, he couldn't trust that he wouldn't try to make Zar kill her again.

So Harry said nothing –not even that Myrtle was very much alive– and he violently hurled Tom's wand back at him, before he sped after Hagrid and the Acromantula.

Tom said and did nothing, even though Harry felt his scar blazing with pain once more.

When he shot a glance over his shoulder as he turned a corner, Harry saw his brother simply standing there, with a wide, vicious smirk of triumph and satisfaction on his face.

He only understood the reason for it seconds later, when panicked screams and shouts erupted, accompanied by the shuffling noises of fleeing footfalls and the voices of teachers clamoring to be overheard and instill some order over the chaotic cacophony.

Further ahead, Hagrid let out a cry of absolute despair, and Harry realized why his brother had done nothing – if anyone had seen the Acromantula running amok, as it seemed to be the case, they would attempt to kill it first and ask questions later, and they would all certainly assume that it had been Aragog who had attacked Myrtle.

Though, Harry frowned as he kept hearing the screams, because they weren't coming from further beyond, but were rather muffled – they were coming from below, from downstairs, and it could only mean that-

Alphard had managed to do it, finally! It must be the Lethifold causing such terrified chaos.

"Aggy, com' back!" shouted Hagrid in a thick, watery, fearful voice.

Harry ran past Hagrid, much quicker and lithe than the hulking half-Giant, and he had nearly reached the scampering Aragog when they heard sprinting footfalls running towards them, sounding very nearby, as though just around the corner.

Hagrid froze behind him, but Harry jumped forwards with a last spur of speed and snatched the Quaffle-sized Acromantula from the floor.

Looking around wildly, as the footfalls began to sound much closer, and especially when Aragog savagely clicked his pincers at him, nearly cutting off one of his fingers, Harry frantically opened the nearest thing he could reach and flung the vicious spider inside.

It had been just in the nick of time, as Harry and Hagrid stood rooted in place as they first saw bright magenta robes appearing, with waving and winking suns hopping all around the fabric, and then the clear figure of Dumbledore, with the hem of his bizarre robes hitched upwards as he sprinted with surprising agility, displaying a matching set of equally horrifying socks, all clashing spectacularly with the wizard's long ginger beard and hair.

Albus Dumbledore was probably the last person Harry wanted to see just then, and he immediately grasped Hagrid's thick wrist by his side, as he urgently whispered under his breath, "If you want to save Aragog, follow my lead – no matter what I say! Understood?"

The half-Giant boy stared at him, before he have him a jerky nod of his massive head.

Dumbledore abruptly halted a few feet away from them, for a moment looking clearly startled as he caught sight of Hagrid, his bespectacled gaze then landing on Harry, becoming keener.

"It went over there!" gasped out Harry immediately before the wizard could even open his mouth, as he pointed with a trembling finger towards the furthest end of the corridor. "The monster - it escaped in that direction!"

"A monster, you say?" said Dumbledore quietly, intently peering at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Could you describe it to me, dear boy?"

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly as he murmured, "It was just like the one we saw in Professor Merrythought's lesson. It's called a – Lethifold, I think."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore gazed at him with a slight frown on his face.

"Yes!" said Harry vehemently, as he nudged Hagrid with an elbow. "My friend saw it too, didn't you, Hagrid?"

The half-Giant jumped, as he croaked in a very unconvincing voice, "Let'fold? Oh yeh, a Let'fold it was, professo'!"

Harry doubted that Hagrid even knew what a Lethifold was, and for a moment, as he saw Dumbledore sharply piercing the half-Giant with this gaze, he inwardly groaned because he had forgotten to tell his friend not to look the wizard directly in the eyes.

Tom had long ago said that he suspected Dumbledore of being a Legilimens and Harry didn't want to take any chances.

As the wizard's gaze darted back to him, Harry made a point of nervously staring away, into the end of the corridor where he had said the Lethifold had fled towards.

Hagrid was still looking at Dumbledore with an innocent, guileless expression on his broad, blunt face, but he kept squirming and shuffling his feet, as though feeling highly guilty and troubled, and kept meeting the wizard's piercing gaze, to boot.

However, Harry reminded himself that the half-Giant knew nothing important. Anything the boy could reveal would only condemn Hagrid himself and his nasty Acromantula.

He breathed a little easier after that, though it was cut short when next Dumbledore spoke.

"A Ravenclaw student has been found," said the wizard quietly. "She is very badly shaken and has claimed that she was attacked by a… creature."

Harry blanched as he noticed Dumbledore's gaze darting to a side, to the corridor that led to the girls' bathroom of the Chamber of Secret, and he cursed his stupidity.

He hadn't expected Myrtle to leave the bathroom on her own accord, he had been counting on her fear and cowardice. He should have locked her inside a loo stall – or better yet, stunned the stupid girl!

He was confident that his Confundus Charm would hold –after all, he was rather excellent with Charms in general and he had made it particularly strong. Myrtle's recollection of events would always be foggy and confused.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean that a powerful wizard and Legilimens, like Dumbledore allegedly was, wouldn't be able to forcibly glean the truth from her mind – if half the things he and Tom had been reading and studying about the Mind Arts were remotely accurate.

Harry didn't know whether to suspect or not that Dumbledore was capable of doing such a thing to a student – but caution dictated that it was best to believe the worst.

Trying to quickly figure how to wriggle out from the entangled mess, Harry finally said in a grave voice, "I know, professor. My brother and I were the ones who found her when the Lethifold was about to enfold her." He lowered his voice, hoping he was somewhat managing to turn pale, "We scared it and told Myrtle to remain in the lavatory, hidden. I caught sight of the fleeing creature up here, while Tom went looking for it in another direction." He shot a brief look at his friend. "Hagrid crossed paths with me and when I told him what had happened, he offered to help me."

Harry paused to sigh and cast the wizard a sheepish look. "We wanted to find the creature before it could attack again." He ruefully shook his head. "It was very stupid of us, I know."

"I see," said Dumbledore calmly, as he gently laid his hands on their shoulders. "I think it would be best if you came with me. All students are being gathered in the Great Hall until such a time as the Lethifold is found and securely restrained once more."

Hagrid gave a panicked, worried glanced towards the cabinet a few inches away from them and Harry had to restrain the impulse to shout at him. It was painfully obvious that subtlety was not one of the half-Giant's qualities.

As surreptitiously as he could, while Dumbledore began steering them away, he squeezed Hagrid's thick arm comfortingly. Of course, it was a lie. He didn't know whether Aragog was well or not – or if the spider had survived at all.

He had recognized just in which corridor they had been standing, and just in which cabinet he had thrust the vile spider into.

Not an ordinary cabinet at all, but the one that Ulysses had found long ago. The one that Alphard had not allowed Harry to explore, saying that 'vanishing cabinets' were highly unreliable and unpredictable, having fallen into misuse ages ago precisely for that reason.

In truth, if 'Aggy' was floating around somewhere, dismembered, Harry didn't think he would mourn him one bit.

He scowled down at his hand, the very same one Aragog had nearly torn a finger from, and the one that Fawkes had attacked with his beak. It still had deep cuts trailing with blood.

"You're injured," murmured Dumbledore's voice.

Harry snapped his head up to see the wizard's bespectacled gaze fixedly staring at his hand.

His fingers twitched, but he aborted the instinctive reaction of instantly hiding his limb from sight, and merely smiled at the wizard, shaking his head dismissively.

It was impossible to tell given Dumbledore's placid, closed off expression, but the wizard could very well be highly suspicious of him. The man could actually know or suspect rather a lot, especially if Fawkes had gone back to him to communicate all that had happened.

Nevertheless, Harry had the feeling that Fawkes couldn't have possibly dared – at least, not the whole truth.

Myrtle, though, was still a problem.

* * *

The translucent, vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall were displaying a late evening sky, peppered with faintly twinkling stars, as Harry and Hagrid stepped inside.

The whole school was gathered there, though standing in tightly-packed groups, since when it was not meal hours the House tables and benches simply disappeared.

Harry caught sight of his brother almost immediately, standing at one corner of the vast room, surrounded by Slytherins murmuring to each other in excited whispers.

Tom, however, stood as still as a statue, a blank expression on his face, only a slight pinch in his jaw muscles revealing to Harry that his brother was agitated and very tense, his dark blue eyes staring straight ahead – towards Myrtle.

The Ravenclaw girl was in the middle of a ring of teachers, wildly gesturing with her hands with much exaggeration, evidently taking pleasure in telling whatever story she was, her screechy voice punctuated by melodramatic wails of fear here and there, making it all look as though she was having the time of her life by playacting some great tragedy in which she was both the victim and the heroine.

The surrounding gossipy students listening to her intently didn't appear to be bothered by her ways, for once – too interested in knowing just what had happened and who was to blame.

Though, apparently, the poor Lethifold still hadn't been caught, because there were a couple of teachers missing, most conspicuous of all for her absence, Galatea Merrythought.

Harry instantly parted ways from Hagrid and Dumbledore, and made a beeline for his housemates.

When Alphard caught sight of him, he looked deeply relieved, though his face then adopted its previous expression, one of anxiety and fear, as his eyes began darting from Harry, to Tom, and the distant Myrtle.

Harry couldn't blame him. The boy was the only one who knew almost everything that had been going on.

He squeezed his shoulder, and shot him a strained grin as he murmured, "Thanks."

Alphard didn't voice any reply, just merely nodded his head jerkily and gave him a faint, fleeting smile before returning to his previous jitteriness.

Tom, for his part, was now staring at him with eyes narrowed to slits, a gleam of murderous wrath in them, as he lowered his voice to a barely audible, whiplashing whisper, "Do you realize what you have done by saving the mudblood? Do you realize that you have condemned me to-"

"Shut up," gritted out Harry quietly through clenched teeth as he rubbed his throbbing scar. "And follow me."

"I beg your pardon?" spat Tom seething.

"We're going to fix your mess," snapped Harry tartly under his breath. "So follow me, and play along."

Tom skewered him with an intense, narrowed-eyed stare, but Harry ignored it as he turned around and slowly made his way towards Myrtle and the professors, seeing that Dumbledore had already joined them.

His brother suddenly appeared by his side, as Harry knew he would, and he muttered from the corner of his mouth, "Tell me, do you know how to cast an Obliviating Charm?"

Tom shot him a highly suspicious look, before he sneered caustically, "Of course I do. It is a vastly useful-"

"Then," interrupted Harry, pushing aside the flare of fury at the discovery that his brother had been learning who-knew how many spells on his own, without sharing them with him. But then again, if there was one thing he had learned that day, it was that Tom had been keeping many, many secrets from him.

"Then," repeated Harry before he continued in a low, sharp whisper, "you will have to cast it on Myrtle, as covertly as possible." He shot him a hard look. "Not too powerful, mind you. Nothing that would seem suspicious-"

"I hardly think you're in a position to tell me how to cast a spell you don't even know," snarled Tom under his breath. "I do not need your advice on this."

Harry bristled, but was quick to push his anger to a side, as he finally bit out, "I'll try to give you a chance to do it, alright?"

Tom sneered poisonously at him, but remained silent, just as Harry weaved through the last clutches of students and reached Myrtle.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of him, instantly yanking him forwards as she wrapped her arm around his, as she shrieked exultantly, "And he saved me from the monster!"

Harry shot her a quick look, seeing Myrtle gazing adoringly at him, which made him realize that perhaps he had cast the Confundus Charm too strongly, for if she had remotely been in her normal state of mind he didn't think she would be behaving so towards him.

At her declaration, he was immediately assaulted by questions from all sides, from students and teachers alike, and he mumbled his same version of events.

By the end of his narration, Harry flung out a hand and pulled Tom forwards, as he added with an abashed smile, "And Tom helped me to repel the Lethifold – couldn't have done it without him!"

Myrtle's face went stark white at Tom's presence, and for a moment Harry worried that her recollections regarding his brother's true part in the whole matter were much clearer than they should be.

He feared she would open her mouth to say something with the slightest bit of truth to it, especially when he caught sight of Dumbledore sharply gazing at the three of them, but then-

"Oho!" boomed Horace Slughorn, puffing up like a proud uncle, his walrus-like moustache wobbling cheerily. "What a thrilling tale of bravery, m'boys! Very noble indeed. Why-" he glanced around grandiosely, winking jauntily "-it just proves what I have been saying all along, altruism and courage before the face of danger and adversity is not only limited to Gryffindor House!"

Some teachers nodded, though looking slightly surprised by the turn of events of having two Slytherins playing the hero to save a Ravenclaw girl. Perpetua Fancourt, Myrtle's Head of House who had been rather vicious with the Slytherins in her class, was even beaming at them; Slughorn was chortling happily; and the old, withered Headmaster Dippet was smiling very warmly.

Harry was quick to find Miss Nightingale amongst the crowd of professors, and slightly raised his voice, as he shot Myrtle a look and said concernedly, "Perhaps we should take her to the Infirmary. She has been through a lot. My brother and I can take her-"

"That is what I have been saying all along," interjected the Mediwitch, clicking her tongue with exasperation, as she shot a reproachful look at her peers. "The children need a peaceful long night of sleep, and-"

"I would like to have a word with the three of you," interjected Dumbledore gently, peering at them over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I will escort you to the Infirmary and-"

"Now, now, Albus!" said Slughorn genially, wagging a chastising finger at him. "The poor girl and our brave lads deserve a bit of rest! We can all hear more about this gripping story in the morn – I, myself, would deeply appreciate to rest my feet a bit with a warm glass of mead in my hands…"

It seemed that Miss Nightingale and Harry were thinking along the same lines, as they both grasped the opportunity of having Slughorn merrily babbling at Dumbeldore, momentarily distracting the wizard, to slip away with Myrtle.

The Mediwitch, undoubtedly, because she had been dying to do so for quite some time, as she clucked at them like a mother hen, quickly veering them through the crowds to slip out of the Great Hall. Harry, because he knew they only had a few seconds before Dumbledore would catch up with them.

"Do it now," whispered Harry curtly under his breath at his brother.

Tom shot him a glower, but instantly did as asked, so well that Harry barely saw the brief, tiny flick of his wand, accompanied by a word murmured so quietly that he didn't catch it.

For a moment, Myrtle's eyes went unfocused and blank, her mouth flapping open, hanging grotesquely, indeed looking as though her brains had been savagely scattered.

Harry shot an alarmed look at Tom, convinced that his brother had been too viciously overeager with his spell-casting, but a second later Myrtle began talking again, looking as 'normal' as she had been before.

* * *

"Is there anything you wish to tell me?" Dumbledore said softly, as he peered at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

The wizard had detained him outside the doors of the Infirmary. Tom was already inside, sitting by Myrtle's bedside, playing his part as the concerned Prefect that had saved her, though now he was shooting them glances through the glass windows of the Hospital Wing's doors.

"Not really," retorted Harry, as he stared at the bridge of Dumbledore's crooked nose. He brightened, as he added, "Oh, yes, since they couldn't give us the Quidditch Cup tonight with everything that happened, when will my Team have it?"

Dumbledore sighed, his expression one of sorrowful, pained disappointment for a flicker of a second, before he said amiably, "I would expect that the ceremony will take place tomorrow, if there are not any further surprises."

"Great," said Harry, forcing a beaming smile on his face. "Thank you, sir."

Just as he turned to leave, hastily for he still had much to do, Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, as he murmured quietly, "Mr. Riddle – Harry…"

Harry turned around at that, as the wizard continued in a heart-felt voice, "I want you to know that my door will always be open to you, if you ever feel the need to share your worries with someone who is willing to aid you."

He blinked at the wizard. "I know, sir."

Dumbledore silently gazed at him, before he nodded and released him.

Harry shot him a quick smile, and then hurriedly made his way to the dungeons.

And he truly did know: he did want to save Dumbledore as an ace under his sleeve, against Grindelwald, in case he and Tom ever needed protection or saving from the Dark Lord.

However, he was certainly not willing to use Dumbledore against Tom. He would never tell the wizard about his brother's dangerous moments of power-hungry insanity, and the lengths Tom was willing to go to reach his goals.

By the time he reached his common room, he saw that all his housemates were there. He caught sight of a tired-looking Alphard, and instantly approached him.

"What happened?"

"Didn't you hear?" said Alphard with a yawn as he stretched his legs on the ottoman Harry had taken as a seat, right in front of the boy's couch. "Professor Merrythought finally found her Lethifold and we were told we were free to return to our dormitories."

Harry glanced around, quickly casting a Silencing spell around them, before he shot him a worried look. "She doesn't suspect that someone released it, does she?"

Alphard waved a hand. "I don't think so. She had very complex wards guarding her office and trunk – and I didn't break her magic." He sighed deeply. "That's why it took me so long."

"What do you mean? Then how did you do it?" said Harry quizzically, before he shook his head, and added quickly, "Never mind, you can tell me later. Look, I need to ask you to do another thing for me."

Alphard shot him a very wary look. "If you're going to tell me that you want me to break free some other wild beast to create a diversion, I think I'll be passing this time-"

"Nothing like that," scoffed Harry, flapping a hand. "I reckon we've had enough ghastly creatures for one day. No – this is about Tom. I need you to stall him for me."

Alphard blinked at him, all drowsiness vanishing from his face as he suddenly sat upright, his voice pinched, "Stall - your brother?" He groaned and rubbed his face. "Harry, why do you do these things to your best mate?"

"Look," pressed Harry vehemently. "He'll still be a while in the Infirmary playing nice with Myrtle for his audience of professors, but once he comes back here, you must figure out a way to keep him here for as long as possible." He shot him a grave look. "I must go to the Chamber of Secrets and I don't want my brother going there until I'm done with what I have to do."

"Could you be any more cryptic?" groused Alphard peevishly, before he shook his head and gave him an alarmed look. "And you can't go prancing to the Chamber now! It'd be too risky – the professors might still be on the prowl. I'm sure not even your brother is thinking about going there!"

"Oh yes he is," muttered Harry. "He'll want to see if Zar is alright, at the very least."

Alphard pierced him with his grey eyes, frowning, looking half horrified, half curious. "Why did he do it? Why did your brother want the Basilisk to kill her? I know she's extremely annoying, but…" He trailed off, giving him a speculative look. "Does it have anything to do with the Legend of the Chamber of Secrets? You know – the mission Salazar Slytherin left for his Basilisk to carry on?"

"Something along those lines, yes," Harry replied vaguely, before he cast him a demanding stare. "Look, can you stymie my brother or not? I need an hour at the very least –two, if you can manage it."

"How am I supposed to delay your brother?" interjected Alphard sounding miserable. "He must be in a very foul mood, seeing how you've thwarted whatever he wanted to do with Moaning Myrtle-"

"Just engage him in conversation when he comes back," supplied Harry instantly. "Ask him questions about what happened today, about why he did it, and all that rot."

Alphard shot him a dubious look. "I hardly think he'll tell me the truth."

"Of course he won't!" snapped Harry exasperatedly. "This is not about fishing for information – this is about stalling him!"

"Let me get this clear," mumbled Alphard in a weak voice. "You want me – me, probably the only person at school who has any idea what happened today- to prod Tom for more information. When he's already aware that I know more than what's healthy for my wellbeing-" he gave him an incredulous, scandalized look "- and you think I'll survive that? Your brother will blast me to smithereens!"

"He won't." Harry rolled his eyes. "As long as you stay here, surrounded by others, he wouldn't dare harm you."

"I'm not too sure about that," grumbled Alphard under his breath, paling. "I've been hearing some very nasty things…" He trailed off, grimacing, before he sighed deeply. "Look, I rather distract him some other way. I can't ask him about what he did today. I know he'll just vent his vicious temper on me. So give me another option."

Harry shot him an impatient, irked scowl, before he scratched his forehead, trying to think of something that would thoroughly catch Tom's attention.

His green eyes widened a second later, as he whopped triumphantly. "I know! Just lie to him – tell him that what happened the other morning in our loo was more than it was – tell him that you do fancy me but that I'm also your friend, and that you're confused, but that you'd like to-"

Alphard went bright red at that, before he interrupted in a high pitch of hysterical sarcasm, "Oh yes - that will go over fabulously well!" The boy incredulously stared at him with flaming cheeks, as he squawked, "Have you gone bonkers? Did you see the look on his face when he found us together in the bathroom? When he thought that- that-"

Alphard spluttered, achieving such a magenta color, that he looked almost as though he was going to erupt into glowy luminescence.

"Well, I'm out of ideas," bit out Harry hotly. "Take your pick or come up with something else yourself." He deflated, as he shot him a pleading look. "It's really important, Alphie. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Alphard looked utterly woebegone as he gazed back at him, muttering under his breath, "Fine."

"Yes?" pressed Harry, perking up. "You'll do it?"

"Yes," said Alphard with a resigned sigh, before he straightened his shoulders and nodded firmly at him. "I will. I know I can."

Harry jumped to his feet, shooting him the widest, warmest of smiles. "You're the best of friends, Al. Thanks!"

He instantly dashed towards the entrance of the common room, missing what Alphard mumbled dispiritedly under his breath, "Yeah, 'friends' – great."

Though he did catch the boy's sudden yell just as he was jumping out into the dungeon's corridor. "Oi – I've got your Tinderblast!"

Harry vaguely waved back at him in gratitude, and disappeared, at the time being not caring much about his broom, as he darted towards Hogwarts' library, intent on finding those books of 'Charms for Scribes' he had once glimpsed, along with several others of a different kind.

* * *

As he paced in the hidden study below the Chamber of Secrets, Harry realized he was completely filthy, and even smelled.

He'd been running around the castle for what felt like hours, ever since returning from the match against Gryffindor, not having bathed or changed out of his Quidditch uniform.

His body was sticky with dried sweat, his mass of disorderly locks of black hair was grimy and oily, his short fingernails were grey with the dirt and soil underneath, and now his face and clothes were additionally being showered with the soot that floated from the immense pyre before him, as the fire crackled and snapped, bending and consuming the many books and parchments within.

No amount of Cleaning Charms would cleanse him completely, and he longed to sink into a hot bubble bath and fall into an exhausted sleep.

But he couldn't afford that, yet.

For what felt like the umpteenth time, Harry flicked his wand, and muttered, "Tempus!"

It seemed as though Alphard had been true to his word and had succeed. Over two hours had already passed by and Tom had yet to appear.

Nagini was resting with the Basilisk in their now shared Lair, and Harry had nothing to do but wait, as his determination to go through with it hardened like a well-honed rock.

It was strange that he was not feeling nervous or filled with misgivings by what he had done. He had thought it would feel like another overwhelming, crushing burden on his shoulders. Instead, it felt feather-light, natural even, because despite the onerous responsibility, he knew he was the only one who could carry it, so he had no other choice.

Harry felt weirdly at peace with himself and the decisions he had made, and it was quite liberating, for once.

Dealing with his brother, though, would be an entirely different matter.

Harry shot a glance at the grand fire burning all of the Slytherin descendants' diaries and his brother's translated notes regarding the ritual to liberate Zar from Gryffindor's charm, and then dashed to the threshold.

He stood there, his gaze sweeping over the cavernous study Salazar Slytherin had once carved out for himself in the bowels of the Chamber of Secrets, the very place where the wizard must have conducted his experiments, where succession after succession of his descendants had mused and attempted to find ways to free their ancestor from his Animagus prison, where they had sat down behind the desk and scribbled in their diaries, leaving the last surviving heirlooms of their bloodline – the wealth of information trapped in the dusty, yellowed pages of their journals.

Harry aimed his wand and snapped with utter resolve, for good measure, "Deamon Fyr!"

It was a spell they had just recently read about in Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks. Funny that, since the Fiendfyre spell was Gaelic in origin, Old English, yet not taught in their shores but done so in Durmstrang, apparently.

They hadn't been able to practice it, for evident reasons, and it was with some sort of strange pride that Harry realized he had gotten it right in his first attempt.

For a moment, it was beautiful, as flames burst from the tip of his wand, like liquid fire, swirling, merging, fusing, twisting as it formed fearsome shapes, soon blooming into maws of dragons, beaks of manticores, fangs of basilisks, talons of chimeras, all sweeping and ripping and licking every inch of the study like a mantle of hot red swallowing and burning everything in its path, unrestrained, wild, powerful, destructive, reducing everything to ashes.

Chocking on smoke, Harry turned heel and jumped into the spiraling stairway.

The moment he was back in the Chamber of Secrets, he hissed for the metal snake statue to snap back into place, finally forever shutting the access to Slytherin's now destroyed study.

He then paced impatiently, as he patted the stuffed pocket of his Quidditch robes.

Soon, he whipped around as he heard the gnashing sounds of stones grinding on stones, tilting his head to a side as he watched how the mouth of Salazar Slytherin's carved face rippled open.

It was clear that his brother had taken the passage behind the Mirror that led to the caves of Hogsmeade to reach the Chamber of Secrets instead of using the entrance of the girls' lavatory.

Indeed, a moment later, Tom emerged from the gaping stone mouth, for a split second pausing as he looked down at Harry, before he flicked his wand and jumped.

His fall unto the stone floors below was cushioned by whichever spell he had cast, and now they stood in the middle of the Chamber, a few feet between them as they stared at each other.

Tom's expression was inscrutably hard, whilst Harry knew that his own face had to be black with soot and grime.

For a moment, a strange sort of charged, tense, and dangerous silence stretched over them, as they both sized each other up.

"Quite a mess you've created, little brother," whispered Tom in a low, flat voice, finally breaking the quietness, his tone belied by the flash of pain that struck Harry in his scar, "in saving the mudblood's life."

Harry gritted his teeth at that, but with a valiant show of levelheadedness, he reined in his temper and offered his brother a stoic and calm expression.

He had no delusions that this confrontation would go well, yet if they began screaming at each other it would only end even worse.

"You've been keeping a lot of things secret," retorted Harry coolly, pinning him with his eyes, "not only your plot…" He forced his jaw to unclench from anger, before he fished out the sheaves of folded parchments from his pocket, waving them in the air. "But this too."

Tom's dark blue eyes darted to the parchments gripped in Harry's fist, a flash of rage sparking briefly, before his gaze flew back to Harry's face, his expression turning blank. "You had no business going through my translated notes."

"Oh?" said Harry, crooking an eyebrow. "Is that all you have to say about this?" He fulminated his brother with a glower, as he gritted out, "You told me that the diaries contained nothing but instructions of how to carry out the ritual. You didn't tell me that our ancestors had also been writing down spells and curses of their own invention!"

Tom stared back at him in silence, his face as expressionless as ever, clearly undaunted and unaffected by the accusations flung at him.

Angrily waving again the parchments, Harry spat, "So you were planning to keep them to yourself, were you? And you didn't think I also had the right to know? To learn them-"

"Learn them – you?" jeered Tom in an ugly, acid tone. "You, who flinches when we practice the Dark Arts, who abhors them and have no regard for their power and magnificence-"

"I'm learning the Dark Arts even if I don't like them!" roared Harry furiously, crumbling the parchments as his hand clenched into a shaking fist. "And these spells – I have the right to know about them too, as much as you do!" He shot him a dirty look. "What are they called – er, Parsel-magic or something of the sort? And you didn't think I would want to know about them!"

" 'Parselmagic'?" sneered Tom caustically. "Don't be ridiculous. The spells Slytherin's descendants created do not constitute an independent branch of the Dark Arts but are part of them. They do not use a different kind of magic." He waved a hand dismissively. "They are simply spells whose incantations are in Parseltongue, just like there are many Dark Arts curses in foreign tongues other than Latin-"

"Right," gritted out Harry crisply, stuffing the parchments back into the pocket of his Quidditch robes, noticing how his brother's eyes intently followed the motion, with possessiveness, irritation, and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tom didn't answer at once and Harry scowled darkly at him, having an inkling nonetheless.

It had been rather a shock when he had discovered the parchments amidst his brother's translated notes of the Slytherin diaries. The hour it had taken him to ruffle through Tom's notes had been the first time he had sat down to read the information for himself, since up until that point he had trusted that his brother had already told him all there was to know regarding the information kept in the diaries.

Imagine his surprise, hurt, and anger when he had seen parchments written in his brother's elegant, looping quillmanship, listing and detailing a whole series of spells and curses he had never heard of before, all with incantations in Parseltongue, many of them nonverbal, some even wandless, all of them quite gruesome and utilizing snakes in the most horridly creative of ways – all for maiming, torturing, or subjugating 'enemies'.

Harry had felt another twist of betrayal when he had realized that his brother had intentionally kept it a secret from him, and it still made him wonder why. Because Tom always liked to hoard juicy knowledge to himself, no doubt, or was it something else?

Because Tom wanted to leave him completely ignorant so that he wouldn't know how to counteract such spells when cast at others or – at him? Was it because he had become quite adept at dodging his brother's Cruciatus Curses and because he could easily throw off the Imperio?

"You have no right to them. Return them to me."

Harry snapped his gaze up to stare at his brother – his brother who had a hard, vicious expression on his face, a hand casually outstretched as though it was a foregone conclusion that Harry would instantly and meekly yield and pass over the wealth of dangerous information.

"I am Slytherin's Heir too!" snapped Harry furiously, his other hand tightening around his wand. "They're mine as much as they're yours-"

"They are not, because you're no-" began Tom in a snarling voice, before he clamped his mouth shut, a sudden frown appearing on his face, his nostrils flaring briefly as he spun around. "What's that smell?"

Harry shot a glance at the row of metal snake statues at their left. There were tendrils of smoke coming from the base of the one that hid the stairs leading to Slytherin's study.

"What-" Tom was instantly striding towards it, instantly slashing his hand open with the tip of his wand to smudge blood on the statue, instantly making the statue shift to a side to reveal the stairs below, and-

"You can't go in there!" shouted Harry in alarm, leaping forth to grab his brother's arm, but he was violently shaken off as Tom ran down into the stairs.

"Stop, you idiot!" bellowed Harry urgently as he followed at his heels.

They were both soon choking in black clouds of smoke, he could hear his brother frantically casting spells a few steps further ahead, he could barely hear or see anything as he hacked and coughed, until he was abruptly seized by enraged, punishing hands that nearly crushed the bones of his forearm.

"What have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

His brother's wrathful, roaring voice and hot breath was like a slap to the face, and yet for a moment Harry found it extremely and bizarrely funny, ironically and mirthlessly so, making him let out a hallow bark of laughter as those words resonated in his ears, the same words he had shouted at Tom when the Basilisk had struck Myrtle, when he had thought it was all too little and too late and they had killed the girl, Tom directly and he himself indirectly for not having foreseen just to which lengths his brother was prepared to go.

"Now," wheezed out Harry, bringing a hand to cover his mouth and watering eyes, spluttering a cough, "you can no longer be tempted. Now, you can't ever bring him back."

He couldn't distinguish his brother's face amidst the clouds of smoke and ash swirling and floating about, but it was certain that comprehension must have dawned on Tom, since his brother let out a shriek that sounded like the deranged battle cry of an injured wild beast and he lunged forth into the pit of red and black flames.

"It's Fiendfyre, you dunce!" roared Harry, half panicked, half incredulous with shock as his brother vanished into the furnace.

Tom had to know that only the caster of the spell could make it stop, that there was no other counterspell for it but the will of the one who had cast it.

Cursing angrily under his breath, Harry violently swished his wand in the air. The billowing clouds of smoke and ashes didn't disappear, but the flashes of red flames did, as one lingering form – the head and wings of a cockatrice, Harry thought- sputtered out and finally vanished, leaving nothing behind but absolute silence.

Harry stepped through the threshold, leaving the staircase behind, as he heard his brother's choked, wheezy voice casting spell after spell.

Slowly, the air began to clear, the smoke becoming wisps till it vanished as though sucked out of existence. Finally, Harry blinked through watering eyes to see what was left of the study.

Gone were all the shelves and tables, the rusted old cauldrons and rows upon rows of flasks with withered or rotten potion ingredients. The plain desk and armchair at the furthest end, like all the rest, were nothing but cinders and piles of ashes. The study, which had always looked like a gloomy, damp cavern, looked even more so now, though a blackened, desolated one. The stone walls and floors were hot to the touch, parts of it unnaturally smooth as though the magical flames had fused the rocks together with its destructive high temperature.

And Tom was standing in the midst of it, right in front of where the pyre with the Slytherin diaries and the translated notes had once burned, his dark blue eyes staring down at the ashes, looking deranged and out of orbit, half his head with hair burnt short, his robes mangled, looking like loose flaps of rags as Harry caught sight of his brother's right arm, the clothes there burned off, as well as parts of his flesh, which now looked an ugly mesh of puckered black and pink skin.

"You're hurt!" breathed out Harry, anxious and angered at the same time, since it was evident that the fool had tried to salvage what he could with his bare hands before Harry had had the chance to dispel the last remains of Fiendfyre.

"It's all gone."

Harry halted the moment his brother spoke in a quiet, distant voice, almost having reached his side, and glanced at him, seeing that Tom was still staring at the pile of ashes with a strange expression twisting his features.

"Yes," said Harry simply, letting out a sigh. After all, that which was destroyed by Fiendfyre could not be repaired or recovered by any means, not even magical ones – the very reason why he had cast the spell in the first place.

"I'll kill you."

Harry blinked, and turned to gaze at Tom, at first not knowing if his brother had spoken at all. His lips had barely moved and it had been a mere whisper, nearly inaudible.

There was no mistaking it, though, when Tom abruptly turned to face him. His brother had the sort of demented expression on his face as the one he had worn the day he had hacked one of the Norwegian Army deserters with an axe, in that twice-be-damned cottage in which they and Ulysses had nearly ended up as food supplies for the crazed muggle men.

It happened so fast, so insanely and swiftly with out-of-control wrath, that Harry could only save himself by reacting without thinking, out of sheer natural reflexes and survival instincts, as his brother rose his wand and screamed something, as his head split open with unbearable, wrecking agonizing pain.

"Impedimenta!" was the first bellowed, panicked word that sprung from his lips as he saw Tom's beam of light careening towards him – he couldn't even recognize what curse his brother had employed, it didn't look as any he had ever seen before.

Whether it was from pure coincidence or because his aim under duress was much better than anyone could possibly wish for, the beam of his spell struck against Tom's straight on, just bare inches before his brother's mysterious –and undoubtedly savage- curse could have reached him.

Yet, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next, as the two beams seemed to fuse with each other at their point of contact, turning golden, as the wand in his hand vibrated like a wild, bucking horse.

Harry had been about to groan and clutch his throbbing, painful scar, though at that, he automatically used his free hand to clutch his wand instead, because he was having difficulties with keeping it in his grasp with one hand alone.

There was a ringing in his ears, and a blinding light, before he realized that something very bizarre was happening. They seemed to be enveloped in folds of warm, golden magic, like a bubble encompassing them both, his wand was thrumming violently in his hands, there was a soft trill rising all around him, beautiful, unearthly, yet strangely familiar, as though he had heard it many times before.

With wild, wide green eyes, Harry stared across from him, catching sight of Tom, who seemed to be in the same predicament as he was. Though, there was not an expression of bewilderment on his brother's face, as he was feeling himself, but one of dawning comprehension, and of fury and hateful resentment.

"What's this?" yelled Harry frantically, for he felt the need to shout since the melodious trill was loud and rising all around him. "What's going on!"

Tom muttered something under his breath, sounding embittered, yet he couldn't catch the words.

Nevertheless, they both gasped and jumped at what happened next. Well, Harry did, while Tom seemed to blanch and stiffen, as things began to erupt from their respective wands, like foggy shapes slowly unraveling and becoming clear.

Harry stared, gobsmacked, as a greyish maw of a dragon spurted from his wand, followed by similar figures – that of the shapes his Fiendfyre spell had taken form of, a mesh of body parts of fierce magical creatures related to fire.

Shooting a quick glance, he saw that something similar was happening with Tom's wand, with the exception that the shape that had bloomed was that of someone vaguely familiar – it was Neron Lestrange, one of their dormmates, which had appeared from the tip of his brother's wand, to become a ghostly form on the blackened stone floors, writhing as though under the influence of some torturing curse.

Harry gaped, since Neron Lestrange's figure was followed by another, a fifth-year Slytherin boy, greyish and foggy in shape, who seemed to be speaking though he couldn't hear what the boy was saying, though from the figure's expression, the boy seemed to be pleading, before something made him drop to his knees with an expression of pain lacing his features.

Harry's eyes nearly popped when he saw that his own wand had also kept spurting things, just like Tom's apparently was – the next one depicted flying parchments and books, the diaries of Slytherin's descendants in fact, and Harry began to understand just what was being replayed.

Utterly frenzied and panicked, he tried to hide it from Tom's sight, though the next moment he realized it wasn't necessary. His brother was staring at the things erupting from his own wand with an outraged and slightly panicked expression of his own, his dark blue eyes darting from the figures to Harry and back, clearly not too enthused by what was being revealed.

Though Harry was quite in the same conundrum of wanting to hide his own past actions from his brother too.

"Break the connection!" bellowed Tom's voice in a snarling tone. "We must break it now!"

Harry wasn't quite sure what 'connection' his brother was referring to, exactly, still dazed and startled by it all, but he did attempt it nonetheless, with no clear idea of how to do it. He merely began to copy what Tom was doing.

He saw his brother trying to yank his wand up, and Harry followed suit with his own. It was a veritable struggle, as their two beams of light seemed to be tying their wands together, as the trill rose to a high-pitch as though protesting against their attempts, as the wand in his hands shook so hard that his whole body was being rattled, his teeth clattering together.

With a last cry of effort, Harry jerked up his arms with all the strength he could muster, and suddenly, he found himself flat on his bottom on the scorched floor.

The trill of a Phoenix had abruptly vanished along with the golden dome of magic and the locked beams of light, leaving nothing behind but silence broken by their haggard pants of breath.

Tom was supporting himself against a wall, looking utterly disheveled and winded, whilst Harry merely sat there, sprawled, as he caught his breath.

"What the bloody hell," he wheezed out, as he clumsily picked himself up from the floor, "was that?"

"Priori Incantatem," spat Tom irritably as he flung himself away from the wall, shooting him a seething glower.

"Prio-what?" Harry blinked at him, nonplussed.

"What happens when two brother wands duel against each other, you imbecile!" snarled Tom furiously, looking livid. "It makes the linked wands regurgitate the last spells casted, in reserve order."

"Er – what?" Harry then shook his head at that. "You're making no sense. We've dueled plenty of times before and nothing like _this_ has ever happened-"

"We've never dueled," sneered Tom acridly. "We've taken turns to cast spells at each other when we practice the Dark Arts, yet we've never cast spells at each other at the same time."

Harry stared at him, taking him a moment to realize that his brother was right. "Um, right… er, so?"

"So, you lackwit," spat Tom angrily as he shot Harry's wand a very foul look, "Priori Incantatem, or reverse-spell effect, as it is also known by, only happens with a simultaneous spellcasting by two parties with twin wand cores. It triggers an effect whereby both wands are linked through separate threads of spell energy. The two wand holders then compete in a battle of wills, in which the loser's wand is forced to display in ghostly form the spells which had been cast by said wand, in order of most recent to least."

Harry frowned at him at that, utterly befuddled. "But we didn't have a 'battle of wills', did we? Neither of us won or lost, did we? _Both_ our wands began spurting stuff-"

"True," interrupted Tom, frowning darkly before he shot him a poisonous look. "Yet we must have reached some sort of stalemate, since it's clear that neither of us wanted the other to see our respective reserve-spell effects. That must have been the trigger." His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Who have you been torturing and why?" retorted Harry crisply, before he cast him a suspicious, curious look. "And how come you know all this stuff?"

"Because I looked into it," bit out Tom tartly, "during our first year. I found it very… peculiar, when Ollivander told us our wands had twin cores. I researched the matter to understand the consequences of my wand having a feather of the same Phoenix as yours."

"Oh right," muttered Harry, rubbing his aching forehead. "Twin cores – feathers… a phoenix's…" He trailed off, deeply frowning at the wand in his hand, shooting it an intrigued and speculative look. "I'd forgotten about that."

There was a rustling sound of swishing robes, and Harry glanced up just as Tom halted before him, his brother's expression dark and livid, as he hissed out a in very low and ominous tone, "Do not think, however, that there isn't a way around this! Do not think you're safe from my retaliation just because we happen to have twin wands."

Harry stiffened as he gave him a baleful glower. "Retaliate away, brother. There's nothing I've done so far that I regret." He shot him a nasty, smug look, as he added pointedly, "In fact, I'd like to see you try. Let me see just what you've been up to and why I saw Lestrange's figure writhing on the floor – why don't you show me again?"

Tom let out a sharp, grating chuckle that instantly made the small hairs on Harry's nape stand up, as his brother slowly fingered his wand and drawled, "Do you actually believe I need my wand to make you pay for your actions of today?" His dark blue eyes flashed with ire, as he spat murderously, "I could smite you with a thought, little brother – I require no wand for that!"

Doing his best to remain undaunted, Harry guffawed jeeringly. "Sure. Go right ahead."

"Have you forgotten about Dennis Bishop?" whispered Tom as he took a step closer, now leaving them barely half an inch apart. "And Mr. Jenkins? And what I did to the disgusting muggle men in the cottage – along with what I did in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic? And the many other things I've never told you about?"

Harry paled instantly at that, because for a moment, he had. And he liked even less that last bit about unknown things that Tom had done without him being aware. The writhing figure of Neron Lestrange left little to the imagination, just as he remembered what Alphard had said to him in the common room, a few hours ago – referring to 'rumors about nasty things' Tom had been doing.

"You'd never dare do something like that to me," Harry then whispered in a brave attempt to seem nonchalant, as he squared his shoulders and pierced him with his green eyes. "You told me once, after Norway, that I should never fear you, no matter the things you did, no matter the things I saw you do."

"I lied, obviously," sneered Tom contemptuously, a very ugly expression contorting his handsome features, "and you were too much of an imbecile to even realize it."

"Sure, you tell yourself that," bit out Harry with a nasty snort, as he crossed his arms over his chest, yet kept his wand in hand. "It makes it easier, doesn't it?" He shot him a dirty look. "You were telling the truth!"

"Is that what gives you the deluded notion that I will not make you pay for today?" jeered Tom viciously, his hand visibly tightening around his wand, as though highly tempted to use it mercilessly against him yet wary of the repercussion lest the connection erupted once more.

Looking quite demented in his seething ire, Tom roared without a pause, "You thwarted my plans to revive Slytherin! You destroyed the knowledge required to conduct the ritual - the heirlooms of my bloodline! The fruits of my heritage which only I have a right to, which only I know how to value and employ, which were bequeathed to me by the power of my blood and magic - Lord Slytherin shall not forgive these trespasses!"

Harry gawked at him, for a moment unable to find his tongue in sheer stunned incredulity.

"Speaking of yourself in third person? Are you hearing yourself? Have you gone mad!" he finally spluttered, half in disbelief, half furious, as he jabbed a finger hard into Tom's chest. "You sound deranged!"

"I. will. not. forgive," hissed out Tom as he loomed over him like a menacing harbinger of doom, his voice lowering into highly dangerous, quiet tones, as he spat, "You asked me for absolute truth, complete honesty, remember, little brother? That day when we returned from Norway, when I saw myself in the artifact you called the Mirror of Desires, when I saw myself as the greatest, mightiest Dark Lord of all times, a true force of change in both the Wizarding and Muggle World!"

Tom's handsome features contorted with feverish, maniacal passion for his own lofty ambitions of greatness, before he continued in a livid tone, "You said, that no matter what, you wanted to know my mind – no matter how 'evil' my ideas were, you wanted to hear them first, that you could handle it. That's what you asked for, that's what I gave you! Yet you refused to listen to my desire to bring back Salazar Slytherin - I've held my end of the bargain, you have not!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry finally scoffed acidly. "So that's why you went behind my back – plotting to make Myrtle the first sacrifice for the ritual, planning on pinning it on my friend Hagrid? That's your excuse! That I didn't 'listen'?"

"I need no excuses – I need not to justify myself to you," snarled Tom irately. "You should be loyal to me, and only ME – your own brother!"

"I'm trying," snapped Harry hotly, gritting his teeth, "but you're making it extremely difficult!" He pointed a furious, accusing finger at him. "You tried to kill a student today, Tom! When we had agreed before that we wouldn't go through with the ritual, that bringing Salazar Slytherin back was too dangerous, too risky-"

"I never agreed!" thundered Tom, looking beside himself with outraged wrath and a clear need to vent his fury by means of violence.

"Fine, you played along, then, making me believe you had finally seen sense," spat Harry angrily, as he briskly waved a hand. "Same thing." He shook his head, brimming with exasperation and incomprehension. "I don't bloody well get it. I know you understand all the things that could go wrong if Slytherin is broken out of Gryffindor's charm, I know you can see that Slytherin would be a liability and threat to us – and you still tried to have him back! Why?"

He shot his bother a gauging, speculative look. "He'd be a mentor to us – to you, in particular – you said once, as though that's what you wanted the most, but for that we'll have Grindelwald by the look of things. So what else is it?" He frowned at Tom. "A father-figure, then? Is that what you would like Slytherin to be for you? Because if it's a father you need, we can still look for our real one-"

A strange sound erupted from the back of Tom's throat, a half shriek of fury, half cry of savage, incensed rage, as Harry suddenly found himself pinned to the scorched wall behind him, so abruptly and shockingly that his wand had dropped from his hand, as his feet dangled in mid air, as he wrapped his hands around his own throat that felt as though it was being constricted by an invisible force.

He only began to have the first wisps of comprehension, as he dangled half a foot above the floor, pinned against the stones at his back, when he glimpsed the hazy blue glow surrounding his brother, when he saw Tom's deranged, twisted look of infuriated madness, the outstretched hand, the wandless magic pouring from it, grasping Harry's throat, pressing, suffocating, as he flailed and kicked his legs and struggled for breath, as Tom's face inched closer to his, as his brother seethed, "I need no father. I need no one! And I don't need you either, after this."

"Let – go!" spluttered Harry as he attempted a kick at Tom's shins, his hands grappling in a vain attempt to peel the magic strangling his throat.

"I don't need a disobedient companion," hissed out Tom, his features ugly and crazed as the pressure around Harry's throat began to turn overwhelming and crushing. "I have no longer use for you now that you've shown yourself to be a backstabbing enemy instead of an asset."

"I'm – your – brother!" wheezed Harry through a nearly crushed windpipe, never having felt more outraged or furious, flinging out a fist to attempt to seize Tom by the hair, to tear him away. "Geroff!"

Tom let out a bout of chuckles that sounded half crazed to Harry's ear, as he spat in a merciless and vicious voice, "You are no brother of mine, you fool. It was all a-"

At that, seeing red, Harry didn't think about it twice. One moment, Tom's exceptionally well controlled wandless magic –the fact that his brother could so easily turn it against him, making him reel with shocked hurt– had been strangling and pinning him against the wall, the next second, clearly taken utterly by surprise, Tom and his magic weren't prepared to hold a magical creature against its will.

Swiftly, after such long practices with Alphard, Harry had turned into his Animagus form, out of panic, desperation, and sheer rage at his own brother's words –to go to such lengths as to renounce him as a brother, the gall!- and as a Griffin, he made short work of it.

A blast of fire erupting from his screeching beak made Tom stagger backwards, a startled and stunned expression breaking through his previously demented one, as Harry wasted no time and knocked his brother to the floor with a powerful swing of his right wing.

Tom toppled over like a checkmated piece of chess, whilst Harry immediately dropped to the ground on his four paws and swiftly transformed back, leaping to grab his wand.

Swirling around before his brother had the chance to regain his bearings or wits, Harry roared, "Imperio!"

Tom made for a bizarre, pitiful figure, sprawled there on the floor with cloudy, dilated eyes, half his hair burned to a crisp, his usually impeccably neat robes scorched, his right forearm with peels of charred skin – Harry shook his head at that, knowing his brother had been damn right lucky in his brush with Fiendfyre flames. The contact must have been brief and slight, just before Harry had dispelled it all, or Tom would be missing one limb at the very least.

Nevertheless, the sight of his brother in such a vulnerable and pathetic state brought him no pleasure but a sense of grim dejection. He had never thought it would reach such a point. And he was certain that Tom had been ready to do much worse to him.

Harry frowned at that, as he raked a hand through his grimy, filthy hair. He had underestimated Tom's desire to bring back Salazar Slytherin. Underestimated that his brother could behave so recklessly and insanely when seeing that the diaries and translated notes had been destroyed.

And clearly, he must have struck a cord when stating that Tom wanted Slytherin as a father-figure.

His brother's violent, extreme reaction to that had been utterly unexpected. Who could have possibly suspected that such a 'sentimental' need had resided in his brother's small, dark, withered heart, after all.

Harry sighed, as he contemplated his brother. Well, it would be like Tom to decide that if there was anyone worthy to be his father, it would be none other than Salazar Slytherin himself.

Though Harry still thought that his brother was purposely blinding himself, through a sheer arrogant confidence in his own powers and wits, to believe that he could possibly handle someone like Slytherin.

Nevertheless, a sort of pang twisted his insides as he mused over the fact that Tom had wanted a father-figure in his life, in whichever capacity. Hadn't he been the same, when it had come to Alice and Robert Hutchins, ready to do anything to have them as parents, the only two he had loved and considered the best for the position?

He couldn't say that Tom 'loved' Zar, but perhaps there had been longing nonetheless – a pining desire for what could have been.

"I can't let you have Slytherin," Harry muttered in a whisper, as he stared at his brother's docile, unmoving form, "but I could give you our true father."

It had been their plan to find the man, after all, what seemed like ages ago. But Alice and Hutchins' deaths, followed by their enforced adoption by Konrad Von Krauss had derailed all that.

Perhaps it was time to pick it up again. He still had the list that Robert Hutchins had made, with the help of Old John Bryce and their acquaintances in the North of England, from their days of working in factories in Manchester and Liverpool. A list of names and addresses, of Gaunts they had heard of, living in those areas – in the area Salazar Slytherin had hailed from, ages ago.

He and Tom had discovered that Sherisse Slytherin and Morgon Gaunt's ill-begotten son had been John 'of Ghent', known by the muggles as the first Duke of Lancaster. The wizard passing himself off as the youngest son of the muggle English king of the time – certainly in the hopes of having an easy, lavish life amongst muggles. The man had left quite a trail, with his use of the Egeriana Rose as the symbol of his alleged 'House of Lancaster', the very same flower Salazar Slytherin had used when discovering its magical properties in Potions-making, the flower one of his descendants had used as a crest when founding the True Blood Alliance – the group of radical blood purists that was now lead by Abraxas Malfoy's grandfather, Harry knew, from what the Prewett's twins had told him, the old codger dealing a slap to Abraxas' own Veela ancestry from his mother's side. The very rose that the muggles had adopted as their own, and knew as the Tudor Rose.

It all indicated that John Gaunt had used the Egeriana Rose as a symbol of pride in his own Slytherin ancestry, and the devious wizard must have gone back to the Wizarding World when he couldn't keep up the charade of being a suspiciously young duke before the muggles, as decades passed by. And the wizard must have established himself in Lancashire, the home of his Slytherin ancestors.

Yes, Harry decided, a trip to Lancashire was a must, with Hutchins' list in hand, to follow the trail and see where it led – hopefully, to their father, alive and well. And he could gift that to Tom, in compensation.

Having to spend all his holidays in Germany with Konrad Von Krauss would make the matter tricky, but he would find a way. Moreover, who else could help them break free of Von Krauss' legal ties to them but they very own father, if the man was still alive. Surely a biological father could contest an adoption.

Harry brightened at that, never having thought of that possible solution before. It was a bit of a stretch, but something worth exploring. Especially now when a meeting with Grindelwald seemed inevitable, like the maws of a lion closing down on them like a trap vise.

Nevertheless, there was still much to do before all that.

Harry crouched on the scorched floors, by Tom's side. With a flick of his wand, he made his brother's burned hair grow back –he had heard Slytherin girls using the hair-lengthening charm often enough when the fancy struck them to use different hairstyles– and then proceeded to repair his brother's fancy school robes.

He hesitated when it came to his brother's burned forearm. Hair was one thing, but he wasn't sure that a Fiendfyre burn could be healed, even a superficial one like Tom's. And even if it could be…

"You'll never do anything to heal this wound," Harry said quietly as he aimed his wand at his brother's head, clenching his jaw with determination as he gazed into Tom's cloudy eyes. "You'll remember how you got it. Every time you see it, you'll remember that the Slytherin diaries and your translated notes are gone. You'll know you will never be able to release Salazar Slytherin, and you will not try it ever again."

It was a fit punishment, Harry decided. And more importantly, it would make Tom desist from his mad, student-murdering plans.

"You'll remember everything that has happened today," he continued, his voice turning firmer, "even that I've used the Imperius Curse on you. I want you to know, it's only fair. The only thing you'll never recall is that I transformed into a Griffin, nor this particular instruction."

Harry tilted his head to a side, trying to think of a way in which Tom's mind could unwittingly find a loophole around it, and became satisfied when determining that it couldn't happen.

If his brother was ready to use his wandless magic against him, and even Parselspells that he hadn't allowed Harry to learn thus far, then he was certainly keeping his own ace under his sleeve. And his Griffin form had finally proven to be useful when in a tight spot, that day.

"You will go to our dormitory without being caught. You will get into your bed. And you'll instantly fall asleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll remember what I've instructed you to remember," Harry said poignantly. "And if you want to fight, you'll seek me out, and we'll fight."

He sighed, wearily carding his fingers through his dirty hair, as he added with sharp vehemence, "But you will also remember that I am your brother, that I have done nothing but help you, and that our common enemy isn't each other, but Grindelwald."

He paused to dig into his pocket, fishing out the stack of parchments and ruffling through them until he divided them into two halves, sticking the first sheaf into Tom's own pocket.

"That is the list of Parselspells, I never meant to steal them from you," Harry said in a soft voice. "But keep in mind, I now have my own copy of them, and I will learn them all. This is the only thing that remains from the information held in the Slytherins' diaries. Now, go."

Immediately, Tom picked himself off the floor, straightened up and then turned around. Like a weird automaton, he quietly and smoothly began to climb the stairs, as Harry watched him, a pang of pained distaste twisting inside his chest.

It was a ghastly sight to behold. Never would he have thought that he would have used the Imperius Curse against his own brother in such a way, heinously so, even. Yet, he would do whatever was necessary.

Tom, by morning, would be more livid than ever before –still not being able to throw off his 'little brother's Imperio' was a sore spot for him. Nevertheless, Harry hoped the very fact of it would instill some wariness in his brother.

Tom could strangle him with his wandless magic, could use Dark Arts spells Harry still hadn't learned, and could be a right nasty, demented berk, but Harry could and would Imperio him whenever he got out of hand.

Hopefully, the lesson would sink in, no matter if Harry would have to deal with his brother's outraged, vicious temper as a consequence when Tom realized it.

Certain his imperioed brother could deal on his own in getting back to the dungeons without being caught out of bounds after curfew, Harry finally stood up and contemplated the destroyed study.

With a few, brisk strides, he stood at the farthest end, where once had stood Slytherin's desk.

Counting the slabs of stone forming the floor in that spot, now blackened, he finally tapped one with his wand.

A thin, strained smile hitched the corners of his mouth, as it irresistibly reminded him of his small hidey-hole in their bedroom in the orphanage, under a wood floor board, where he had once stashed his most treasured possessions. Tom had known about it, at the time, but he would never know about this new one.

He had charmed the slab of stone with the very same keyphrase he had used for the journal Tom had once gifted him for their birthday. The journal which he was keeping up-to-date with all his discoveries and endless succession of life-altering events, as a way to organize his mind, to remember every tidbit of information and see the links, because he was coming to understand that it all formed a net that Santi had wanted him to unravel, and he was finally beginning to do so, slowly.

The keyphrase he had coined at the time for his journal had been, he now admitted ruefully to himself, whimsically childish: a play on his brother's 'lesson' of how the world worked, a streak of rebelliousness against it, from his part.

He no longer believed in the notion. How could he, after everything that had happened?

Yet, with a sort of darkly amused grin, he intoned, "There's only Power and those so stupid that seek it."

The slab of stone shifted to a side, revealing quite a deep and wide space. It made him think of his bedroom in the orphanage, probably long gone now with the series of Blitzs that had struck London. It even made him think of Robert Hutchins' secret coffer behind the poster of Lenin, where he and Tom had found the deeds of the cottage the man had bought for himself and Alice, planning on their marriage and their adoption of Harry and Tom, to live by the seaside, close to Old John Bryce.

Pushing those bittersweet memories to a side, Harry peered down at the stack of Slytherin diaries. The originals, along with his brother's translated notes.

Before waiting for his brother's arrival, he had spent one hour in the library and another down there, working hard and fast. The books on Charms for Scribes had allowed him to find the spells required to make exact replicas of the notes and diaries. The tomes on Magical Masonry and Ward-casting, had allowed him to carve out the secret hidey-hole and spell it with the most powerful charms imaginable.

The keyphrase, he had used for sheer funny irony. The spell that bound his very own soul to the secret hiding place, had been a necessity.

Using Parseltongue and his own blood as a way to ward the spot would be a moot point, since it was against Tom he wanted to protect it the most. Gratefully, no matter if they were twins, the powerful charm would never confuse anyone else's soul, not even his brother's, with his own.

Useful, strange little spell that he had found in one of the library books: Fidelius Charm, a secret bound and protected by a living soul, only to be shared with other chosen ones by the will of the first Secret Keeper.

Satisfied, Harry flicked his wand and closed the trove of treasures.

In the end, he hadn't been able to burn the originals. He had struggled against it until he admitted that he had no right to do so. To him, they were as priceless as they were for Tom, though for vastly different reasons.

Nevertheless, Tom had always been right in his notion about them: they were the Slytherins' true heirlooms. The only thing left of their line.

Who was he but just one more descendant? He would preserve them in secret, for those who could deal with the knowledge without misusing it. And someday, perhaps, who knew, maybe someone would find a way of releasing Slytherin without needing to murder thirteen people for it, whilst minimizing the risk that a free and self-aware Salazar Slytherin would represent for the world at large.

For his part, Harry was done. He was now, truly and simply…

"The Keeper of Secrets," Harry mumbled quietly under his breath. Too many of them, at that, but it was a title truly fitting the place and circumstances, he thought wryly.

Finally, he glanced down at his wand as he made his way back to the main castle, a frown on his face. "Phoenix feather. Right."

Indeed, the recollection of the trill still lingered and echoed in his mind. He knew that singing tune, only knew it too well.

* * *

Harry shook his head, letting out an exhausted sigh. A Tempus Charm informed him that it was well past two in the morning, and yet he wasn't still quite done for the night.

The castle was deadly silent, everyone placidly snoring their night away no doubt, though there he still was, now having halted before the vanishing cabinet Ulysses had once found in their exploration of Hogwarts.

Harry wasn't quite certain what he was doing there. He had no wish to discover what had become of Aragog, and much less risk his own skin in saving the nasty thing from wherever it was – if it was indeed still alive, and he half hoped the beast wasn't.

However, he owed it to Hagrid, since everything that had happened that night had been his own brother's fault, including Hagrid's predicament.

And thus, Harry's own fault, because he should have never told Tom about Zar being Salazar Slytherin. Because he had shoved temptation down Tom's throat and expected him not to choke on it. And of course, it had all been too immensely tasty and his brother had indeed gorged and choked, to the point of nearly causing several deaths, if not his own.

Harry still shuddered to imagine what would have happened if Tom had been caught in the act of putting his horrid plot into action.

He shot another wary glance at the cabinet and finally took off one of his Quidditch boots. With extreme care, as though handling a hot iron, he opened the door of the cabinet and stuck his boot inside, quietly slamming it shut once more.

After waiting for a few seconds, Harry opened the door again and took a peek inside. He didn't know whether to groan or cheer when he saw nothing but its black depths. His boot was gone.

Only hoping that it meant that it didn't destroy solid matters in general, whether breathing, living ones or not, Harry armed himself with valor and stuck his socked foot inside.

When nothing happened, he finally proceeded to slip his whole body inside, feeling quite uncomfortable and stupid as he grabbed the latch of the door.

He slammed it shut and waited with eyes scrunched shut, nothing but shallow silence and darkness encompassing him.

Harry frowned as he opened his eyes once more. He hadn't felt a thing. It was evident that the vanishing cabinet had broken long ago and it didn't transport people to its counterpart any longer.

Feeling partly relieved, he pushed the inside of the door and clumsily climbed out. He froze though, when he felt unfamiliar magic permeating his surroundings, a heavy, filthy smelling air tickling his nostrils, a wash of heat flaming his already dirty and sweat-sodden skin.

Gulping with uneasiness, Harry raised his wand, before he checked himself just in time. He couldn't possibly do magic if he no longer was at Hogwarts or his Trace Charm would notify the Ministry. And it definitely didn't feel as though he was at the castle any longer.

Nearly groping blindly in the dark, he stumbled against several sharp edges of unfathomable things as he tried to carefully tiptoe towards a faint glimmer of light.

"Aragog?" whispered Harry in a tense, hesitant voice. "Are you here?"

Nothing answered him, though he heard things scuffling, rustling or giving what sounded like faints moans and groans from all sides as he made his way through what seemed like some sort of disorderly, clustered aisle.

When he reached the dim source of light, he realized it was coming filtered through a heavy set of very dirty drapes. Tugging one of the curtains to a side, he finally realized he was staring through a wide and large window, having a view of a crooked, rusted street lamp in an alley – a very narrow, twisty, and grimy alley, with closed window-shops facing him.

Leaving the curtain partly open, Harry spun around, as the dim light washed his surroundings, and he gaped.

He'd never been inside this particular shop before, but seen it from the outside. He recognized it at once, and nearly tripped in his haste to reach the nearest window display.

There it was, a very small, dusty cushion – it had once held a rather gaudy, golden locket inlaid in green stones forming an S shape. It had once held Slytherin's locket, though it was not any longer. Now it displayed a small silver dagger looking smudged and stained with age and dried bits of blood.

"Borgin and Burke's," mumbled Harry under his breath, stunned and marveled.

A vanishing cabinet in Hogwarts that hadn't been used in ages, led to another one in Knockturn Alley itself!

It was incredible, for the danger, but more so, for the vast spectrum of opportunities that it represented.

If he had only known about this before, he would have had an easy way to reach London, to leave the school without being noticed, to have never had the necessity to approach Professor Tilly Toke – he could have found a way to get to Norway from London, without asking for any aid, without resulting in the death of his once most esteemed and favorite teacher and…

Harry suppressed that line of thought with incredible effort, knowing he was torturing himself and wasting time with what-ifs that no longer mattered, and scanned the store with his gaze once more.

He was itching to explore it in full, but now –as he had never been able to do so before- he clearly saw the magic of the wards that spread around the dusty little shop. He wasn't about to test the proprietors' security measures, yet he so wanted to know what had become of Slytherin's locket!

Had that rich lady that Professor Slughorn had told them about finally won the auction for the locket?

Biting his lower lip in sheer temptation, Harry finally restrained himself and glanced about once more, purposefully. "Aragog, I know you're here, come out!"

A slight scuffling sound made him jerk in attention, and Harry leaped into one of the aisles, seeing a blur of something black and hairy scurrying away.

"Come here, you pest!" Harry snapped as he swooped down on it.

He soon had a handful of a furry Acromantula threateningly clicking its pincers at him.

"You just nick me and I'll use you as potion ingredients," bit out Harry angrily, as he gave Aragog a hard shake. "Your poison is quite rare and pricey, did you know?"

"I want Hagrid," Aragog said in his disturbingly grave and deep voice, as his six pairs of beady, dull black eyes stared at him. "Where is Hagrid?"

"He's back at Hogwarts, asleep I hope," retorted Harry dryly. "If you want him back then I have to take you to the castle, to your cupboard-"

"I will not stay in the cupboard," interrupted Aragog in a slow, dragging voice, making Harry's skin crawl as the beast's furry belly rasped against the flesh of his hands. "It is not safe. There is something evil-"

"Something evil in the castle – yeah, yeah," said Harry in a tired, fed up monotone, "I heard it all before. Look, you'll just have to spend tonight in the cupboard. By morning, I'll convince Hagrid to release you into the Forest. That's what you've been wanting all along, isn't it?"

"Forest? Yes," said Aragog gravelly, boring his six pairs of eyes into his, as though gauging how truthful Harry's offer was. "I will make a fitting home for me, amidst the woods."

"Peachy," muttered Harry sarcastically under his breath. "I'm sure the Centaurs will be thrilled. Now, no biting, or I'll leave you here to rot. I'm sure Borgins could get a good sum for you."

"I'll… behave," consented the Acromantula, sounding slightly reluctant, one of its pincers clicking as if involuntarily tempted to take a snip off Harry's nose.

Harry shot the beast a suspicious, scrutinizing look, before making his way back to the cabinet, casting a lingering look of longing at the shop's wares over his shoulder.

Some other day, with any luck.


	65. Part I: Chapter 64

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Hello, I'm happy to present you with a rather quick update! Yay for me! ^.^

Now, there were many questions and doubts in the reviews, so I'm having a Q&A session attempting to clarify as much as possible.

**Q:** Harry is acting like he is good and with morals but does a lot of things behind everyone's back. Now that I don't like him, I don't care if he will suffer at all.

**A:** Harry is doing what he feels is right, but you can't expect him to attempt to derail Tom's plots without having to use some deviousness and trickery. I don't see how that would be humanly possible. A paragon of moral rectitude wouldn't be able to do a thing to thwart Tom's plans if he has to follow a very strict set of rules, and Tom would end up winning all the time. Furthermore, Harry has long ago stopped thinking of himself as 'good'. He's done nasty things out of necessity –he's killed, for starters- and he's come to terms with it, so he doesn't take the high horse. Though compared to Tom's morals, of course, it could seem so. In short, Harry's just managing as best he can.

* * *

**Q:** I'm really starting to despise Tom… All Tom's tried to do is change Harry, make him just as ruthless and cold as Tom.

**A:** I think we ought to be a bit more understanding of Tom, lol. In his view, he's trying to make Harry better, for Harry's own sake – and thus his own too. He views any compassion and kindness as dangerous weaknesses that can get you killed or taken advantage of. He values ruthlessness and a cold-heart because those, for him, are the recipe to be able to achieve one's ambitions. And since he's taken Harry as his brother, bettering Harry (in the ways he feels are the right ones) means Harry's continued survival and wellbeing, and benefits for Tom as well - not to mention having a Harry more akin to him, instead of always butting heads with him. So in a way, Tom is also doing what he feels is right and doing his best – he's just much more harsh and ruthless about it, lol.

* * *

**Q:** Since Santi has the power to travel through time, does he know how the future will go in the second timeline? Because from the way you've portrayed things, it seems as though he knows some of it, but not all. He's still surprised by events that happen, and I would think, guessing from how much he seems to adore Harry, that he would have lived and seen through almost every part of his (Harry/Antares) life. So why are there elements of Harry's future that still seem to surprise him (Santi)?

**A:** I think the best way to see this if you imagine yourself being Santi, and how you'd timetravel. You can jump back and forth in a timeline (from past, present and future), much like jumping from one country to another, but you can't be in all countries at the same time, can you? There's only one of you, so while you're in a country (an age/era) you're missing what's happening in another country. You can't split yourself and be everywhere at the same time, so you'll only have the knowledge of what you see and experience in that country. For Santi to know everything of the future, he woudl have to spent every second of his existence there, and if he was glued to Antares, he would still be missing what everyone else is doing and how it influences things. So, in short, Santi is continually travelling from one place to the other, where he feels he's needed, or where he thinks he must be to learn something important or the sort, but he's definitely not all-knowing.

Another important point, that we'll see when the story progresses and has already been hinted, is that Harry/Antares, given who and what he is, is a catalyst of change – changes that Santi cannot perceive unless he witnesses it (travels to that point in time and sees it, because he has no one like him that could tell him, so he has to do everything personally), meaning that it's hard for Santi to keep up.

* * *

**Q:** Does Harry's transformation to whatever Santi is happen linearly? I'm not sure how exactly to word this, but does the whole process defy time? Because if the transformation doesn't transcend time, and it is strictly confined to a certain time period (let's say, to Antares' time), then wouldn't there be a post-transformation Harry freely traveling from time period to time period like Santi?

**A:** I don't want to ruin the plot here, and in some chapter soon we'll see a bit of this. But the transformation is linear, meaning that Harry is already under it and displaying it's consequences –like his Magic-sight ability, the fact that he's solid to ghosts, can enter wizarding portraits where no living beings can, etc. And this transformation will continue and grow with the passage of time, and thus be in Antares too. The important point here is that it's caused by the Sands of Time that Grindelwald flung at Harry when he was a baby (to make him jump back to Tom Riddle's time), and since Harry's soul will be Antares', by the time he's Antares he'll have the ability that Harry has plus those that will show as Antares grows up. I will not make him all-powerful, though. We don't know how long it took in Santi's case to become what he is, but we can hazard a guess that it was a very long time, and Harry and Antares' joined lifetimes would just be a split-second in comparison.

On the other hand, Santi's transformation wasn't caused under the same circunstances as Harry's, so we can't expect a clear parallelism between how they changed nor the rate in which they did.

You must also remember that if there was an Antares in the future that can timetravel, it doesn't mean that he would be seen. Santi only shows himself to Harry and Julian, for instance, and only because he wants it so. He can lose his solidity and be completely ethereal and invisible the rest of the time.

* * *

**Q:** Did Tom just try to AK Harry?!

**A:** No. Harry didn't recognize the curse that Tom shot at him. Since they've practice the Avada Kedavra Curse many times before, he would have recognized it. I think it's safe to asume that Tom used one of those 'Parselspells' that he didn't intend Harry to know about – one very nasty, dismembering or gouging one, because we've seen before how out-of-control Tom can get when in a rage.

* * *

**Q:** Harry said ' and you will remember I am your brother'. That means that Tom will forget that they're not brothers?

**A:** Tom will keep knowing the truth, because he will remember the circumstances in which Harry said that – as per Harry's instructions. The Imperio isn't an Obliviating Charm – and even a very powerful one of those would be hard tasked to be able to wipe off all of Tom's years of knowing that they aren't brothers. The only thing Tom will never remember is that Harry can transform into a Griffin. And answering another associated question, he won't know that Harry kept the original Slytherin diares and Tom's translates notes. So Tom won't ever try that venue again because he believes all that information was destroyed.

* * *

**Q:** Trace Charm, I've never read a fic where adults can't do magic around underage kids bc the 'charm' would pick it up, and even in canon magical children can do magic because the ministry cant tell it apart from their parents', so why did you choose to write it this way in the story?

**A:** I'm following canon here. The Trace Charm activates always any time a spell is cast within the vicinity of a child with the Trace Charm. The Ministry can't know if the child cast the spell or an adult wizard, if they're close together (case of Dobby in Dursley's home in canon), so in wizarding homes, they'll assume it's the adult doing the casting and leave it at that. But if the child is alone or with muggles, they'll know it's him.

The reason why Harry and Tom were very careful about this when they were in Norway with Tilly Toke, was because if Toke did magic near them, the boys' Trace Charms would activate, giving the English Ministry of Magic the information of their whereabouts, and the Ministry would realize that there were Hogwarts students all the way in Norway, nevermind if it was them or a passing-by adult wizard casting the magic. They'd be in plenty of trouble for just being in Norway. And in the worse case, if they couldn't prove that it had been Tilly Toke (who died) casting magic and not them, they'd be expelled from Hogwarts to boot.

In the case of when they were in the orphanage, and Mr. Jenkins appeared and then Konrad Von Krauss, they had to be even more careful, because the Ministry knows that it's an orphanage with all muggles except them two – so any magic cast around their vicinity would be blamed on them, and they'd be expelled (like case of Dobby in Dursley's home in canon, once more).

* * *

**Q:** Why did Harry destroy Slytherin's possesions! What a waste!

**A:** Harry didn't destroy the Slytherin diaries nor Tom's notes. All the originals were safely hidden in the hidey-hole under Fidelius Charm with Harry (his soul) as Secret Keeper. The only other 'possessions' were the furniture in the hidden study under the Chamber of Secrets, the cauldrons, and flasks of rotten ingredients – hardly anything important.

* * *

**Q:** Why did Tom want to tell Harry that they aren't brothers? Doesn't he want him by his side anymore? Does he want to cut all ties?

**A:** For this I'd like to quote a remark made by a reviewer because it hits the nail perfectly – "I think Harry really hurt Tom, in his twisted mind he betrayed him after all." This explains Tom's extreme reaction, in my view. He was hurt by the one closest to him, he lashed out in a fit of rage, and we've seen that he gets dangerously demented, reckless and impulsive in those cases. So when he began saying that they weren't brothers, he hadn't truly wanted or planned to – he was striking where he knew would hurt Harry the most, in revenge. I'm sure he's quite glad now that Harry misinterpreted his declaration. Even though there's no doubt that Tom has taken what he perceives as a betrayal very hard, he's a sly and practical creature when his temper is back to normal – he's perfectly aware of the many things he's accomplished and discovered thanks to Harry. I don't think Tom will be telling Harry the truth any time soon. He knows how their 'bond as brothers' is one of Harry's most precious things, how much Harry values it, and just what a convenient, strong tie it is to keep Harry close to him and of use for his goals.

* * *

**Q:** Why is Harry so oblivious and didn't believe Tom?

**A:** Well, put yourself in his shoes. You've had a brother for fourteen years, and one day during a fight your brother begins to yell that 'You're no brother of mine!'. Would you believe him? I certainly wouldn't. I'd just think my brother was having a nasty temper tantrum and I'd flip him the bird, lol.

Being Tom's brother is something that Harry has assimilated so deeply that I don't think that even if Tom one day decided to fully spill the beans, Harry wouldn't just simply snort at him ^.^

I hope this has helped, now on with the chappie, enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 64**

* * *

All in all, Harry didn't know how to feel about the events unfolding during the following days.

'The Lethifold Rampage', as it was being called, having even reached the pages of The Daily Prophet, had wrought many changes in the school.

Moaning Myrtle had suddenly turned into some sort of celebrity, now regarded with interest by gossipy students who had before then spurned her at every turn.

Apparently, having a 'near death experience' was reason enough to attain a measure of popularity all of a sudden, and the Ravenclaw girl was now often to be seen with her own gang of hanger-ons.

It meant she no longer followed him around any more, though still acted towards him with much warmth and syrupy, sickly worship. But it also meant that he, as one of her 'heroic rescuers', had become a focus of attention once more, having clusters of girls sighing at his very sight in the corridors, fluttering their eyelashes, asking him to regale them with the story of how he had saved the 'damsel in distress' –or any other number of equally humiliating and ridiculous turns of the phrase.

The same had been happening to Tom, Harry had seen from afar, making him wonder how his brother was managing to present himself as gracefully and humbly accepting of the honor of being the recipient of the girls' worshipful adoration without cursing them black and blue.

Though, Harry hadn't had a chance to share notes on the matter with his brother, because Tom hadn't said a word to him – not since the following morning. It was as though Harry had utterly ceased to exist to him. Outwardly, that was, because Harry could very much _feel_ how very present he was in Tom's thoughts.

Not a day had gone by when his scar didn't brutally pain him at all hours, to the point that he had resorted to stealing Headache Potions from the Infirmary under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

Tom didn't seem disposed to talk about their confrontation, and even less forgive or understand him, any time soon.

Another person who wasn't too happy with recent events, had been Hagrid. At first jabbering and sobbing with gratefulness and nearly crushing him to death in a bear hug, when Harry had taken him to the cupboard the following morning and presented him with a live and kicking Aragog, the half-Giant boy had been over the moon.

Feeling which had vanished quick enough when Harry had given him a piece of his mind.

"Aye, I know," blubbered Hagrid through a constricted throat, sniffling as he whipped his thick tears with a ragged, patched sleeve of his voluminous robes. "I know I can't keep 'im in her'. I nearly lost 'im last night, I did, if it hadn't been fer ye. They could've found Aggy – they could've killed 'im!" he added in a wail, peering down at Harry with a stricken and miserable expression on his face. "But I'm gonna miss 'im, I am! He's still so tiny an' innocent, ye see?"

"Sure he is," said Harry, as he eyed the increasingly immense Acromantula with a resigned expression on his face. "But he'll be better off in the Forest, Hagrid. For his own safety."

"Aye," echoed Hagrid in a thick, watery tone. "Ye're right, ye're, 'Arry." The boy shot him an imploring look. "Will ye come wit' me, to give 'im a farewell?" He cast the furry beast in his arms a soft, dewy-eyed look. "I know Aggy would like ye to come. He'll miss us both so much!"

Harry thought that the only thing Aragog would miss was the potential source of fresh meat they both represented for the creature, but kept his mouth shut.

Meanwhile, the Board of Governors had been pulled into the mess when outraged and angered parents had read about the events in a highly exaggerated, dramatized, and glaringly inaccurate article in The Daily Prophet, causing a deluge of letters and Howlers to reach the office of Headmaster Dippet. Sounds of shrieking voices and explosions had been heard coming from the tower at all hours during the following days, until the Governors decided to intercede themselves in the escalating situation.

It seemed as though the 'rampaging' of a highly lethal, dark magical creature had –in times of war, to boot- left parents highly alarmed, fearful, and furious.

Professor Galatea Merrythought was under probation, pending possible suspension, for having kept such a dangerous creature in an inadequately secured trunk, for starters.

Harry hadn't felt too guilty about it. If it was a choice between having their rather odious, harsh DADA teacher sacked, who was a bigot against all magical creatures in general and Veelas in particular, or having his own brother expelled or thrown into Azkaban for the attack or death of a student, he rather have Merrythought gone.

Perhaps this was the reason too why Abraxas Malfoy's frosty behavior towards him as of late had taken a sudden turn. It was well known that the boy despised Professor Merrythought, the feeling being palpably mutual due to Malfoy's Veela blood.

As a consequence of Slytherin House being the ones who had a faint idea of what had truly happened that night, knowing that Harry, Tom, and Alphard had been somehow involved in the releasing of the Lethifold and the chaos that had ensued, Malfoy had become almost graciously civil towards him.

Harry rather thought that it had all been Tom's doing, his brother's masterful way of manipulating any dire situation into an advantage for himself, since it had become quite clear that their housemates believed that the three of them had been attempting to carry out Salazar Slytherin's mission of using the Basilisk to rid the school of muggleborns, cleverly using the Lethifold incident as a smokescreen.

A rumor no doubt initially spread by Tom, and which explained their housemates' suddenly renewed attitude of relish, pride, and reverence towards them, making Harry grit his teeth and Alphard twitch nervously.

Indeed, one evening during supper Abraxas had even raised his goblet in the air, across the table from him, in a sort of salute, smirking as he sipped his drink.

Harry understood the further reason for it a few moments later, when he caught sight of many unfamiliar wizards and witches seated at the Staff's Table amongst the professors.

He recognized a few of them: Abraxas' grandfather Maximillian Malfoy, looking stern and imposing with an Egeriana Rose pinned on his lapels and his cane settled against a leg of his armchair; Felix and Felicity's father, Faustus Prewett, who seemed to also be there in an official capacity since the man was wearing his Ministry robes; and other men and women he recognized as parents to some pureblood children.

They had to be attending the feast in representation of the school's Board of Governors, and the reason became clear when Headmaster Dippet stood from his chair, hailing for silence as he magnified his voice with a flick of his wand.

"And finally, the very long awaited moment," Dippet's voice boomed cheerily, who seemed to be vastly enjoying his part in officiating a formal, festive ceremony. "This year's Quidditch Cup! Will the Slytherin Team come forth?"

Harry's groan was muffled by the loud cries and claps that thundered all around him from his housemates, as Alphard and the rest of his teammates quickly and eagerly sprung to their feet, accompanied by the polite applause of the Hufflepuffs, the loud boos and nasty glares of Gryffindors, and the gritted teeth of Ravenclaws.

Dorea Black was the first to reach the Cup, and hoist it up in the air, as was her right as the Captain, much to the joyous, proud shouts of their housemates, as the rest of his teammates either nodded in stoic acceptance or outright smirked with immense smugness.

"Smile!" whispered Alphard by his side, jabbing an elbow into Harry's ribcage as he wore a huge, face-splitting grin on his face. "This is the first time we've won in a decade – and it's mostly due to you!"

Harry grimaced at that, before he forced a wane, half-grin to stretch on the corners of his mouth.

Alphard chuckled under his breath a moment later. "Dorea's surely enjoying her triumph, at long last!"

Harry regretted shooting a curious look at the girl at those words, when he saw the rather predatory and lewd expression on Dorea Black's face as she raised the immense golden Cup even higher in the air. Understanding the reason when he realized that her blazing eyes were fixed on Charlus Potter in the distance.

Indeed, the Gryffindor Captain had gone beet red, while his best mate James seemed to be snickering and patting him on the back.

Alphard had once told him that Dorea and Charlus had an ongoing bet on who would best the other in Quidditch every year. And given the current display, Harry was left in no doubt just how Charlus would be paying his dues to Dorea Black that night. He didn't think he had ever met a randier couple in his life.

How they were exactly managing it, since Alphard had told him about the Black Chastity Rings that the couple had been forced to wear when they had become publicly betrothed, was anyone's guess and Harry honestly preferred not to know.

Quickly averting his gaze from them, he caught sight of Maximillian Malfoy, whose hand was tightly gripping the head of his cane, his eyes narrowed to slits, a spark of fury in them, as they darted from Dorea to Charlus and back.

It didn't seem as though the odious, old wizard had forgiven Dorea for having spurned him in favor of Charlus, despite the unsettled 'bride-debt' that prevailed among the Blacks and Malfoys.

Harry shook his head, wondering about the bizarre pureblood traditions regarding marriage, though his musings were interrupted when he suddenly thought to have seen a brief jolt of light emanating from the silver head of Maximillian Malfoy's cane, striking Dorea on her lower back as she let out one more cheer in front of the students.

He blinked a split second later, confused, when nothing happened, as though it had all been a figment of his imagination. Old Maximillian Malfoy was wearing an indifferent, aloof expression on his face now, no trace of anger lingering, and Dorea and the rest of his teammates began making their way back to their table.

Bemused, Harry started to follow, but he was halted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Not so fast, Mr. Riddle," Headmaster Dippet whispered as he smiled down at him, only to then tap his throat with his wand once more, as he gestured for the students to become quiet. "It is with great honor that I have the pleasure to announce the bestowing of a very special price that has rarely been given at Hogwarts."

The wrinkled, old wizard beamed at the assembled students, as he raised his voice, the hand on Harry's shoulder giving a fond squeeze. "Let us applaud Messrs. Tom and Harry Riddle and congratulate them for bravely and selflessly saving a fellow student from a horrible death!"

With mounting horror and dismay, Harry blanched when the Headmaster grandiosely flicked his wand, a huge, silver shield framed in wood suddenly popping into existence, with their names elegantly inscribed on it, just as Dippet waved Tom over.

"The Special Award for Services to the School!" continued the Headmaster in his booming, merry voice, just as Tom finally reached them, his expression one of shocked and humble gratitude.

Harry was yanked out of his stupefaction by a blinding, flashing light, only then catching sight of the group of people at the furthest end of the Great Hall, lingering by the doors, making him pale as he saw the photograph cameras and the Quick-Notes Quills scribbling madly.

An abrupt stab of pain in his scar made him shoot a jerky glance at his brother, seeing Tom piercing him with his eyes, a warning glint in them, and Harry seethed in his insides.

That was the first time his brother had deigned to cross glances with him since the fiasco with Myrtle, and apparently it was for the sole reason of making sure that Harry played his part.

Indeed, Tom was already taking hold of the trophy and charmingly smiling, and Harry was supposed to follow suit and look nice for the journalists and cameras.

The Ravenclaw Table had erupted into loud cheers, with Myrtle being one of the loudest, hailing his name, while Olive Hornby seemed to be competing with her, though her voiced admiration was for Tom alone.

The Slytherins were just as loud, though Harry knew it was for very different reasons as he caught sight of many of their highly amused, sardonic smirks.

Indeed, even Tom –despite his charming, humble countenance- had to be inwardly cackling. Being prized for saving a muggleborn when it was her death he had plotted in order to eventually resurrect none other than Salazar Slytherin himself - oh, the irony Tom had to be savoring.

When his scar gave him one more fierce stab, Harry gritted his teeth, shot his brother a nasty look yet finally placed a hand on the stupid, glittering trophy, just as a series of camera lights flashed.

He soon yanked his hand back and quickly scampered back to his table, in no mood to continue the charade.

"They're hankering for an interview with you," whispered Alphard by his side, his voice tense and low.

Harry grunted as he savagely speared a potato with his fork, his gaze darting from the journalists who looked like an excited pack of wolves, to Tom who was taking back his place in Slytherin Table, shooting the reporters a smile and nod of the head.

"I'm not giving any interviews," he finally groused under his breath as he felt his friend's insistent gaze boring into his skull.

"Good," said Alphard, a clear tone of relief in his voice. "That's for the best." The boy suddenly let out a rueful chuckle, as he added in a whisper, "Though I must say I'm enjoying my share of the attention. Dorea's quickly figured out that I must have used her gift. She didn't like that we were supposedly trying to let loose the Basilisk, but just the other day she congratulated me for having used her-"

"Dorea? Gift?" Harry halted in mid motion of stabbing another potato, staring at the boy as he felt a frisson of alarm. "What?"

Alphard gave him an exasperated look. "The gift she gave me for my birthday. Remember? I told you about it. A Black heirloom."

Harry stared blankly at him, trying to rake his brain. Every year his friend received such a gigantic pile of presents that it was hard to keep up, especially since all of Alphard's siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles seemed to like nothing better than swap family heirlooms between themselves for their birthdays – there seemed to be an endless supply of such.

"Which one?" said Harry with a frown.

Casting glances to all sides, Alphard slid closer to him as he lowered his voice, then pointedly glancing down as he partially revealed something hidden in his robes, "The pocket-knife Dorea no longer needed because now she doesn't have to hide to spend time with Charlus."

Harry blinked down at it, indeed seeing a small, shiny blade with a handle beautifully embossed and ornamented with the Black family crest. "Er… what did it do, again?"

"It has a powerful shape-shifting spell," answered Alphard with a hint of impatience. "It can open any lock and break through any wards without perturbing them. I told you about it before!" He threw him a pointed look as he added quietly, "How do you think I got into Professor Merrythought's office? I told you it was heavily warded, and so was the trunk where she kept the Lethifold."

"Oh, right," muttered Harry distractedly, his eyes fixed on his friend's pocket-knife, a sudden inspiration striking him. He raised his eyes to meet the boy's grey ones, a dawning grin of excitement springing to his lips. "Say, would you lend it to me for the night?"

"Tonight?" Alphard stared at him, looking taken a back. "Our end-of-year examinations begin tomorrow, what do you want to-"

"Exactly," interrupted Harry adamantly. "Tonight's my last chance before we leave for summer holidays. I've been wanting to do something, only I didn't know how to go about it…" He trailed off, glancing at the pocket-knife partly hidden in his friend's robes, before he added enthusiastically, "But _that_ might solve much."

Alphard shot him a quizzical look, before he whispered under his breath with a hint of worry, "You're not planning on slipping out of school, are you?" He shook his head. "My pocket-knife won't be of much use if you do, it isn't powerful enough to break through Hogwarts' ancient wards-"

"I don't think I'll be dealing with ancient wards," interjected Harry with a dismissive wave of a hand. "Just some ordinary ones and some locks, hopefully."

Alphard skewered him with his gaze, as he demanded concernedly, "Where are you going?"

Harry sighed at that, settling his fork on the table. "It's best if you don't know. I don't want you to be involved-"

"Does it have anything to do with… what happened?" pressed Alphard, a grave expression on his face as he lowered his voice. "You know, with – um, Myrtle?"

"In a way," said Harry vaguely, beginning to scowl at him. "Look, Al, it's really best if you don't-"

"Then I'm tagging along!" snapped Alphard briskly.

"No, you're not," gritted out Harry, glowering at him. "It might be risky and you've already done enough-"

"Exactly," bit out Alphard, a determined and stubborn glint in his big, grey eyes. "If it's dangerous then I'm coming with you-"

"It isn't dangerous," said Harry swiftly, quickly backpedaling. "I didn't mean that. I lied, it's not even risky-"

"Either I'm coming along," interrupted Alphard mulishly, "or you go without my pocket-knife."

Harry shot him an irked look before he caught movement from the corner of his eyes. Many students had begun leaving the Great Hall and he saw the reporters beginning to take the opportunity to swarm inside.

Panicked, he jumped to his feet, only pausing to scowl at his friend as he bent to whisper in his ear, snapping, "Fine, then, have it your way. Midnight. At the vanishing cabinet Ulysses found. Bring Charlus' Cloak."

And with that, Harry quickly fled the Great Hall before he gave the reporters the chance to pounce on him, only faintly hearing Alphard's anxious yelp in his wake, "At the what?"

* * *

"This is a very bad idea," mumbled Alphard in a quaking voice several hours later as they stood in front of the vanishing cabinet, before he rounded on Harry in a fit of agitation. "Didn't I tell you that these things are dangerous? They can rip a wizard to shreds if they're faulty and-"

"It works," stated Harry in a low, sharp voice, as he tapped The Three Musketeer's Map with his wand. "Adventure accomplished!"

Once the map folded itself, he stuck it inside a pocket and cast another round of glances at their surroundings. Finally certain that they were completely alone, he petted the Scorcrup perched on his shoulder as he opened the door of the cabinet.

"What do you mean that 'it works'?" whispered Alphard in a tone filled with alarm and anger. "Don't tell me you've already tested it yourself!"

"I had to," said Harry with exasperation, before his expression softened as he eyed his best friend. "Look, you don't have to come along. It's better if you don't, actually-"

"You've brought Ulysses along," interjected Alphard stubbornly as he pointed a finger at his former Scorcrup who was now calmly licking his front paw. "That means you expect trouble."

Harry sighed deeply. "It only means that I might need his guarding skills and good nose."

"Right. Two guards to watch your back are better than one, then," declared Alphard pigheadedly as he scowled, before he gulped, his voice dwindling with trepidation, "Where does it lead to?"

Harry cast him a toothy grin as he opened the door wider, invitingly. "You'll see."

Looking less than thrilled, and with a pale face, Alphard moved forwards, slowly sticking one limb after the other inside.

When Harry was about to close the door of the cabinet, the awkwardly cramped boy halted the motion with a hand, as he rambled in a quick succession of distressed words, "If I vanish from existence and you don't find me at the other side, owl my father but don't alert the Ministry or you'll get in trouble, and–"

"You'll be fine, Al," said Harry with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah," mumbled Alphard in a release of exhaled breath, as he attempted to respond with a faint grin that turned out more like a grimace. "I suppose I will."

The boy then took a deep breath as though inflating himself with valor, and nodded at him.

Harry gave him a soothing, encouraging smile before he clicked the door shut.

A second later, Harry opened the cabinet to find it unsurprisingly empty and hastened to follow suit.

The moment he climbed out of what seemed like the exact same cabinet, he knew everything had gone without a hitch.

He was encompassed in absolute darkness, though he could hear what was undoubtedly Alphard's shoes scuffling on the floor, as he felt his skin tingling under the heavy magical wards.

Giving a pat to the matching cabinet, Harry glanced around as he proceeded to settle Ulysses on the ground.

"Tch-" came an annoyed voice. "Lumo-!"

"No!" cried out Harry, flinging himself towards the voice. "We're not at Hogwarts anymore - we can't do magic!"

"Oh – right, sorry," said Alphard's voice sheepishly. "It's hard to keep track sometimes." His voice turned tensed, as he added with an audible shiver, "But I can't see a thing. I don't like it. I feel as though things are lurking all around me, watching, ogling me, you know-"

"Just hold your horses," snapped Harry as his thundering heart settled down. "Give me a moment."

Groping to find his way, he made it through several cluttered aisles until he reached the heavily draped windows of the store. When he finally yanked one of the dirty curtains aside, the moonlight revealed their surroundings just as Harry turned around to catch sight of his friend's expression.

With huge, round grey eyes and looking flabbergasted, Alphard breathed out tremulously, "We're at Borgin and Burke's?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow at that. "You know it?"

"What dark pureblood doesn't?" muttered Alphard distractedly, his big grey eyes shooting around in all directions. "I remember Father bringing Walburga here every year for her birthday so that she could choose one of her presents from this place."

"Lovely," muttered Harry, now not wanting to imagine just what artifacts Alphard's nasty sister kept in her school trunk.

Suddenly, Alphard spun around to stare at him with a panicked expression. "Harry, please don't tell me that we're here to nick something? Borgin has the nastiest of reputations, especially when dealing with robbers. I've heard he has the whole place booby-trapped with awful-"

"Not steal from here," clarified Harry quickly. "At least I don't think that what I want is still in the shop." He frowned musingly. "Though I reckon we should thoroughly check first."

Alphard swallowed loudly, as he mumbled, "What are you looking for?"

At that, Harry shot him a brief glance, before he sighed. "A golden locket. Big, with… er, emeralds."

Alphard stared at him, looking utterly bewildered. "Whatever for?" He shook his head, as he added softly, "If you want a piece of jewelry I'll give you one for your next birthday, there's no need for-"

"It's not for me!" cried out Harry indignantly, feeling hot around the cheeks as he cast his friend a heated scowl. "Since when have you seen me skipping around wearing necklaces and stuff? I'm not a bloody girl!"

Bemused, Alphard blinked at him. "Then what do you want a golden locket for?"

"That's my business," bit out Harry snarkily, throwing him a dirty look, still feeling highly offended.

"Alright," said Alphard slowly as his eyebrows climbed to his hairline.

In a few moments, the three of them got to work with the understanding that they all had to be extremely careful and avoid touching anything with any part of their bodies, for indeed the shop seemed to be filled with all sorts of dangerous, menacing items.

About a quarter of an hour later, it was clear the locket was nowhere in sight, and nothing eventful had happened except for when a mummy's severed and decaying hand had sprung on Ulysses in an attempt to strangle the little creature when he had been sniffing around.

The Scorcrup had made short work of it, hissing and spitting at it as his fluffy tail swiftly transformed into that of a scorpion, leaving the mummy's hand twitching on the floor, oozing with the varied venoms of Ulysses's tail. Harry hadn't bothered to clean up, let Borgin wonder at that when the man found it.

As the three of them convened back together in the middle of the store, Harry glanced around musingly. "They must keep a record of their sales. Hopefully there's some information there."

He clearly remembered Robert Hutchins doing so in his grocery store, always keeping a ledger with detailed accounts of his shop's revenues and expenditures, and every item sold, especially when giving credit.

"And he kept it by the cash register," whispered Harry under his breath as he approached Borgin and Burke's counter.

Once behind it, it took him a second to notice the large, black coffer under the battered and rusted cash register, and he grinned triumphantly.

"Can I have your pocket-knife?"

"Sure," said Alphard instantly as he fished it out of his robes and offered it to him.

Harry was about to grab it, when he paused, shooting it a wary look as he remembered his friend's description of some of his family's bizarre heirlooms. "Er, does it have any of those nasty curses meant to burn, cut off, or rot the hand of any halfblood or muggleborn who dare touch it?"

Alphard stared down at the seemingly innocent pocket-knife in his palm, intently scrutinizing it, and soon gave up with a sigh. "No idea."

"Good enough," mumbled Harry as he impatiently swiped it from the boy's hand.

Alphard made a half-choking sound from the back of his throat, spluttering, "You idiot – you shouldn't have-"

"Nothing happened!" said Harry, as he demonstratively held up his hand clutching the Black heirloom.

"But it could have!" gasped out Alphard, as he eyed him with eyes wide with agitation. "You shouldn't be so reckless, you dunce!"

Shrugging unconcernedly, Harry quickly stuck the small, thin blade into the coffer's lock, twisting it enthusiastically.

Finding the locket would resolve many matters for him.

Firstly, he had come to the conclusion that his brother's silence and icy indifference and avoidance of him could bode nothing good for his future wellbeing. Indeed, Tom was a sly bastard, he knew well, and was surely aware that he couldn't launch his revenge against Harry when in school, when Harry could use the crowd of students and the presence of teachers to ensure his safety.

Yet, far, far away, when they were stuck together in Von Krauss Castle, with only house-elves for company who would surely never dare to interfere, Harry would be free game.

But if he could offer Tom a peace treaty of sorts, presenting him with the last known Slytherin heirloom –especially since his brother believed the diaries were gone- he hoped he could smooth things over.

Harry certainly wasn't looking forward to having to deal with his brother's savage plot of revenge, whatever it might be, without an ace under his sleeve. Not to mention their first true encounter with Grindelwald.

Thus far, the only silver lining was the chance that he might see Julian Erlichmann once more. After all, Julian was Grindelwald's favorite who accompanied the Dark Lord everywhere.

He was hopeful he would manage to get a chance to speak with the wizard alone, to find out more about him and as much as he could about Santi, and even to ask for help – for the chance to escape a week or two from Germany to be able to scour the North of England for any traces of the Gaunts.

Which came hand-in-hand with his second reason for wanting to have Salazar Slytherin's locket in his possession. After all, only Morgon Gaunt's descendants could have sold it to Borgin and Burke's once upon a time, and perhaps the locket had an inscription, or some clue regarding the Gaunts' whereabouts, anything to narrow down the family's location and hopefully find their father.

"It's not working!" finally grunted Harry as he fruitlessly twisted the blade once more, hearing no clicking sounds ensuing.

"It could be it only works for a Black," muttered Alphard as he approached him and took over the task.

Releasing the pocket-knife's handle, Harry glared hotly at it, though any traces of annoyance vanished from his countenance when a sudden whirring sound echoed.

The three of them took a step back in alarm, though in Ulysses' case he also began hissing and spitting, when the sounds coming from the coffer seemed to multiply as though a trigger mechanism had been set off.

Harry and Alphard shared a panicked look just before everything seemed to explode around them the second the coffer's door swung open.

It was as though every artifact in the shop was raining down on them, as if wielded by an invisible army, or sprung by invisible threads of magic – Harry realized, as he saw the wards flashing all around them, blaring, letting out a caterwauling sound as if a pack of cats were being strangled, the sound so deafening that his eardrums ached.

They yelled in fright as bloodied daggers and swords flew towards them, as shrunken heads and skeletons violently pelted on them, as dissected body parts, howling books, lethally poisonous jewelry, potted, menacing-looking plants with jaws and teeth attacked them, along with every piece of furniture, the shelves, the glass cases, and even the vanishing cabinet, which all thumped and speedily hopped towards them as if intent of crushing them under their weight, like a Giant's stomping feet.

"The door – we must get to the front door!" Harry shouted as he employed his school robes to protect his face and the long sleeves to cover his hands, knowing very well that if any of the items storming down on him barely touched an inch of his skin, he could very well end up dropping dead, from poison or a dark curse, as he kept using his flailing fists and elbows as shields.

Ulysses seemed to be much better prepared, as his fur was raised in hackles, his scorpion's tail swinging madly in all directions, batting off any flying artifacts.

"The key!" shrieked Alphard in a hysterical high-pitch, who was protecting himself by the same flimsy means as Harry.

Realizing what his friend meant, Harry spun around and ran towards the forgotten coffer, but Ulysses had beaten him to it, the little Scorcrup jumping in the air to grasp Alphard's pocket-knife from the coffer's lock.

"Smart boy!" Harry cheered as Ulysses leaped towards the store's front door with pocket-knife clenched in between his small fangs, Alphard fast after him.

Harry was about to follow when he caught sight of something in the shadowy depths of the coffer: a thick tome, bound by worn, brownish leather.

"The ledger!" He instantly fished it out, pressing the heavy book against his chest as he broke into a mad dash after his friend.

Alphard was already frantically using the pocket-knife on the lock of the front door by the time Harry reached them, while Ulysses was watching the boy's back, flinging off any projectile-like items zooming towards them.

"Hurry!" Harry cried out desperately, knowing they would soon be overwhelmed by all the lethal things flying towards them, not even his Scorcrup's deflective acrobatics would be enough.

Not to mention, Harry realized with horror, that there were shouts coming from the street, a sudden cacophony of voices and rushing feet – the denizens of Knockturn Alley had been awoken by the caterwauling wards.

"Al-most-" panted out Alphard in between hitched breaths of effort, just as Harry dove for the boy's bulging pocket and frenziedly pulled out Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

It was just in the nick of time, there was a loud click, the front door flung open, Ulysses jumped to his shoulder and Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over them, as people began to crowd around the entrance, peering inside with curiosity.

Hunching under the Cloak, they pushed their way through the crowds of downtrodden witches, drunken warlocks, nasty-looking hags, and even two or three cloaked creatures that Harry dearly hoped weren't vampires.

"How are we getting back?" wheezed out Alphard in a distraught whisper. "The vanishing cabinet – it was our only way back to Hogwarts! What are we going to do?"

"We'll figure something out," said Harry sharply under his breath as he pulled his friend faster towards Diagon Alley, keeping a firm grip on the Cloak enveloping them.

"Something out?" Alphard croaked numbly, as he shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Like what?"

"I dunno," replied Harry, grasping at straws. "I reckon we could get to King's Cross Station. It's not very far from here. We could walk there. But first I have to-"

"King's Cross Station!" Alphard exploded, halting in his tracks as he rounded on him, looking half-demented with hysterical frenzy. "We're in London – in England! Hogwarts is in Scotland! It takes the Hogwarts Express five hours to reach the school – and it's partly operated by magic. And you suggest – what? – that we take a _muggle _train? How long would that take!"

"About a day, I think," muttered Harry absent-mindedly, shooting an apprehensive glance over his shoulder, through the glowing fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, as he heard a loud roar far behind them.

"THIEVES! Where're the thieves? Apprehend 'em - FLOOCALL THE AURORS!"

Harry blanched, certain that one of the proprietors of Borgin and Burke's had just arrived in site.

"A whole day?" spluttered Alphard, who looked quite beside himself and utterly unaware of what was happening behind them, his grey eyes nearly popping as he stared at him. "We have our Charms examination at eight in the morning! Transfiguration in the afternoon! We won't get back in time!" He moaned, hunching over as he added wretchedly, "I'm doomed – Father will murder me. I don't think there has ever been a Hogwarts student who hasn't sat for their end-of-year examinations!"

"We must get going!" Harry said urgently as he began to hear the rush of footfalls behind them.

"Get going where?" cried out Alphard desperately, as Harry brusquely yanked him forwards, with ledger and Cloak along. "We don't even have money! We don't even-"

"We don't need money for train tickets – we've got the Cloak!" gritted out Harry as he pushed them into a faster sprint.

"And Merlin knows where the muggle train will leave us! In some dismal muggle town in Scotland, no doubt – and how are we supposed to get from there to the school? Hogwarts is in the middle of nowhere!"

"Calm down, Alphie!" snapped Harry as he brusquely yanked his friend, finally stepping into Diagon Alley.

Though he didn't think for an instant that they were safe. People were still chasing them from Knockturn Alley, and Diagon itself seemed to be awakening with all the noisy havoc, several candlelights flaring from behind the curtained windows of the flats above the stores.

"... if we had at least brought our broomsticks along," kept rambling Alphard frantically, "we could try to fly at top speed the whole night to reach Hogwarts in time, but…"

"We can steal broomsticks if that's what it takes!" bit out Harry impatiently, shooting another wary look over his shoulder as he attempted to make his friend run faster. "Now hush, beacause-"

"Are you mental?" yelled Alphard, rounding on him. "I'm not stealing anything again! We barely made it out alive from Borgin and Burke's-"

"Be quiet!" hissed out Harry as he slammed him against the nearest wall, slapping a hand over his friend's mouth, angered beyond measure. "Stop shouting, you prat, or they'll-"

Harry went absolutely still and silent when he heard them, a group of people spilling out of Knockturn Alley, into Diagon, mere feet away from them, and he was quick to press himself flat against Alphard as he drew the Cloak tightly around them, his body stiffening, as he felt Ulysses tensing on his shoulder, as though readying himself for impending battle.

At least, Alphard seemed to finalize realize their predicament. His lips had stopped moving furiously behind Harry's silencing hand, his grey eyes had widened in horror, and he had frozen in place, his breathing hitched.

The mob rushed past them, angered and glancing at all sides in an attempt to catch sight of the 'thieves', though at least Harry could distinguish no Aurors amongst them – yet.

The motley group of people didn't go very far down Diagon Alley, but at least they weren't within hearing range if he and Alphard talked quietly, so he finally shot his friend a pointed, heated glare.

Alphard had the grace to look guilty, and had clearly gotten a grip over himself, since he silently nodded his head in understanding.

Relieved, Harry removed the hand from the boy's mouth.

Alphard's grey gaze darted towards the group scouring Diagon Alley in the distance, as he whispered fretfully, "Did you see any Aurors?"

"No," murmured Harry, "but some will arrive soon, I reckon."

Alphard swallowed thickly at that, as he turned to glance at him, his voice shaky, "What do we do?"

"We stay right here for the time being," whispered Harry sharply, getting a firmer grip on the heavy ledger and a more secure one on the Invisibility Cloak draped over them.

"We need to get back to Hogwarts in time," pressed Alphard in a distressed tone. "If we don't-"

"We will," grumbled Harry under his breath, casting him a stern look. "There are many ways we can do it. You forget that my Animagus form can fly, and that yours is small. Small enough to be able to ride on my back."

Alphard blinked, before he shot him a doubtful look. "Could you fly all the way back to Scotland?"

Harry shrugged instead of answering. He wasn't as concerned about that as about the fact that he didn't know if the transformation could trigger their Trace Charms. No wand-waving or incantation of spell was necessary for the Animagus Transformation, but he would still be using his magic.

"I'm hoping it won't be necessary," he finally said, his gaze glued to the people who were beginning to retrace their steps back. "As soon as we can, we'll try to get into Ollivander's."

Alphard made a half-choking sound, and Harry quickly glanced at him, frowning.

"For what?" croaked Alphard the next moment, trepidation clearly written over his face.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not to steal anything. Ollivander's was going to be the second place I visited tonight. I'm still here, so I'm still doing it. I've got some questions to ask him." He shot his friend a faint grin. "And I'm also hoping he will help us."

Before Alphard could express his confusion, Harry did his best to point a finger in the direction of the shop, from under the Cloak.

"See the light on the second floor? It must be where Ollivander lives. I hope so, at least. And he's clearly up."

"What makes you think he'll aid us?" whispered Alphard tensely, boring his gaze into Harry's. "He'll see our uniforms and know that we should be in Hogwarts."

"I don't think he's much of a stickler for rules," said Harry coolly.

Though the full truth was that he didn't think that Ollivander cared much about anything but himself and his wand-making.

He still remembered the day of the destruction of Leisure Alley. Ollivander along with many other shopkeepers of Diagon Alley had been more worried about warding their shops and fleeing in the off chance that Grindelwald's forces would be making an appearance, than helping the poor wizards and witches that had been buried alive under the rubble of the bombed Leisure Alley.

It had taken Harry shouting at Ollivander for the man to muster the will to help him rescue whom they could from the rubble.

Harry was hoping that it would count in his favor in the man's eyes. And if not, he was certain he could pique the wizard's interest with his questions.

"They're coming back," whispered Alphard apprehensively.

They both went absolutely still under the Invisibility Cloak as the group of people passed them by in their return towards Knockturn Alley, many with sour-expressions on their faces or grumbling under their breaths, their wands lowered.

As soon as they saw them disappear around the corner, Harry prodded Alphard with an elbow and they began their slow, careful trek towards the wand store, nearly on tiptoes.

"We should better ring the bell," murmured Harry under his breath the moment they stood before the shop's front door, as Alphard made a move to use his pocket-knife. "We don't want him to think we're trying to break in."

Alphard aborted the motion, nodding, and they had to wait in tense silence for long minutes in the street, before they heard movement in the ground floor of the house - by which time Alphard had been quick to cram the Invisibility Cloak into a pocket.

"Who's calling at this hour?" said a wispy voice with a twinge of annoyance, as the front door was parted a slit, Ollivander's strange moon-like eyes peeking out.

A second later, the door was opened widely, as the wizard stood in full view wearing a midnight blue nightgown and sleeping cap, staring at them, looking thoroughly startled.

"Um, we are -" began Harry in his most polite tone.

"A Black," muttered Ollivander, his gaze fixed on Alphard, his expression brightening. "Rosewood and unicorn hair, twelve inches! Correct?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Alphard, looking taken aback.

"Ah!" Ollivander breathed out, as his gaze darted to Harry, his eyes, if possible, brightening even further, glowing as eerily as a cat's. "And Mr. Harry Riddle! I remember you well, child, from-"

"Leisure Alley," Harry supplied quickly, wanting to get off the street as soon as possible. "Yes, sir-"

"And from reading about you in The Daily Prophet, just recently," interjected Ollivander, gazing at him as though he was a strange, befuddling creature. "Regarding The Lethifold Rampage at Hogwarts you and your… twin were involved in. Very noble indeed." His eyes roved over Harry's face, lingering on the scar of his forehead, looking momentarily thrilled and intrigued, before he continued, the corners of his mouth hitching upwards as his eyes sparkled, "And how can I forget that you and your brother were chosen by two of my most interesting and peculiar wands! Wands destined for greatness – holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches! Yew and…"

Trailing off, the man peered at either sides of the street, as though expecting to see Tom with them and finding himself vastly disappointed with the absence.

"Can we come inside?" pressed Harry, attempting to mask the urgency he felt.

"Inside?" Ollivander looked surprised at this, as he scratched his chin. "At this hour? I don't know if it would be-"

"We won't take much of your time," interrupted Harry swiftly, pulling his most pitiful expression over his face. "Please, sir. I just wanted to ask you some questions about Wandcrafting."

"In the middle of the night?" Ollivander's white eyebrows flew upwards, before he continued amusedly, "Well, you might as well come in, then."

Harry and Alphard shared a relieved glance as they followed him into the store, only pausing when the man shot over his shoulder, "Would you care for a late night cup of tea?"

"That would be wonderful, Mr. Ollivander," said Alphard with evident, sincere appreciation.

Ollivander nodded as he proceeded to the back of the store, soon beginning to climb a set of stairs as the boys trailed after him.

The man's living quarters were small yet warm and cozy, as they settled in a parlor, taking the proffered seats around a tiny, round table.

A kitchenette and stove stood at one side of the room, and Ollivander begun banging pans and pots, whilst using his wand to ignite a fire, as he cast them a look over his shoulder, his tone vaguely curious as his gaze lingered on their uniforms, "Shouldn't you boys be at Hogwarts?"

Alphard tensed, while Harry met Ollivander's gaze with a steady one of his one, as he replied simply, "Yes."

The man let out a raspy chuckle and momentarily returned to his work, before another glance was shot at them. "And I don't suppose you know anything about the caterwauling alarm that was set off tonight? From a shop in Knockturn Alley if my ears heard correctly, not long before you stood in my doorstep?"

Harry didn't miss how Ollivander's silvery eyes darted to the thick tome on his lap, making him grip the ledger tighter, making sure his forearm hid the words scrawled on its cover.

"Really?" Harry said innocently. "We heard nothing, did we, Al?"

"No," muttered Alphard thickly, who seemed to have gone even stiffer than before.

Ollivander wryly shook his head and returned to the stove.

"He knows!" whispered Alphard from the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, but he doesn't care," murmured Harry dismissively.

Alphard shot him a quick, piercing look, as he leaned closer towards him. "How can you be sure? He could send for Aurors-"

"For a stolen ledger?" Harry whispered with a roll of his eyes. When his friend's anxiety didn't seem to thaw, he shook his head. "Relax. Besides, look there."

He pointed at one corner of the room, occupied by a fireplace, a sight made more beautiful by the pot sitting on the mantelpiece, brimming with purple powder.

Harry's face split into a wide smile as he nudged Alphard triumphantly, who released a powerful exhalation of relief as he caught on.

"Here we are," suddenly announced Ollivander in his frail voice as he settled hot cups of tea on the table.

Alphard instantly grabbed his and began quietly sipping with a grateful expression on his face, whilst Ollivander sat across from them, quirking a white eyebrow in interest. "You said you had questions regarding my craft, Mr. Riddle?"

Without further preambles, Harry brought up his holly wand, as he said quietly, "How many like this have you made?"

"Just two," replied Ollivander, looking a mite surprised by the question. "As you should well remember. I did tell you and your brother that the cores of your wands-"

"Are two of a kind - brother wands," finished Harry, nodding. "Each with a feather of the same Phoenix." He skewered the man with his gaze, as he added in a murmur, "The Phoenix, it was Fawkes, wasn't it?"

"Who?" Alphard's voice piped in with curiosity as he resurfaced from behind his cup of tea.

Ollivander stared at Harry with hitched eyebrows. "Yes, indeed. I didn't expect you to have heard of Professor Dumbledore's familiar."

"Dumbledore has a Phoenix?" interjected Alphard, glancing from one to the other, looking marveled and astounded.

"Yes," said Harry shortly, barely sparing him a glance before he focused back on the wandmaker, frowning. "Why not?"

Ollivander let out a wheezy chuckle. "Not many students at Hogwarts do. Phoenixes are rather private creatures-"

"Meaning that Fawkes spends most of his time perched in Dumbledore's office," muttered Harry, drumming his fingers on the table. "And has never showed himself around the school. Yes, I did notice that about him."

"You've known there's a Phoenix at Hogwarts," interjected Alphard, staring at him stunned, and then with a hurt expression on his face. "And you never told me?"

"That's not the issue," said Harry in a softer voice, not wanting to make matters worse, yet aware that he couldn't afford to deal with his friend's wounded feelings at the moment. "And the wand chooses the wizard, right?"

Ollivander nodded, looking more intrigued with each passing second, as though on tenterhooks to know where Harry's interrogation would lead to.

"Then, it's the wand that forges the first connection with it's chosen wizard," continued Harry musingly, pausing as he attempted to find the right word. "So, which is the… er, sentient part - the core?"

Ollivander's countenance perked up, his lips hitching upwards. "And here I thought you were a novice in Wandlore, Mr. Riddle! I see I was mistaken-"

"I am a novice," clarified Harry quickly. "It's just that I have some… speculations. So, the core chooses?"

"Yes," said Ollivander brightly. "It will feel drawn towards a witch or wizard with a similar nature to its own." He gestured at Alphard. "The hair in Mr. Black's wand core, for example, came from a rather rebellious male unicorn-"

Alphard proudly grinned at that, his chest inflating as he squared his shoulders.

"- who was also quite a young, kind, and awkward creature."

Harry shot Alphard an amused glance when his friend's smug look vanished to be replaced by a grimace, before the boy pretended to be wholly absorbed in sipping his tea once more.

Focusing back on the conversation, Harry frowned. "So you're saying that the personality traits of the donor creature are the key factor? They'll resemble the traits of the wizard chosen by the wand's core?"

"Precisely," said Ollivander with satisfaction.

Harry vehemently shook his head. "That can't be right." He shot the man a deep frown. "Not with our wands, at least. Phoenixes are creatures of Light, according to everyone. And my brother and I are Slytherins – er, sorted in Slytherin House, I mean-"

"That does not exclude the fact," interrupted Ollivander amiably, "that you both have qualities and traits similar to that of a Phoenix. Evidently compassion, generosity, nobility, and-"

A jet of tea suddenly shot from Alphard's nostrils as though coming from a hosepipe, as he spluttered, coughed, and hacked, looking as though he was choking on his own tongue.

Harry hurriedly pounded him on the back, wryly thinking that he knew exactly why his friend had reacted so to the wandmaker's proclamation.

Once Alphard had recovered himself –using a hankerchief to dab at his spilled tea- he gawked at Ollivander, glanced at Harry and then ogled back at the wandmaker, as he squawked, "I'm with Harry in this! If you knew his brother, you'd know that there is simply no way that a Phoenix feather would have chosen him!"

Ollivander blinked at them, before his expression turned stern. "I assure you, that is how it works."

Harry said nothing to that, preferring to finally tackle another vastly more important matter, as he leaned closer to the wizard. "Sir, are you sure you've never made other wands with Fawkes' feathers?"

"Of course I'm certain," retorted the man in a brisk tone. "I remember each and every one of my creations."

Harry frowned, as he murmured under his breath, "I thought there would be other wands. It would make sense…" He shot the wandmaker a glance, as he demanded, "How do you get the cores for your wands?"

"Well," began Ollivander in his wispy voice, "in the case of unicorn hairs, a wandmaker usually requests permission from the creature in order to take a few of its tail hairs. They must be willingly given for the hairs to retain their magical properties after plucked. The case of dragon heartstrings, as you can imagine, is quite more complex, as many dragons are regarded as protected species nowadays and the heartstrings have to be forcibly taken-"

"And Phoenix feathers?" interrupted Harry with a touch of impatience. "How do you get those?"

Ollivander gazed at him slowly. "As rare, vastly powerful, and immortal as they are, Phoenixes cannot be searched for, located, captured nor killed. Therefore, only those wandmakers who are approached by a Phoenix get to experience the pleasure of ever being able to create a wand with such a challenging and unique core."

"Why would a Phoenix choose to give its feathers to a wandmaker?" pressed Harry with a frown.

Ollivander chuckled under his breath. "Do not ask me to fathom the workings of the minds of such mysterious and magnificent creatures, Mr. Riddle. Indeed, there are few wandmakers in history who have been bestowed with the honor of being chosen." His eerie eyes sparkled and a faint smile tugged his lips, as he added fondly, "My father used to say that one simply had to be lucky enough to be chosen as a recipient of their generosity. In that, my family has indeed been favored frequently."

"What do you mean – 'favored frequently'?" said Harry confusedly. He shot him a scowl. "You told me that you have only ever made two Phoenix core wands – mine and my brother's!"

"I have," said Ollivander, quirking a white eyebrow. "But so have three before me – namely, my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Ollivander House has a long-time tradition of wandcrafting with-"

Harry had immediately jumped to his feet, as he said with eager breathlessness, "Do you keep records of all your sales? Of all those other Phoenix-core wands?"

"I ought to," replied Ollivander, staring up at Harry with a curious expression on his face.

"Can I see the books?" said Harry instantly. "Please?"

Ollivander mutely nodded as he slowly rose to his feet, and Harry felt he was nearly stepping on the man's heels as they began to descend the stairs.

When he finally found himself in a room on the ground floor, Harry glanced around with a gobsmacked expression on his face. It was evident that the room had been greatly enlarged by magical means, given how small and narrow the two-story house was from the outside.

Indeed, the room they were now standing in was so immense that he couldn't see the end of the shelves upon shelves of ledgers, as though they stretched to the sky and infinity.

"My family's wand shop has kept records of all our sales since our establishment in 328 B.C.," came Ollivander's raspy voice with a hint of pride.

Harry's wand was raised in his hand in enthusiasm before he knew it, though thankfully he checked himself in time, lowering it as he mumbled ruefully, "I shouldn't cast magic outside of Hogwarts, just to be safe. Could you-?"

Ollivander had already beaten him to it, muttering a series of spells as he slowly flicked his wand in the air.

Five enormous tomes came flying down from some diminutive point in the distance, showering them with clouds of dust as they plopped on the high, squared table in the center of the room.

Coughing and spluttering, Harry finally approached the ledgers, seeing that they had each landed already opened in a specific page. The pages were frail-looking and yellowish, though there was no doubt that preserving charms had been cast on them since the quillmanship and ink was clearly legible as if the words had been written mere moments ago.

To his immense relief, he even saw that every entry followed a chronological order.

As soon as he began to scan the pages of the five tomes, the names popped to his eyes, his mind working in a whirlwind of thrilled excitement.

Harry checked it all again, and let out a loud chuckle of sheer triumph.

The last piece of evidence, the very last piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place and it felt profoundly satisfying.

"What's so funny?" said Alphard by his side, who was squinting down at the pages with a befuddled expression on his face.

Ollivander was soon by their side, peering down as well with an inquisitive look.

"Why are you sniggering?" Alphard shot Harry a puzzled frown when Harry kept chortling under his breath. "I only see-"

"You only see the names of five different Phoenixes who have given feathers to the Ollivanders, during different centuries," said Harry as he cast him a wide grin. "Right?"

"Yes," replied Alphard bemusedly.

"And look," said Harry cheerfully, as he tapped each entry with his finger, "each Phoenix was bonded to a Hogwarts member of Staff. Two Headmasters, three Professors." He remembered the words Santi had spoken to him long time ago, and added with a chuckle, "Each of them must have been the most powerful at Hogwarts, in their respective times."

"So?" Alphard frowned confusedly at him. "Is it strange that so many Phoenixes have been staying at Hogwarts throughout the ages?"

"Not at all, child," interjected Ollivander in his wheezy voice. "Phoenixes are known to be attracted to powerful sources of magic. It is only natural for some to have migrated to Hogwarts and chosen to reside there for a period of time."

Harry shook his head, grinning. "Is it also natural that these five wands, made with their feathers, all chose Slytherins as their masters?"

"Being sorted in Slytherin House," began Ollivander, casting him a partly concerned, partly reproving look, "does not preclude having traits worthy of-"

"Not Slytherin House," interrupted Harry, smiling widely as he tapped the names with his fingertip. "Slytherins. His direct descendants – the five most extraordinary ones of his line."

"I beg your pardon?" Ollivander blinked owlishly at him, before he avidly swooped down to peruse the entries.

Harry couldn't fault the wandmaker for having a faulty memory. If Ollivander had studied the records, it must have been ages ago, amidst the seemingly infinite number of other ledgers contained in the room. And even so, the man could have hardly discovered the pattern that had so easily become evident to him.

Those five Slytherin names had become as familiar to him as his own.

'I must admit that not many of our ancestors were bright. I've counted only five who truly made remarkable progress with the design of the ritual. Those were indeed astoundingly brilliant, like myself,' Tom had arrogantly said to him the one and only time his brother had deigned to tell him what he had discovered in the Slytherins' diaries – nevertheless still keeping much a secret, as Harry had later found out.

It hadn't been difficult to notice which those five Slytherins were, when he had been rereading his brother's translated notes, which Tom now believed to have been throughly destroyed. Their sections in Tom's notes were each countless-pages long, filled with intricate diagrams and potion-making phases and complex spell creations.

"Most extraordinary ones?" mumbled Alphard as he glanced down. "Their names do not ring any bells to me."

"Don't they?" muttered Harry, randomly pointing at one. "He founded the True Blood Alliance." He shot his friend a wry look. "That, surely, rings a bell."

Alphard's big grey eyes widened, as he nodded. "Abraxas' old codger of a grandfather leads it nowadays."

"Yup," said Harry dryly, before his finger found another name. "And she…" He faltered, a musing, fascinated expression spreading over his face. "She is probably the most brilliant of the whole lot. Sidony Slytherin."

Fascinating, and deeply entrenched in mystery, for Harry had soon seen that she had been the one who had contributed the most to the development of the ritual meant to free Salazar Slytherin from his Animagus prison. The brightest but also the most perplexing since she was linked to many other enigmas.

Harry still remembered how enthused he had been when Tom had showed him Salazar Slytherin's treeline, discovering that he was distantly related to Charlus Potter – through a witch by the name of Sidony Slytherin, one of the few Slytherins to have ever married outside of the family instead of following the tradition of incestuous bondings.

Married to an Ignatius Peverell, bearing one sole daughter, who had married the first Potter patriarch as Harry had later discovered, which explained why the treeline diagram had urged the reader to 'see Potter line' right under the linked names of Sidony and Ignatius Peverell.

Nevertheless, the connection that intrigued him the most was that her husband had been the descendant of Ignotus Peverell – that Potter ancestor Charlus had once told him about, the one who had supposedly made Charlus' Invisibility Cloak, whose 'family crest' Harry always saw in the magic imbued in the Cloak and which he had inexplicably briefly seen glowing on the handle of the Dark Lord's wand.

A family crest, which, until this day, no one seemed to know that Grindelwald had stolen and adopted as his own. That still puzzled him in the extreme.

The Slytherins thought that the symbol was the Grindelwald family coat of arms. While the rest of the students didn't even seem to know that the Dark Lord employed a symbol at all. There were only a few exceptions, like Myrtle who had researched the matter after having seen Tilly Toke's pendant dangling from Tom's neck when they had been saving her during the London Blitz.

Yet, not even Charlus Potter seemed to be aware that the Dark Lord was using what was allegedly the family crest of a Potter ancestor. And the Dark Lord's motives for this made no sense at all to Harry.

And just to top it all, Sidony Slytherin, probably the only Slytherin that had had the skills and capacity to be able to develop the ritual until its conclusion, had dropped it the day before her wedding day to Peverell. The entries of her diary abruptly halting on that very specific date, which Harry had double-checked with the treeline diagram.

It was as though she had simply decided to pack up and leave, tossing everything aside to start a fresh new life with her husband, Salazar Slytherin and his predicament be damned.

Harry shook his head, amused. She must have been quite a witch.

"What does it all mean, then?" piped in Alphard's voice, piercing through Harry's musings.

He glanced at his friend, seeing Alphard staring at him with an expectant, eager look on his face. At that, he also noticed Ollivander scratching his chin, shooting him a keen glance as he stopped perusing the ledgers.

Harry cocked his head to a side as he contemplated the wandmaker, finally voicing what he had been wondering for a while, "Why did you let us in?" He gestured at the ledgers, to clarify his point as he intently stared at the man. "Why give me all this information so freely?"

Ollivander straightened himself, his eerie moon-like eyes roaming over Harry's scar, his face, to his hands and finally his wand, before he gazed into Harry's eyes once more, as he said in his wispy voice, "I find myself curious to see what is to come."

Harry blinked at that rather cryptic response. Seeing that no more would be forthcoming from the man, he shook his head, sighing.

It didn't matter. He owed Ollivander a huge debt for the priceless information. He could at least repay him by satisfying a small smidgen of the deep curiosity he could see in the wandmaker's eyes.

He first glanced at Alphard and then at Ollivander, as he pointed at the ledgers. "The point is that all those Phoenixes are one and the same. Five Slytherins before us. Tom and I are the sixth and seventh. Chosen, I think." He shot the wandmaker a pointed look. "By the wands, by the feathers." He grimaced wryly. "Not due to our compatibility with the Phoenix's personality traits, but due to what the Phoenix was after." He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Potential."

"Potential for what?" echoed Alphard confusedly.

'Potential for completing the ritual that could liberate Salazar Slytherin,' Harry inwardly thought. 'Wands through which he could keep track of us, if he wanted.' Though he certainly didn't voice it. He had already said too much.

Ollivander was surveying him with a deep frown on his face, as he stated, "A Phoenix cannot imbue in its feathers any other criteria but its own nature-"

"Do we really know what a Phoenix can or can't do?" interrupted Harry exasperatedly, before he waved a hand. "And anyway, I'm not talking about any random Phoenix, but this particular kind."

"Kind?" Ollivander's frown deepened. "There are no different species of Phoenixes."

Harry shrugged at that. Let the man make of it what he would. It was time to go home.

"Can we use your Floo connection to get to Hogsmeade?"


	66. Part I: Chapter 65

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers of last chapter, you always motivate me to carry on! ^.^

Another super speedy update, I'm spoiling you *winks*. Enjoy!

**Warnings:** mention of sex-related topics and somewhat explicit pedophilia.

_Italics_ for foreign languages, mostly German.

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**Part I: Chapter 65**

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Kasimira Von Krauss drummed her long, red fingernails against the top of her desk. She was in her private dormitory in Durmstrang, her school trunk at her side, as she counted the minutes for the school's bells to chime the hour.

She had packed days in advance, it seemed, in preparation for that very moment: the end of her O.W.L. examinations, the moment they could all leave school for their 'homes'.

She had done brilliantly, of course, she hadn't even broken a sweat during the practice part of the Dark Arts test. The proctors at Durmstrang had been left suitably impressed by her skills, though she certainly wouldn't be missing any of it.

It would be her last day of having to suffer the children and professors of Durmstrang, her last day as a Von Krauss. Sixteen years old and, finally, she would commence her new life, she would become her own person.

"_Are you certain it will work?"_ Kasimira demanded from the small portrait laid on top of her desk.

"_When have I ever failed you, girl?"_ replied the woman in a heavily and strangely accented German.

Kasimira contemplated her Großmutter - her paternal grandmother, her mentor, her salvation. She still remembered, as though it was yesterday, the day she had encountered her.

Six years old, she had been, a silly, stupid little girl still trying to impress her father, to be considered worthy, to be loved. Running through the halls of Von Krauss Castle, crying, after a lesson with her Dark Arts tutor – where she had been commended by her teacher, yet her father had failed once more to be present, to observe how well she was doing, how 'intelligent and exceptionally gifted' she was, as all her tutors declared with much pride.

By accident, she had suddenly found herself in one of the long-abandoned and disused wings of the castle. Even knowing she wasn't allowed in those parts, she had been too pathetically distraught by another failure in her attempts of catching her father's attention.

She had thrown herself unto the dusty floors and covered her small head with her arms, letting loose all her hurt and anger in a tantrum of tears.

"_I am a Von Krauss,"_ she had croaked furiously into her thin arms. _"I am his daughter – his heir!"_

"_Heir?"_ a sharp, amused voice had answered, making Kasimira stiffen and glance up, frowning when she saw a portrait of a woman staring down at her. _"If I know Konrad, you lack a cock between your legs, girl, to be considered his heir. He'll never see you as one."_

Kasimira had gaped at her, stunned. Not by what the portrait said, but how she said it. Never had anyone spoken like that to her before, never with such words that would make her own prim and puffed-up mother have a shrieking fit.

Her icy blue eyes had roved over the portrait, taking notice of the woman's strange, beguiling appearance, her olive skin, her large, almond-shaped black eyes, her thick curtains of raven hair, her enticing, dark beauty, along with the strange magical tattoo swirling along her nose, and she gasped.

"_You – you're The Gypsy!"_ Kasimira had chocked out, jumping to her feet, both fearful and fascinated.

"_Gypsy?"_ sneered the woman scornfully, skewering her with an angered black gaze. _"That is a despicable muggle term, girl, that pays no tribute to my forebears or race. I am a Romani. I am your grandmother. I am Mahala."_

"_I know,"_ whispered Kasimira under her breath, taking a step closer to the portrait, brimming with long-held intrigue.

Her mother Ludmilla had long made clear that she was forbidden from asking any questions about her paternal grandmother. Her father, who barely spared her two words, would talk of the mother whom he had never truly known even less. Kasimira's father had been taken by Ulrich and Gellert Grindelwald when he had been a little boy, accompanying them in their voyages, being haphazardly raised so.

The little she knew was from the nasty whispers, insults, and mocking jeers from other pureblooded children her age.

Her grandfather Ulrich's wife had been infamous in her day. A witch of great beauty and power, from a very old family in Germany, yet of Gypsy ancestry, the wealth of her family often attributed to very dark dealings, of gambling and swindling, from the strange illness and sudden deaths that struck their enemies, from obtaining riches and power through unknown Dark sorcery.

It was said that Mahala had put Ulrich Von Krauss under a spell, forcing him to fall in love with her. Kasimira had always doubted that, she knew Von Krausses married for money and influence, and Mahala's family had been vastly wealthy once upon a time, before her grandfather Ulrich had spent both fortunes in his dallyings with Gellert Grindelwald all across the world.

"_You lack a cock, girl,"_ Mahala had continued, a sharp smile forming on her plump lips. _"Do you understand?"_

Kasimira frowned, before she nodded uncertainly.

Mahala let out a dry chuckle, as she arched a finely sculpted black eyebrow. _"No, you don't. Do you know what a 'cock' is, girl? Never seen one, have you? It is what men – be it muggle or wizard – think with. It is what you don't have – but you do have something else between your thighs, do you not? That, is your best tool."_

The six-year-old Kasmira had puzzledly glanced down at her gown, as she heard her grandmother's portrait laughing at her.

"_I see I have much to teach you. And I will, when you dry your tears, girl. Romani witches don't cry."_

And so it had begun, what Kasimira would come to consider the most useful of life lessons.

With her father always gone in missions for the Dark Lord, and her Russian mother more interested in her social life and parties, rarely taking Kasimira with her when she took residence in her beloved Russia but rather leaving her in Germany to be raised by the house-elves, Mahala had become her true parent.

"_Would you like to learn, girl?"_ Mahala had pressed, a devious twist to the corner of her lips. "_Not from your horrid mother, I dare say. That frigid hag hasn't shared my son's bed in ages, from what all the portraits tell me. But you could learn from your father."_

It was thus that a little Kasimira had discovered the true use of the many mirrors hanging all about Von Krauss Castle. Before then, she had only heard that Mahala had been a witch so obsessed with her beauty that, once she had married Ulrich Von Krauss, she had littered the castle with mirrors to always be able to contemplate her own perfection.

As it went, the truth was quite different, as Mahala explained to her the system of secret corridors that could be accessed through the many mirrors, built by a wizard mason that Mahala had later poisoned to death. Secret passageways meant to allow Mahala to have her long chain of young lovers visit her at nights without society finding out.

Mirrors that were double-faced, allowing Kasimira to observe what happened in Von Krauss Castle from within the secret corridors.

It had been with a strange sense of both detachment and interest that she had watched her father in his bedroom, spending the night with a witch she recognized as one of the mothers of the few pureblood children she was allowed to interact with.

The 'sex' – as Mahala had termed it when explaining the subject - between them hadn't looked very inspired, rather mechanical, as though it was a mere, perfunctory physical release, since her father had performed swiftly and without much passion or interest. The witch had seemed much more involved and needful, though she had been quickly dismissed by Konrad. She had been one in a very long series of pureblood women.

"_My son is seeking to produce a male heir," _Mahala's portrait had told her later that night, a glint in her dark eyes. _"Your mother refuses to bear him any more children." _She chuckled sharply._ "At least, in that, I tip my hat to Ludmilla."_

"_My father wouldn't-"_ little Kasimira had gritted out from between clenched teeth_. "An heir must be a trueborn!"_

"_Konrad is desperate enough to consider having a bastard as an heir, clearly," _interrupted Mahala mercilessly._ "As long as it is born with a cock."_

"_He'll never accept me?"_ had mumbled Kasimira in a weak voice, but even then, the fact had no longer hurt, she had already begun to see it in a different scope, thanks to her grandmother.

It was no longer about obtaining her father's favor and affection – she no longer loved either of her parents, if she ever had. It had become a matter of ensuring her position as their sole heiress, of attaining the only means for her liberty.

"_No,"_ replied Mahala curtly, before she gave her a sharp, wide smile. _"But there is a solution. Blood Magic and Potions is what we, Romani, specialize in. Our knowledge is our own. Never shared with outsiders, never recorded. We pass it on, from mother to child. My son," _she added in a caustic tone_, "never cared to learn it from me. He spurned my race, my foolish, unfeeling Konrad." _

"_What is the solution?"_ demanded little Kasimira sharply.

"_Poison, of course,"_ Mahala calmly retorted, before she pierced her with a gauging look. _"If you consent to learn the Romani ways, you'll find that sex is not the only tool available for a girl of your station and ancestry."_

"_Why teach me?"_ Kasimira pressed, scrutinizing her grandmother's portrait.

"_Not because I ever fancied the task of raising a child,"_ Mahala scoffed acidly. _"I never possessed a motherly bone in my body. My son was taken from me at a young age, and even now he's unsuitable."_ She gave her a sardonic twist of the lips. _"Konrad has ice in his veins, not Romani blood. You, on the other hand… I see myself in you, girl."_

Kasimira had gazed dubiously at the portrait. There was little resemblance between them. She had the Von Krauss looks, the frosty blue eyes, the pale, sandy blonde hair, whilst Mahala was dark. There was merely a similar shape of their faces and mouths.

"_Not in appearance,"_ Mahala clarified curtly, _"but in situation in life. What society allows pureblood witches to attain in life is very limited, is it not?" _She skewered her with her dark gaze, as she added fiercely,_ "If you want freedom, girl, you must kill for it. As I did. No one will give it to you, otherwise."_

"_Kill?"_ Kasimira frowned at her. _"Who? How?"_

"_Who?"_ chuckled Mahala. _"Your competition, to begin with."_ She narrowed her black eyes at her. _"Do you accept my terms?"_

"_Will your teachings really help me?" _pressed Kasimira uncertainly.

"_Of course," _retorted Mahala, giving her a feral smile._ "Who do you think killed your grandfather Ulrich?"_

Staring at the portrait, fascinated, Kasimira had nodded without a second thought after that.

Indeed, it had been widely believed that it had been Egon Erlichmann who had managed to kill Ulrich Von Krauss so many years ago when her grandfather had returned to Germany with Gellert Grindelwald. The feud between the Erlichmanns and Von Krausses was legendary.

Even she had always despised the Erlichmanns, especially when everyone seemed to be always jabbering about their perfect heir – perfect, male, Julian Erlichmann who was so very bright and talented, who made his father proud. Who was everything a dark pureblood heir should be because he had what Kasimira lacked: a cock.

She had often overheard Egon Erlichmann yammering about his dear son Julian during gatherings, and she had seen her father's expression, the wrath but worse, the envy, because his most hated rival had a son and he did not.

To discover that it had been her own Gypsy grandmother who had killed Ulrich, had been quite a revelation. Even more so because no one had ever suspected it, everyone assuming Egon must have done the deed.

And it had been just for the very simple reason that Mahala had not been enthused by her husband's return to Germany. She had wanted the freedom to continue having her pleasure with her long string of young male lovers, and had no use for a husband besotted with another man – a man becoming a Dark Lord, freely making use of the wealth Mahala had brought into the Von Krauss vaults, and depleting it all.

Poisoning her grandfather Ulrich, Kasimira admitted, had been wise and understandable, yet it hadn't spared a sixty-year-old Mahala from being murdered by one of her young lovers in a fit of jealousy.

Mahala's portrait had snorted dismissively at that. _"You silly girl, how many times do I have to tell you – there is no such thing as Love."_ She quirked an impatient black eyebrow at her, the tattoo along her nose swirling slowly. _"There is only lust and pleasure to make our lives more bearable."_

After that, the 'Romani ways', as her grandmother had called them, had indeed allowed Kasimira to secure her own place. The Blood Magic and Potions that Mahala taught her were like none she had ever heard of or read in any books.

Poisoning her father's morning tea to render him impotent had been a trifle with Mahala's teachings in poison-making and ingredient-harvesting, thus ending whatever possibility of having a bastard sibling as a competitor for the Von Krauss estates.

It had also been about to serve her as a way of disposing of her most despised rival. At seven years of age, she had visited Nurmengard Tower for the first time in her life, during a gathering of the Dark Lord's Haupte Kommandanten and their families.

The children had been left in a vast room in the Tower's ground floor, while the adults had joined a meeting of some sort with the Dark Lord, before they could partake in any socializing activities.

Kasimira had been excitedly looking forward to it, to finally lay eyes on the person she despised and resented the most: Julian Erlichmann, the much vaunted heir of Egon Erlichmann.

She had prepared one of her grandmother's poisons, carrying it hidden under her gown's sleeve in a tiny flask, to get rid of the bane of her existence – the standard she was always compared with. Because no matter how astoundingly well she did with her tutors, no matter how very talented she proved to be, her father saw nothing but a girl in her, an unsuited female.

Yet nothing could have prepared her for the experience of seeing Julian Erlichmann in the flesh.

It hadn't been a smug, pompous, sauntering and boasting fifteen-year-old boy she had seen from afar, through the crowd of other loud, unbearable pureblood children, but a vision of loveliness.

There had been no smirk or inflated chest, no conceited pride, but a boyishly handsome face of guileless, sky blue eyes and short waves of coppery hair. Nothing in the boy's demeanor but softness, kindness, and –intriguingly so- pain in his eyes, as though he held a crushing burden on his shoulders.

Julian didn't interact with any of the other pureblood children, but rather looked tense and wary, and strangely quiet, avoiding all others. Kasimira's curiosity had been piqued, of course, especially when she saw the boy slipping away from the gathering.

Her hatred of him had instantly vanished, replaced by a profound interest, when she had silently and covertly followed him, bemused when she heard him speaking to thin air, bizarrely so, to someone called 'Santi'.

It had turned all the more fascinating when she realized the boy entered Nurmengard's dungeons and stopped by the cell bars of a brutalized woman.

The conversation held had made no sense to the seven-year-old Kasimira. At first she had thought they were all mad: Julian and the prisoner –'Sybilla Spyros', apparently, as Julian had uttered- both speaking as though there was someone else with them.

But then, she had seen it: a glimmer of a rippling, a figure barely visible, standing by Julian's side, tall and broad-shouldered, some sort of strange, ghostly man, who shot her a glance over his shoulder just as Julian exchanged the next few words with the imprisoned witch.

Kasimira had taken a shaky step back, nearly tripping on her silk slippers, when the strange man's gaze captured her own, because for a moment she felt as though she was sinking into those eerie milky eyes, for a moment she saw flashes of images invading her mind, so speedily, such an avalanche, that there was not a second to take them in, but it all left her with a powerful surge of emotions.

Panting, she had ducked around the corner, fearful of what had happened, fearful of being seen by Julian, or of being approached by the bizarre phantom.

She had turned heel and silently fled back to the gathering, her mind a distressed havoc, because she had seen herself, older, in Julian Erlichmann's arms, and she had felt a profound well of boundless, maddening love.

'A little girl's crush' her grandmother Mahala had sneeringly dubbed her sudden change of heart regarding Julian Erlichmann and her increasing obsession in finding out all she could about him.

Yet from that moment onwards, it was intrigue she felt when she thought of the older boy, not hatred. An obsession that grew stronger when everyone began to speak about the boy incessantly, when Julian graduated from Beauxbatons with flying colors and became the youngest victor of the European Dueling Championship.

He had been in the lips of everyone, as he entered the Dark Lord's ranks, as he rose through them like a shooting star, as he became Grindelwald's alleged lover and favorite.

And all the while, though not meeting him again, Kasimira thought of him endlessly.

Years later, poisoning her mother to plague her with a long-lasting disease which would eventually kill her, had been just as simple as dealing with her father's attempts of begetting a male heir, ensuring Kasimira would receive Ludmilla's fortune whilst still young enough to be able to forge a new life for herself.

Gaining the freedom of movement she so desired during her first years at Durmstrang, had been just as easy.

"_Get rid of your maidenhood, soonest,"_ Mahala's shrunken portrait that Kasimira had taken with her to school, had sharply advised. _"It is the true shackle of a pureblood witch. You do not desire to preserve your chastity for the husband that will be chosen for you, I presume?"_

"_Of course not, Grandmother,"_ a thirteen-year-old Kamisira had replied angrily. _"Father has let me know that he's negotiating with an English family for my hand in bonding."_ She furiously gritted her teeth, raking her long nails on the portrait's frame. _"A Malfoy! Two years younger than me!"_

Mahala gave her a calculating look. _"Then trade your maidenhood now, for something you hold dear."_

Kasimira had nodded, and done exactly so.

She had already chosen her prey. It had only been too easy. She had noticed the way their Potions professor's eyes wandered to the girls' skirts and blouses during class, she had seen Mr. Poliakoff licking his lips, heard of some rumored incidents and knew of Durmstrangs girls' disgust and wariness for their obese teacher.

Nothing sordid could have truly happened, certainly, or Mr. Poliakoff would have long been history.

Her peers at Durmstrang were, for the most part, dim-witted, dull, and boring: girls vying to be the prettiest to eventually trap a worthy pureblood boy to be their husbands, their ambitions no loftier than being perfect hostesses, trophy wives, and brood mares; whilst the boys attempted to behave as befitted their family names, to be the best and make their parents proud, to parrot their same beliefs and attitudes.

Yet, they were all from well-respected dark pureblooded families who would smite Mr. Poliakoff without a second thought if the wizard dared lay a hand on their daughters.

They all had a sheep-like mentality to Kasimira, who had long ago shed any desire or need to be cherished by her own parents. None of them were her friends: she was too weird, her opinions too shocking and unfitting for a pureblood witch, her desire for independence too much of an aberration.

Girls mocked her, boys gave her a wide berth - "Mad 'Mira", they all called her.

Nevertheless, her reputation would serve her well, for she knew that, despite it all, she was a beauty. Thankfully, she had inherited her father's aloof, unattainable and pale handsomeness instead of her Russian mother's ugliness.

With a slim, petite figure which had, by thirteen, began to develop some breasts, her hips slightly widening, she had reached womanhood. She had brewed and drunk one of the concoctions Mahala had taught her, and delayed one evening after the end of a Potions lesson.

Pretending, with a meek, shy voice, to have some doubts regarding an assigned essay, she had acted precisely as what she suspected the fat wizard was attracted to: a feeble, easily manipulated, defenseless little girl.

When Professor Poliakoff laid a fat, sweaty hand on her thigh, Kasimira let out a nervous twitter and kept asking him questions with an impressed and admiring, wide-eyed look on her face. When the man's disgusting, pudgy hand began to tentatively climb higher up her skirt, she giggled and shot him a confused smile.

The moment his hand grasped her breast through the fabric of her blouse, and she let out a frightened, weak whimper, she knew she had him, as Mr. Poliakoff licked his lips, sweating, and leaned his obese body closer to hers, nearly crushingly.

A few minutes later, Kasimira was supporting herself against the desk of her teacher, her blouse torn, her skirt hitched up to her waist, as Mr. Poliakoff pounded into her from behind, sweating and grunting like a swine, his unbearable stench making her grit her teeth, his grubby hands harshly groping her thighs and breasts feeling like crawling, slimy slugs, as he licked her neck, panted and garbled enthusiastically.

"_This will be our little secret, yes, Kasimira?"_

"_Yes!"_ she squeaked in a terrified voice, making him groan in pleasure and thrust all the more excitedly and brutally.

Kasimira kept her eyes open as she faced the wall, not even flinching. The pain had receded away some time ago, the first time she had felt the trickles of blood of her broken maidenhood trailing down her thighs.

She felt nothing but disgust – for the man pounding behind her, that was, not for the act itself. It was a means to an end, as her grandmother had long ago taught her. And could be an experience of intense pleasure, sometimes, when done with beautiful young men at her mercy, with 'boy-toys' as Mahala often spoke about in a reminiscent, fond tone.

With a last, loud, breathless grunt from her teacher, she finally felt the pig's release spurting inside her, and instantly shoved him away violently.

Mr. Poliakoff nearly tripped over his pulled-down trousers, staring at her with shock, before he seemed to compose himself, a grave, chiding expression spreading over his fat, sweaty face, _"Now, now, Fräulein Von Krauss…" _He trailed off, a smug smile hitching his lips as he licked them and lowered his voice, _"You are a very naughty, naughty little girl-"_

"_Spare me,"_ bit out Kasimira as she briskly waved her wand and instantly clothed herself. _"The act is over. Now, you and I are going to reach an agreement-"_

"_I beg your pardon?"_ spluttered the wizard, once more looking startled and confused by her sudden change in behavior.

"_I said,"_ Kasimira snapped impatiently, _"that it's time for you to pay your dues." _She shot him a mocking look. _"Did you think this was for free, Mr. Poliakoff?"_

The man flapped his mouth noiselessly, apparently struck-dumb, his chins wobbling as he stared at her, gobsmacked.

"_In exchange for the fun you've had at my expense,"_ Kasimira continued curtly, _"I require the limitless use of your Floo Connection. You'll give me the password to your quarters and allow me to use your fireplace any time I so wish." _

"_Look here, child,"_ interrupted Mr. Poliakoff, apparently gathering back his wits as anger broke on his fat face. _"I don't know what you're playing at-"_

"_That will be our agreement," _interjected Kamisira in a sharp voice, glaring at him,_ "if you want me to keep my mouth shut."_

"_You – your mo-uth shut?"_ stammered the Potions Professor, ogling at her, a look of horror on his face.

"_You didn't actually believe I enjoyed that, did you?"_ spat Kasimira, scrunching her nose in revulsion as she pointedly glanced at his bare and now shrunken worm between his fat, hairy legs. _"I'm afraid not-"_

"_You wouldn't dare!"_ snarled Mr. Poliakoff, violently pulling his trousers up and staggering as he attempted to launch himself at her.

"_Rape!"_ she shrieked, which instantly made the man halt in his tracks with a terrified look on his face. She smirked at him. _"Yes. See how it goes? I can scream again, if you want. And soon, we'll have a couple of your peers storming into the classroom. And I'll…. I'll…."_

She trailed off, and covered her face with her hands, shaking and shuddering as she began to wail and cry. _"I didn't want to, Headmaster! I asked Mr. Poliakoff to stop – stop! But he wouldn't – he – he-"_ Kasimira sobbed harder, as she cried out in a distraught, wretched tone, _"He threatened me – he told me to keep quiet or else! I couldn't make him STOP!"_

"_Y- you – you're mad!"_ the Potions teacher croaked, his eyes wide as he stumbled backwards. _"They were all right – you're deranged- I didn't force you! You asked for it, you wanted it-"_

"_I assume that's what all despicable pedophiles like you tell yourselves,"_ interjected Kasimira coolly, arching a pale eyebrow at him. _"I hardly think you could have mistaken the whimpers of fear I produced for you, as 'wanting it'."_ She waved a hand dismissively. _"The point is, do you agree to the deal between us?"_

Mr. Poliakoff seemingly choked on his own tongue as he spluttered, _"No – no one would believe you! I'll tell them how you beguiled me-"_

"_I am a Von Krauss,"_ snarled Kasimira, losing all restraint on her patience and temper as she advanced on the man, wand in hand. _"Who do you think they'll believe? Especially when I can share our little tryst with them."_ She demonstratively tapped the tip of her wand against the side of her head, before she skewered him with a glare. _"And you forget who my father is. I presume you've heard the rumors?" _She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. _"What do you think the Dark Lord's right-hand man would do to you if I wrote him a letter filled with splotches of tears?"_

Mr. Poliakoff swallowed thickly at that, wiping the sudden break of sweat off his face with a pudgy hand, as he croaked, _"What – what do you want?"_

"_I already told you,"_ snapped Kasimira tempestuously. _"Give me your password!"_

"_What did you gain?"_ demanded Mahala's portrait several hours later.

"_Freedom,"_ replied Kasimira as she tiredly dropped unto her bed, a wide, satisfied smirk spreading on her face. _"I visited Paris, today."_

It had been the beginning of her many travels to the outside world through Mr. Poliakoff's Floo connection. Glamouring herself was easily done with her wand before stepping into the man's fireplace. Devising how to gain the information she wanted had taken her a bit longer.

Nevertheless, in the following few years she had become quite adept at it. Leaving Durmstrang every night she felt like, flooing to all places, passing herself off as different people, visiting Beauxbatons, Italy, and even the Muggle World, following Julian Erlichmann's trail and that of those who had known him.

Discovering Julian's schoolboy-liaison with the Frenchman Laurent Didier had been one of her first triumphs, going to the extent of visiting the up-and-coming painter in his study in Florence, posing as a wealthy, old witch looking to commission a portrait.

In a moment of Didier's distraction, she had even stolen a silver locket she had glimpsed on the wizard's worktable. She wore it ever since. It held a beautifully painted magical daguerreotype of Julian Erlichmann – a younger, carefree version of him.

Discovering that Julian was part of a vigilante group led by Albus Dumbledore, named the 'Order of the Phoenix', had startled her, especially considering the source of the information.

She had long learned how to access her father's study in Von Krauss Castle through her grandmother's unsuspected mirrors. Konrad Von Krauss was a wizard who carefully kept records and files on everything. Not only scrolls with missions that the Dark Lord entrusted him with, but also with evidence of his own speculations, plots, and suspicions.

None of it bode well for Julian Erlichmann. And little of it made sense to her, after having found her grandfather Ulrich's writings in Konrad's study: filled with information regarding some sort of magical artifact dubbed as 'The Vessel'.

Not to mention her father's scrolls on Anacleto Armonious and Sybilla Spyros. When reading such, Kasimira had vaguely remembered having heard those names before, and the rumors associated with them.

Armonious for having been the infamous creator of Time Turners, still being sought at large by Aurors of several countries, whilst long ago she had heard speculations regarding the wizard's whereabouts – namely, in Nurmengard Tower.

Moreover, the files and information her father kept on the man made little sense, filled with notes about 'altering timelines' and 'anchors' and such other incomprehensible, nonsensical dribble.

Sybilla Spyros, according to her father's notes, a descendant of the great, one true Seer, Cassandra. Yet, she had heard that name, time ago, when she had seen Julian Erlichmann in the flesh for the first time. The imprisoned witch, had been her.

Nevertheless, Kasimira had cared little about such matters, even when she had discovered her father's latest mission regarding the impending adoption of two boys from England.

It had made her spitting mad, certainly, but at the time her head had been filled with the triumph of the Dark Lord over Norway – and the celebration to be held in Egon Erlichmann's manor.

Finally, her time had come. The chance to see Julian again, and the means by which to accomplish it.

In the middle of her Fourth Year at Durmstrang, with few days left of class, she had sauntered into Mr. Poliakoff's private chambers.

As usual, even after the years that had passed by, the teacher had jumped in his seat, twitching nervously and casting her fearful looks as she proceeded to utterly ignore him as she used his Floo Connection.

The celebration was in full swing by the time Kasimira stepped out of one of Egon Erlichmann's fireplaces, dusting off her skimpy dress.

If there was one thing she had learned to envy during her journeys into the Muggle World, it was their women's lives. That any filthy, pathetic, magicless muggle woman enjoyed more freedoms and options in life than her, a pureblood Von Krauss, had been a hard truth to swallow, infuriating her in the extreme, making her shriek in outrage.

She had often seen them, walking down their disgusting, grimy muggle streets, in their scandalizing skirts that just reached under their knees, whilst Kasimira had spent her life in gowns that covered her ankles or school skirts that reached her calves. Women who _worked_ for a living, earned their income, chose whom they married, even had the right to vote.

After her appearance in the gathering had caused quite a stir and shock in the onlookers –certainly, the stuck-up purebloods who brownnosed the Dark Lord did not often behold a girl in high-heeled boots, wearing a striped pantyhose and a slinky black dress with a plunging cleavage and a hem that barely reached her knees- she struck up a match and lighted the cigarrette dangling from her fingers.

She smirked as the action spurred another round of appalled whispers. It was one of the many things she had emulated from the muggle women she had once seen strolling in the Parisian streets. Even for them, it was quite a statement.

Catching sight of her father, staring at her with a livid expression by the Dark Lord's side, made Kasimira's smirk become wider as she took a drag of the muggle cigarrette, inhaled deeply, and puffed out a cloud of smoke.

Rubbing her father the wrong way had become her favorite pastime, ever since her mother had died a month ago – finally– from a 'mysterious disease', of course caused by the Romani poison Kasimira had fed her years before.

Her mother's vast fortune was, at last, solely hers.

It was her who now controlled the purse-strings, it was her father who now had to bend knee and neck to her, and not the other way around. And the cherry on top of the cake was, of course, that her father was painfully aware of it.

"_Put that thing off,"_ hissed Konrad Von Krauss in a frosty, murderous tone as soon as Kasimira reached him, casting a revolted, furious glance at her cigarette, before piercing her with his icy eyes. _"What are you doing here? You should be at Durmstrang. How-"_

"_Now, now, Father, won't you kiss your daughter?"_ quipped Kasimira with a pleasant smile on her face. _"People are watching."_

With gritted teeth, Konrad Von Krauss swiftly pecked her on both cheeks, as though wanting to get over the unpleasantness as quickly as humanly possible.

Kasimira's sharp smile grew larger, before she turned to a side and performed a perfunctory curtsy. _"My Lord."_

"_Kasimira,"_ greeted the Dark Lord, with a crooked hitch of his lips, a glint of amusement in his hawk-like eyes.

Gellert Grindelwald had always found in her an endless source of entertainment since she was a toddler. She had become so used to it that it no longer angered or bothered her.

She knew the wizard saw little in her to be of interest, except as a possible means by which to develop further ties with other families like the Malfoys.

Kasimira had soon departed from the pair, having no wish of giving her father the opportunity to take her aside to give her a harsh scolding, if he dared to. That night, she had other matters to attend to: she was on the hunt.

Whispers followed her as she made her way through the crowds and took another puff from her cigarette, making her inwardly savor every time one of them shook their heads at her or shot her father nastily relishing glances or pitying looks for having such a daughter. Yes, let them know she was not like any of their stupid, vapid daughters or nieces.

She caught sight of her target moments later: standing outside in one of the balconies, alone, staring into the night. His lips were moving quickly, as though he was speaking to thin air, distressed.

Kasimira's breath hitched with feral excitement, as her high-heeled boots clicked faster against the marble floors, his murmured, strange words reaching her ears as she drew nearer.

"… _Israel… it will be given to them by the British, you say, after the war? It makes no sense! To carve out a Jewish country, in the Middle East of all places, from Britain's former mandate, filled with Arab citizens? What will happen to the Arabs there?"_

Kasimira's eyes narrowed with suspicion and speculation, as Julian's voice kept rambling in agitation.

"… _if what you say is true – that it will cause decades of warfare and conflict, and countless deaths of Palestinians, then this could be part of Spyro's plan! A way of getting muggles to murder each other – she hoodwinked the Guardians, of that we can be certain – of course I will still go through with it! But I'd like to know that my efforts won't cause a genocide in the future!"_

Frowning, but much too impatient to give the nonsensical utterings a second thought, Kasimira stepped out as she hastily flicked aside one of the velvet draperies adorning the archway, the ruffling noise making her prey spin around in alertness.

She couldn't help the triumphant smirk that blossomed on her face as Julian Erlichmann stared at her, looking startled.

He was more perfect and lovely than she recalled from her foggy memory. Twenty-four years of age, he had now, if her information was correct. Much taller and handsome than when he had been fifteen, despite the paleness and gauntness of his face, despite the lack of lively spark in his sky blue eyes.

"_Who are you?"_ Julian demanded sternly, to then cast the archway a befuddled look. _"How did you enter?"_

Kasimira quirked an eyebrow, glancing at the archway as well, before she smirked in dark amusement. _"Was it supposed to be warded against intruders?"_

Julian frowned, casting a glance to the empty air at his side, before he suddenly paled as though having received a great shock, some sort of dawning comprehension striking him as he glanced at her once more, a look of horror on his face.

Perhaps he had just then noticed her rather provocative and mugglish dress, Kasimira mused as she let out a sharp bout of giggles – the kind she could never repress when her blood rushed hot through her veins, like that of a predator scenting her prey about to be within clawing reach.

"_We haven't been introduced,"_ said Kasimira coolly as soon as she recovered her wits, forcing her thundering, racing heart to be still.

"_Julian Erlichmann, at your service,"_ he croaked weakly, in a clear attempt to be courteous and polite, giving her a jerky bow of the head.

He looked dismayed and scared out of his wits. Kasimira widely smirked at him, taking some steps and leaning against the balustrade, turning around to face him. _"I know."_

Julian gazed at her with a pinched look on his face, although also evidently waiting for the proper introduction of herself. She didn't give it, but kept raking his figure with her eyes.

"_Can I help you?"_ he pressed, a forced hint of impatience and disinterest in his tone.

He was looking even paler than before, and twitchy, and kept glancing to a side, for some mysterious reason-

"_Oh,"_ said Kasimira, quirking an eyebrow as she glanced to all sides as well, an irked expression growing on her face. _"Is that thing with you again?"_

"_That… thing?"_ echoed Julian, snapping his head around to pierce her with his gaze. _"What thing?"_

"_Your ghost – of some ancestor of yours, I presume," _Kasimira expounded impatiently, waving a hand dismissively. _"Or whatever it is."_

Julian looked faint and alarmed for a moment, his gaze darting to a side before his eyes narrowed at her. _"You see him – now?"_

"_No,"_ replied Kasimira as kindly as she could muster, which was never much. _"I saw it years ago, when we met for the first time."_

"_I've never met you,"_ ground out Julian, looking angered, shooting an accusing look to his side.

"_I was seven,"_ said Kasimira with a low chuckle, her icy eyes sparkling, _"and you were fifteen. It was the first time I set foot in Nurmengard. It was during a-"_

"_A gathering of the Haupte Kommandanten and their families,"_ breathed out Julian shakily, his sky blue eyes widening as he stared at her with a colorless face. _"I don't recall you."_

"_But I do you,"_ retorted Kasimira with a sharkish smile.

"_You can't possibly be—"_ mumbled Julian under his breath, looking poleaxed as he kept staring at her _"—give me solace and comfort… can't be… you're just a child…"_

"_I'm fifteen,"_ interjected Kasimira, her eyebrows climbing higher, before she shook her head.

Well, she had never ruled out having to put up with insanity in a lover – she had plenty of her own, to begin with, according to most.

And he _would_ be her lover. It seemed to her she had decided such when she had been a mere little girl, when she had seen that he was not what she had expected, when he had piqued her interest as none had before.

She still argued about the matter endlessly with Mahala. Her grandmother was not impressed with her choice or obsessive feelings, but rather 'vastly disappointed' as the portrait had often and cruelly spat at her.

Men were playthings in Mahala's view, to be used and discarded for one's own aims, and to use for pleasure when one found a desirable and malleable 'boy-toy' - her grandmother was still inordinately fond of the term.

Yet, Julian could be _her_ boy-toy, as much as he already was that of the Dark Lord's, according to wagging tongues. Moreover, he was what she should have been – what a pureblood heir should be, much hailed and praised by all, proper, talented, powerful, and in the Dark Lord's highest esteem and ranks.

He was what her father envied in his eternal rival Egon Erlichmann. Julian had the gender she should have been born with, he had everything she had ever wanted.

It was only right that she should taste and have it all, through him. That her curiosity turned obsession had grown, through the years, to become fascination, need and huger for him and what he had, was only natural.

Thus, it was only fitting that she had chosen him – her first true lover, the one with which she wanted to finally feel the pleasures that could be had in sex, according to Mahala.

"_A child,"_ declared Julian with clenched jaws, looking furious, as though he had been tricked and cheated. _"A girl."_

"_Girl?"_ Kasimira snarled furiously as she jumped away from the balustrade. _"Perhaps."_ She let out a sharp, grating chuckle. _"But 'child' I have not been for years. I am no maiden!"_

"_Hardly something to be proud of,"_ muttered Julian, eyeing her with distaste, expression that deepened as his gaze trailed over her skimpy dress.

Kasimira hissed under her breath as she leapt at him, fingernails poised as she embedded them in his cheek, raking the tender flesh.

Julian recoiled, yelling in startled shock as he clutched his injured face.

Kasimira laughed as she slapped him hard on his unprotected side. _"My sweet – lovely – Julian __–_"

"_Restrain yourself!"_ bit out Julian angrily, as he forcefully grabbed her slender wrists.

"_Some fight in you, Erlichmann, finally!" _chuckled Kasimira nastily, before she shot him a lewd, appreciative look. _"I do like feistiness in my lovers, I think."_

"_Lover?"_ Julian shook his head as he gently released her, taking a step back, looking dispirited as he tiredly rubbed his gaunt face. _"This is ridiculous…"_

"_Where are you going?"_ snarled Kasimira when the young man turned to leave the balcony.

"_I apologize,"_ shot Julian quietly over his shoulder. _"There has been a mistake."_

"_What mistake?"_ hissed Kasimira angrily under her breath. _"I have yet to give you my ultimatum!"_

"_Ultimatum?"_ repeated Julian, turning around to face her with an annoyed frown on his face. _"What ultimatum? I don't even know who you are."_

Kasimira threw him an impatient scowl. _"I am Kasimira Von Krauss!"_

"_Konrad's mad daughter?" _Julian stared at her, before he erupted into a hollow bout of laughter, glancing at his side._ "Of course! Who else would it be but a Von Krauss – were you going for irony, eh?" _

"_What irony?" _snapped Kasimira, at the end of her rope with utter ill-temper. If there was something she couldn't abide was to be laughed at.

Julian shook his head, and cast her a brief glance. _"This is madness. It has not been a pleasure meeting you. Farewell, Fräulein Von Krauss."_

Kasimira gnashed her teeth, fuming, as Julian began leaving the balcony. _"You haven't heard what I have to say, Erlichmann."_

"_I've heard enough."_

"_I want you as a lover,"_ Kasimira bit out thunderously.

"_I am nothing but a stranger to you, child,"_ threw Julian over his shoulder in a tired and disinterested tone, as he set a foot on the threshold of the archway, about to enter the gathering's main room. _"Go to your betrothed."_

"_It's not Abraxas Malfoy whom I want!" _snarled Kasimira, raising her voice when Julian had nearly vanished behind the curtains._ "You are no stranger to me – I know more about you than any other living soul – I know about Laurent Didier!"_

She barely saw him as a shadow behind the draperies, as Julian came to a sudden halt.

In an instant, he was back outside in the balcony, brusquely and painfully grabbing her shoulders, shaking her hard, as he spat furiously,_ "What did you say!"_

Kasimira stared up at him in fascination, giddily breathless at the show of liveliness and emotion on his handsome face – no longer acting like an apathetic, shell of a wizard, but with passion, with fear, with rage.

"_I know about Laurent,"_ she breathed out, smirking triumphantly at him as she pointedly withdrew her pack of muggle cigarettes from her purse, not easily as he was still keeping a tight, restraining grip on her shoulders.

"_Gitanes,"_ mumbled Julian under her breath, his sky blue eyes darting to hers as he suddenly released her, taking a step back, looking fearful. _"That's Laurent's brand."_

"_It's not the only thing I once took from him,"_ retorted Kasimira with vast satisfaction, as she pulled out the silver pendant dangling inside the cleavage of her dress, clicking it open, displaying the daguerreotype of a cheerful, younger, waving Julian.

"_Laurent painted that, ages ago,"_ Julian choked out, his sky blue eyes fixed on it. _"How did you get it?"_

"_I paid him my first visit a while back,"_ replied Kasimira smoothly, her smirk turning feral as she continued, _"He's always been a very valuable source of information."_ She snorted disparagingly. _"I cannot say I was impressed by your taste in men." _She cocked her to a side, mockingly. _"I suppose you valued that he was besotted with you. Wouldn't stop yammering about you when I told him I had a niece who knew you from Beauxbatons."_

"_Niece, you?"_ Julian blinked at her.

"_I am rather adept at Glamours," _said Kasimira smugly. _"I am The Gypsy of Many Faces." _

Seeing his confused expression, she waved a hand dismissively, her smirk widening as she lit her cigarette and took a long, savoring drag from it._ "Imagine my surprise the last time I visited him, pretending to be one of his loyal, long-held customers. Imagine what I thought when I mentioned you, and he didn't seem to understand what I was speaking of." _She cast him an excited look._ "You have Obliviated him."_

"_Not me personally,"_ muttered Julian, looking pained and distressed, as he shot her a careful, gauging look and gritted his teeth. _"Is this your ultimatum? I have to do what you want or you'll say something about Laurent to the Dark Lord?"_

Kasimira felt a surge of maddening rage, at that. Didier still not out of mind, as she had presumed, if Julian was willing to protect the Frenchman by yielding so easily to her.

She forced herself to remain composed, as she took another long drag from her cigarette, enjoying how the pause made Julian stew in his anxiousness.

"_I don't care a whit about Didier,"_ she finally clarified. _"If you want to keep the fool safe, so be it."_

"_Your father has put you up to this,"_ snapped Julian heatedly, his hand tightening around his wand, _"hasn't he? He sent you to me, to make me say something that will condemn me before the Dark Lord-"_

"_Don't be ridiculous,"_ hissed Kasimira, throwing the cigarette to the floor and squashing it with the high heel of her boot as she angrily plucked a picture from her purse. _"If I was my dear old father's spy, do you think I would show you this?"_

Julian ripped it from her hands, staring down at the wizarding photograph with a confused frown on his face. _"What's this supposed to be?"_

Kasimira tittered as she tapped the picture with a blood-red fingernail. It displayed a proud young man being embraced by his parents, Beauxbatons Palace behind them. _"It was presumably taken on your graduation day."_

"_I don't know who this is,"_ bit out Julian testily, shooting her a glower.

"_Not him,"_ interjected Kasimira loftily, her smirk widening. _"But the figures in the background, entering the school. Four people – Albus Dumbledore, Laurent Didier, yourself, and a witch that according to my father's notes, could possibly be Didier's English aunt, Aurora Bones."_

Julian instantly lost all color from his thin face, as he mumbled tensely,_ "I see." _

"_Do you?" _Kasimira gave him a feral grin, before she added breathlessly,_ "You are Albus Dumbledore's spy. You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You're a traitor – you've been hoodwinking the Dark Lord all along."_

Blanching, Julian stared at her, looking so utterly lost and defeated, that Kasimira felt a burbling swell of sheer rage. She had no desire to take a weakling to her bed.

"_Get a grip, Erlichmann!" _she snarled, shooting him a thoroughly disgusted look_. "I know this. My father merely suspects it. Do you think you'd still be alive if he had incontrovertible proof? He keeps tabs on you, and a rather thick file, but this-" _she raked the picture with a sharp fingernail_ "- is the only thing he has thus far. Evidently, my father realizes it's not enough to make the Dark Lord turn against you. Not when he's as infatuated with you as he is, according to rumors." _She leveled him with a hard look_. "Do you understand?" _

Julian gazed at her for a long moment, his exhausted, deadened expression slowly clearing to become one of embittered calculation. _"I understand that you're blackmailing me."_

"_Finally getting there, are you?" _she quipped with vast satisfaction, smirking.

"_I also understand," _he continued, frowning and gazing at her as though suddenly seeing her under an entirely different light, _"that despite it all, by telling me all this, you're helping me. Why?"_

"_Do you think I care that you're betraying the Dark Lord?" _Kasimira scoffed caustically._ "Do you think I care about the politics forged by men?" _she spat ill-temperedly, glowering. _"The Dark Lord's cause, though I'm in agreement with it, means nothing to me. They're but the ravings of yet another wizard."_

Julian oggled at her as though she had turned into a bizarre, rare creature.

"_I'm still getting what I want," _Kasimira clarified sharply, slipping him a piece of parchment as she smirked predatorily at him. _"Be there in three days, at the stroke of midnight."_

"_What's this?"_ said Julian warily as he glanced at it.

"_The address of a muggle flat in Berlin. I own it. Don't be late, Erlichmann,"_ Kasimira said distractedly as she caught sight of her father in the gathering, clearly searching for her. _"I must leave. We wouldn't want my father to see us together, would we?"_

Giving him a hard pat on his injured cheek, she winked and vanished into the crowd of celebrating people.

Three days later, she stood up the moment Julian stepped into her flat.

He was still too thin, too dejected, too pathetically oppressed by whatever was burdening him, and Kasimira gritted her teeth in angered exasperation.

His wary look turned into one of puzzlement as he glanced at his surroundings, his eyebrows shooting upwards. _"Everything is muggle-made."_

"_What can I say? I enjoy certain muggle items – we're all hypocrites at heart, aren't we?"_ Kasimira said dismissively as she lit a cigarette and turned on her gramophone, the powerful voice of her favorite singer ringing through the cozy, little flat.

"_And… muggle music?"_ said Julian uncertainly.

Taking a seat on the wide bed dominating the small room, Kasimira crossed her legs, making the sheer, skimpy nightgown climb up her thighs. Not that Julian noticed or took interest – she hadn't expected him to.

Savoring the strange feeling of victory and peacefulness she experienced as she observed him glancing at her possessions with a hint of piqued curiosity, Kasimira said smugly as she patted her bed, _"Make yourself comfortable."_

Julian stiffened as he turned around to eye her, a tense expression on his face as his gaze swept over her revealing attire.

"_I believe you're laboring under a misconception," _he said with a sigh, approaching her with a gentle look on his face. _"I am a –"_

"_Ganymede wizard?"_ supplied Kasimira with a roll of her eyes, tapping her fingernails impatiently on her bed. _"Truly – I'm shocked," _she continued dryly. _"I couldn't have possibly imagined it – not after knowing about Didier, nor after being aware of the fact that you've being taking it up the arse during all your years of warming the Dark Lord's bed – which is no secret."_

Julian frowned at her, before his lips thinned in distaste._ "Must you speak so-"_

"_Plainly? Rudely?" _Kasimira smirked at him._ "Is a little fifteen-year-old girl's uncouth vocabulary shocking your delicate sensibilities, Erlichmann? I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. I was raised by a rather foul-mouthed ancestor, I'm proud to say." _

Julian apparently decided to ignore her glaringly inappropriate use of the German language, and sat by her side, looking resigned_. "If you're fully aware of my preferences, what do you expect of me?"_

"_This," _said Kasimira with a feral smile on her face as she grabbed the crotch of his pants. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing aroused in it.

Julian jerked away as though burned, scowling when she began to laugh.

"_You're such a prude!" _she shrieked with an immensely amused guffaw.

"_I'm not attracted to witches!"_ Julian spat angrily, as he jumped to his feet, looking vastly offended by the whole ordeal. _"And much less to a child!"_

"_Oh – you'll pay for that,"_ Kasimira promised gravely, before she quirked a thrilled smile. _"Come, the 'child' has a present for you."_

Opening her wardrobe with a flourish, she observed with relish when Julian caught sight of the man dutifully standing inside.

Julian momentarily paled, before he staggered forwards, his sky blue eyes widening with unwitting, hopeful longing, as he croaked,_ "Laurent?"_

He halted, though, as his mind seemingly noticed the impossibility of it and the small differences in appearance.

"_Who's this?" _Julian snapped furiously, rounding on her.

"_A Muggle I found in the streets," _Kasimira replied with a giggle, as she saw Julian's jaw clenching, the pain in his eyes, his dashed hopes, his fisted hands_. "He bears an uncanny resemblance to the Frenchman, doesn't he?" _She cast him a wide smirk._ "Care to play with him? He'll obey any instruction I give him."_

"_This is-" _began gritting out Julian, before he shot her a hard, wrathful look._ "Release him from your Imperius Curse!"_

"_He's not Imperioed," _Kasimira interjected with exasperation._ "I don't cast magic in my flat. My father doesn't know about this place, and I'd like to keep it that way. The muggle is under the effects of a potion."_

"_Release him," _ground out Julian, hatefully glaring at her.

"_I think not," _Kasimira hissed out angrily. _"He's mine to do what I wish. He looks like Didier – what is the problem? Bed him!"_

Julian cast her a wholly horrified look that soon transformed into one of seething anger. _"I'm not sleeping with a random muggle man to satisfy your cruel, twisted amusement!"_

"_Easily resolved_," bit out Kasimira impatiently, as he yanked a hair from the docile muggle. _"I have just the potion for it. I will be Didier for you, then!"_

"_No!" _Julian rushed forwards, gripping her shoulders as he gazed down at her with a strange expression on his face. His voice was low and soft, when he spoke next,_ "Von Krauss… Kasimira, there's no need for-"_

"_For what?" _spat Kasimira, her skin crawling and her temper flaring tempestuously when she realized it was with pity that he was staring at her._ "You think I have no self-esteem? No self-respect, because I would do this for you?" _She glared murderously at him as she violently ripped away from his hold. _"I'd be doing it as much for myself as for you, you fool! You think I would find no pleasure in experiencing being the man - the one who takes without giving?"_

But she could see he didn't understand it, his pitying look not having vanished from his face.

"_Leave!" _snarled Kasimira thunderously._ "Get out – now!"_

Indeed, their first couple of weeks of nightly rendezvous had not gone over smoothly. They were too different, their personalities and morals at opposing ends, though it was for that very same reason that she found herself wanting him all the more.

Yet, slowly, it seemed, as the months passed by, when he visited night after night due to her threats of disclosing his duplicity to her father and the Dark Lord, they grew closer together, inevitably, like two lonely souls that only had each other, forced by her relentless stubbornness in getting what she had capriciously coveted since being a little girl.

"_I've heard you're a talented musician."_ Kasimira cast him a speculative, eager look. _"Play for me."_

Looking at first hesitant, and then resigned, Julian sighed as he took a seat and fished out something thin and silver from his robes.

She realized what sort of instrument it was in the first notes, startled and marveled, as she found herself vastly enjoying the experience.

"_The voices of Sirens, the trills of Phoenixes,"_ Kasimira murmured, spinning around her flat, her gauzy gown flowing with her movements, like the wings of some delicate, ethereal fairy. _"A magical flute…" _She exhaled, entranced_. "You play beautifully."_

"_You dance beautifully,"_ came Julian's voice, laced with a hint of surprise and appreciation, before he continued the wondrous tune.

Kasimira shot him a large grin, and with thrilled excitement and joy, she noticed he was smiling behind his flute, his sky blue eyes livened as he watched her twirling.

Through the things she made him experience, through his yielding caused by weariness, through sharing her own troubles, she came to know him, to revel in it, take pleasure in him, and make love as only they did.

"_What's this?" _breathed out Julian, his sky blue eyes glazed over as he limply dropped to her bed, the smoking pipe falling from his relaxed fingers.

"_Opium," _whispered Kasimira as she peacefully curled by his side, giggling and slurring, _"A muggle drug I've recently discovered. Did you know that in Paris' 1__3th Arrondissement __there's a whole muggle neighborhood filled with those funny little Chinese people?"_

"_A drug?"_ Julian wheezed, a troubled look forcing its way unto his relaxed face. _"You didn't tell me it was a drug,´Mira… I can't be drugged – Gellert expects me in two hours' time-"_

"_A have a potion that can sober you up,"_ murmured Kasimira placidly as she played with his coppery curls of hair. _"Don't you trust me by now?"_

"_I trust you," _exhaled Julian as his eyelids fluttered shut_. "I trust you…"_

"_Dream with the Green Dragon, Julian," _Kasimira whispered with a wide smile as she peppered his face with biting kisses.

He cracked one eye open with much effort._ "The – what?"_

"_Oriental muggle expression." _She chuckled, caressing the soft, smooth skin of his neck, pressing her lips against the faint pulse point. _"Dream, Julian."_

Her smirk of triumph was a sincere and profound one, as his arm automatically wrapped around her as he fell into a placid sleep, as she nestled by his side and felt what was true joy for the first time in her life.

In all her years of having sex with diverse men, she had never felt any pleasure in it. It had always been a transaction, a tool for manipulation.

Mahala's lessons had been efficient and accurate – almost, because what she had with Julian, to her, was her source of intense pleasure. It was making love.

The tenderness, gentility, and kindness with which he had come to treat her, as though she was a delicate, rare creature under his care, cherished and treasured for all her peculiarities. The caresses they shared, the kisses that had nothing behind them but growing fondness, the utter lack of lust, lewdness, or the mechanical sordidness she had always associated with sex.

Her grandmother's portrait had always spoken of 'boy-toys', but never of the kind of lover Julian had become for Kasimira, the kind she hadn't known she needed.

And she came to realize what he needed the most, in return, during all those nights that they met in her flat, when she flooed from Durmstrang, when he escaped and came to her after carrying out a mission for the Dark Lord.

"_I've heard that Didier is becoming quite a famous painter in Italy,"_ Kasimira said casually, as she trailed a fingernail across Julian's naked chest, drawing a soothing pattern.

"_He's always been very talented,"_ said Julian, a hint of asperity in his voice as he cast her a gauging look. He soon shed all pretensions of calmness, scowling, as he bit out, _"Why are you bringing him up again? You enjoy being cruel – you enjoy tormenting me."_

"_I do,"_ said Kasimira with a sharp giggle as she suddenly sat astride his waist, forcibly pinning his wrists to the bed as she leaned her face inches from his. _"And you do too - it's what you need."_

Julian struggled slightly against her hold, before he sighed and went limp under her.

"_See?" _crowed Kasimira with a chuckle.

"_I'm not proving your point by not throwing you off," _snapped Julian, irked, shooting her a glower. _"I simply don't strike witches."_

"_Oh, but you should," _said Kasimira in a singsong, smirking as she slapped him hard, once, twice, thrice. _"My sweet – lovely – Julian –"_

Julian hissed under his breath, gritting his teeth until she was done._ "Why do you always do that?"_

"_Why do you never stop me?" _Kasimira pointedly arched an eyebrow at him.

"_As I said," _grunted Julian quietly_, "I don't hit witches."_

"_You're too kind for your own good," _snarled Kasimira as she restrained his wrists against the bed once more, glowering down at him.

Julian shot her a pointed, dour look._ "And you're too ruthless, mad, and relentless for yours – and too violent."_

"_It's my violence and dominance over you that brings you release and peace," _murmured Kasimira sharply as she gave him a quick, hard peck on the lips._ "It assuages the burdens of your mind."_

"_I like feeling pain, do I?" _muttered Julian sarcastically.

"_You said it, not me." _Kasimira smirked, before her expression turned grave, as she added,_ "You feel the need to punish yourself. If you would only tell me-"_

"_No," _snapped Julian, giving her a gentle shove to unseat her, then jumping to his feet to don back his shirt.

"_Just tell me what mission Dumbledore wants you to carry out!" _shrieked Kasimira at the end of her rope, spitting mad._ "Tell me why you're growing more restless, why you don't sleep well at night, why you're once more muttering Laurent's name in your sleep - and you only do that when you're distressed!"_

Julian shot her an alarmed look, and Kasimira rolled her eyes, as she snapped,_ "You only do that when you stay with me. You know full well that the Dark Lord would have offed you by now if you muttered the name of a former lover when you share his bed."_

Julian's shoulders slumped with relief, but she wasn't remotely done with him, and she snarled angrily,_ "Just tell me-"_

"_You know too much already!" _bit out Julian sternly as he briskly strode towards the front door with outer robes in hand.

"_I only know what is obvious – that your mission is too risky, that it doesn't sit well with you," _hissed out Kasimira irately, swiftly following at his heels. _"That you're putting your life on the line – for what? Laurent's sake – again?"_

"_For his – yes, and everyone else's!"_

Julian had slammed the door shut on her face, but it had only served to make her all the more concerned.

She had noticed the increasing number of times in which he arrived to her flat looking dispirited, tense, and gaunt. And she thought to have cured him of all that during their first couple of months together. Now, his troubles were weighing heavily on him once more.

A week later, the discoveries she made left her all the more confused and fretful.

Shaking Julian awake, for once not caring of interrupting his much needed restful sleep, Kasimira glowered at him, as she hissed under her breath, _"Who's Harry, Julian?"_

Julian's sky blue eyes flew wide open at that, as he sat bolt upright._ "What did you say? Where did you hear that name?"_

"_You were mumbling it in your sleep, just now,"_ retorted Kasimira sharply, narrowing her eyes at him._ "Who is he? I can put up with you saying Didier's name, given that I know what he means to you." _She gave him an acrid sneer_. "Yet, a new paramour, Julian, truly? Haven't you had enough men in your life?"_

"_He's not-" _muttered Julian, blanching_. "He's not a love interest, ´Mira."_

"_Then who is he?" _she demanded tartly, skewering him with an incensed glower as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing._ "Is this Harry… Harry Riddle?"_

Julian paled dramatically as he stared at her, stunned, soon gripping her hard as he pressed anxiously,_ "Where have you gotten that name from?" _His eyes widened in horror._ "What have you been reading in your father's study? What do you know about him!"_

"_I see," _said Kasimira crisply, as she forcefully extracted herself from him, heading straight to the door.

"_Where are you going!"_

"_To see this 'Harry' once and for all."_

"_He's in London, ´Mira – be sensible!"_

Kasimira spun around with a frown on her face_. "He's in Von Krauss Castle, I should know." _She grimaced hatefully._ "Father expected me to play hostess to the little runts."_

"_In Von Krauss…" _Julian stared at her, looking dumbstruck._ "What do you mean – in your castle?"_

Kasimira's frown deepened as she eyed him._ "Haven't you heard? Didn't the Dark Lord tell you he had sent Konrad to England, over a month ago?"_

"_I was told your father was in Austria," _mumbled Julian weakly, his face stark white_. _

"_No," _said Kasimira slowly._ "He was in England. He came back a week ago, with Abraxas Malfoy. Remember? I told you I finally met him in the flesh." _She snorted disparagingly_. "Mahala is right about him – he'll make a suitably malleable husband for me."_

All in all, she had to admit that the younger boy had satisfied her.

A year ago, following her grandmother's advice, she had begun writing to Malfoy, initiating a long succession of missives to hash out the details of their impending betrothal on their own, the terms of their future marriage, the rules they would abide, the freedoms they would give each other, the duties that would be enforced between them – covertly, away from her father's and the boy's grandfather's prying eyes and irrelevant opinions and demands.

That Abraxas was two years younger than her was a clear benefit, that he was handsome was of no importance to her except for the fact that a beautiful offspring was assured to come from them – one male heir, and nothing more, as they had finally agreed in their written negotiations.

She could bear that, in exchange for the further protection and liberties the Malfoy name would grant her, added to her own, in exchange for half of the fortune she had inherited from her mother and for most of the estates that would be hers after her father's demise. Nevertheless, a couple of them would remain solely hers.

Furthermore, she had Malfoy in her debt after she had suggested a solution for the boy's persistent troubles and main obstacle. She had sent him a tiny flask containing one of the poisons Mahala had long ago taught her.

It would do the trick. Moreover, it would be the same one she would have no compunction in using when the time came of getting rid of her husband, if he ever became a pest and reneged on any of his promises to her - the freedom to have her own life, live wherever she pleased, and have any lover she fancied, with discretion, certainly.

"_And Harry?" _pressed Julian in deep agitation.

Pulling out of her smug musings, Kasimira shot him a sneer._ "And 'Harry' is one of the boys my father has taken in as a ward. He brought him to Von Krauss Castle today. If we're speaking of the same Harry, that is."_

"_I think we are," _muttered Julian in a dismayed tone, turning quickly to grasp her shoulders, a plea in his voice,_ "Go see him now, ´Mira – use your grandmother's mirrors to enter undetected. I need to know why he's there_…" He trailed off, shaking his head grimly. _"No, I know why Gellert has finally chosen to act. But you must tell Harry that-"_

"_I'm not going to be your owl!" _snapped Kasimira thunderously. _"And much less when you still haven't explained your association with him."_ Before Julian had a chance to defend himself, she asked briskly, trying to mask her sudden panicked worry, _"Do you have any reason to believe that the Dark Lord has kept this a secret from you because he suspects you?"_

"_No,"_ sighed out Julian. _"If he had any inkling that I'm spying for Dumbledore, I wouldn't be breathing." _He rubbed his face tiredly._ "He has done things like this before. He didn't allow me to participate in the siege of Beauxbatons, for instance." _He grimaced ruefully._ "He feels I'm too soft-hearted and useless when it comes to dealing with innocent children who have to be handled roughly."_

"_Let us hope you're right," _Kasimira uttered tensely, before walking out the door.

As she had expected, Julian had been waiting for her when she returned to the flat.

"_How is he? What did he say?" _instantly jumped Julian.

"_He's a strange one,"_ muttered Kasimira under her breath, before she chuckled nastily under her breath. _"And I caught him in quite a compromising situation."_

Julian lost no time in bombarding her with questions regarding the boy's wellbeing, state of mind, and what not, yet Kasimira hadn't been too sure what to tell him.

Her mind had been swirling with the avalanche of information she had ever read in her father's study: Anacleto Armonious' notes about fantastical, theoretical possibilities of time-travelling and the creation of new timelines, of 'anchor souls' and the Sands of Times, of portals between two conjoined timelines and the destruction of the 'original path'; of the Seer Sybilla Spyros whom the Dark Lord had apparently turned into an Oracle, however briefly, before killing her, of her father's speculations about the information Grindelwald had gleaned from her memories of visions; on her grandfather Ulrich's research regarding the legendary Vessel, of the Jew Guardians that protected the secret; of Dumbledore and his Order; of Julian…

Staring at Julian, she had opened her mouth, having an inkling that she knew what he wouldn't tell her all this time.

She wasn't Dursmtrang's brightest student, despite her infamous reputation, for nothing. She could draw most of the connecting lines between the dots, yet she clicked her mouth shut the next second.

In the end, she cared nothing about the matter. She only cared about one sole thing, and she realized then that having garnered the strange, green-eyed boy's vow to help her protect Julian's life would not be enough.

She would have to deal with it by her own means, and she knew just how.

Surreptitiously plying a glass of scotch with a Sleeping Potion, and then offering it to Julian, Kasimira began to work as soon as the young man dropped like a log on her bed.

A few hours later, by the time Julian groggily awoke, they were both lying naked on the bed, their chests and torsos running with dried tendrils of blood that had oozed from the matching symbols Kasimira had carved into their skin.

"_What's this?"_ croaked Julian, as he touched a cut in his chest, wincing, before his eyes widened when he apparently caught sight of just how many other patterns had been carved into him. _"Mira?"_

"_Blood ritual,"_ answered Kasimira placidly as she rolled on her side, propping her head on a hand to impassively meet his eyes.

"_Ritual?"_ echoed Julian feebly, as he stared down at the strange, indecipherable symbols. _"Romani?"_

"_Mahala taught it to me, yes,"_ replied Kasimira coolly. _"Never fear, the wounds will heal themselves in a matter of hours-"_

"_What?"_ bit out Julian, a look of mounting horror and fear spreading over his face as he caught sight of her naked breasts and the matching diagram there. He furiously turned to her. _"What does it do, Kasimira!"_

"_It ensures your continued existence,"_ she retorted smugly, shooting him a wide, triumphant smirk. _"It has linked your life force to my own. As long as I breathe, you shall too. You cannot be killed-"_

Julian jumped out of the bed, a terrified look crossing his face. _"How does it affect you if I'm killed?"_

Kasimira threw him a dirty look. _"You can't be killed – that is the whole point."_

"_How does it affect you!"_ bellowed Julian irately, clear panic rising in him.

Kasimira sneered at him, remaining staunchly silent.

"_You silly witch!"_ yelled Julian agitatedly. _"How could you be so stupid – haven't I told you time and again that-"_

"_That your death is inevitable?"_ Kasimira jeered venomously as she jerked upwards on the bed, skewering him with an incensed glare. _"That your fate was doomed years ago? That there's nothing anyone can do – that there's no escape for you?"_

"_Yes!"_ thundered Julian furiously.

"_I do not accept that!"_ snarled Kasimira with fierce, impassionate anger, narrowing her eyes at him.

"_Reverse it!"_ Julian snapped.

"_It cannot be reversed – it cannot be cancelled. It's done," _she said with vast satisfaction, her pale blue eyes blazing. "_You are mine. I will not lose you. This will work, Julian-"_

"_And if it doesn't,"_ he spit out, with a crushed, devastated expression twisting his features, _"I'll die and you'll also pay the price! I never wanted this, ´Mira - I don't want this on my conscience too!"_

"_It. will. work," _Kasimira gritted out with absolute conviction.

Julian shook his head, and seemed to deflate before her eyes, his shoulders slumping, a sorrowful look in his eyes, as he stared at her and mumbled softly,_ "You've made a grave mistake, and we'll both pay for it."_

Kasimira had been left fuming, even more so as the months passed by and she rarely saw him again, the frequency of his visits dwindling down under feeble excuses of being too occupied with the Dark Lord and missions.

At least, it had given her time to hash out her plan, with the reluctant aid of her grandmother's portrait who still didn't agree with her choices.

At present, as Drumstrang's bells finally chimed the hour, Kasimira excitedly rose to her feet.

She cast Mahala's shrunken portrait a glance, as she demanded sharply,_ "Are you certain the villa's wards will protect us?"_

"_Romani wards are true and strong," _Mahala replied curtly_. "Old Romani Magic is unknown, undetectable, and unbreachable by any artifact of mainstream magic." _

Kasimira nodded in relief. Julian had long ago told her about the Dark Lord's Globe that showed every magical being on earth and their location.

She knew that artifact was one of the reasons why Julian had never attempted to escape with Laurent Didier years ago, why he had made the choices he had.

The Globe had been the one true obstacle in her plans. Yet Mahala had offered her a solution: a small villa in Argentina that had long ago been abandoned and disused by her family, that she had never mentioned to her husband Ulrich, thus – that Konrad Von Krauss didn't know about either. With ancient, powerful Romani wards that were still standing.

It was her only hope, as Kasimira was determined that that day she would gain her freedom but also gift Julian with his own – with the escape he had yearned for so long.

It was only fitting, since that day was Julian's twenty-fifth birthday.

Kasimira smirked as she placed Mahala's portrait inside her packed trunk and began making her way into Durmstrang's hallways, ignoring the rushing-by students gibbering with excitement for their summer holidays.

Nearly a year after having made Julian hers, and at sixteen-years of age, she would be leaving Durmstrang and Germany forever and would be commencing her true life.

She would live with Julian in Argentina, only returning, of course, to marry Abraxas Malfoy, beget him a male heir, and then return back to the gentle arms of her beloved.

Kasimira certainly knew that she could also give Julian his heart's desire and include the Obliviated Laurent Didier in her plans. But then again, she had never had a selfless bone in her body.

She smiled sharply. She would have it all.

She finally halted before Professor Poliakoff's door, and whispered the password.

When nothing happened, she frowned and then pounded angrily on the man's door as she snarled under her breath.

Truly, the swine should know better than to change the password – she always used his Floo Connection on the last day of school. She didn't want to waste a single second in getting to her muggle flat, where she would wait for Julian's arrival. She had already sent him a letter with instructions.

"_Fräulein Von Krauss-"_

Utterly startled, Kasimira swirled around with wand in hand, and froze at the sight of the Headmaster staring at her with a grave expression on his face.

"_Do follow me, please," _continued the old Headmaster, his expression turning sterner.

"_Where?" _demanded Kasimira tensing, her icy eyes darting to the men flanking the old wizard.

Men in grey cloaks. Men she recognized: her Father's underlings in the Dark Lord's ranks.

Despite feeling nothing but horror, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and sneered acidly,_ "I demand to know what is happening. I'm not moving a toe until I'm informed."_

"_Certain matters have recently been brought to my attention by a letter from Herr Von Krauss," _replied the Headmaster curtly, his expression darkening as he eyed her with a glint of disgusted contempt._ "I'm afraid you will have to come with me to my office. Your father will retrieve you."_

"_I'm going nowhere!" _Kasimira snarled, yanking an arm away as one of her father's minions made a move to grasp her._ "Where's Poliakoff?"_

"_Professor Poliakoff has been dismissed from his post," _retorted the Headmaster sharply, narrowing his eyes at her. _"You will follow me, Fräulein."_

"_I see," _she muttered thickly, a wave of panic flooding her as her gaze darted to all sides.

They knew. They all knew. Yet she had been so careful for all those years! How could have his father found out about Poliakoff, and about the Floo Connection she had been using for ages?

She had to find a way out – a way to her flat in Berlin, to Julian, to Argentina!

"_Fräulein Von Krauss!" _snapped the Headmaster, glowering._ "Do not test my patience. As long as you follow instructions, your place in this school is still secure – much due to your father's influence. However, I will not hesitate to expel you at once if you do not comply." _

Seeing the wands aimed at her, and one of her father's minions taking hold of her trunk, Kasimira threw the Headmaster a hateful and scornful look._ "Very well. I will comply."_

Surrounded at all flanks, she followed behind the Headmaster, seeing students casting them curious glances, feeling as though the ground was sinking from under her feet, that which had been so close within her grasp slipping through her fingers, fading into the distance, leaving her dizzy and blank.

* * *

Tom was doing it on purpose, Harry was certain. He cast a glance at his brother once more, scowling.

They were on their last day of end-of-year examinations, only Potions left, before they would leave for summer holidays.

At present, they were in the Slytherin common room, revising for their last test. Though evidently, his brother didn't require much of that, as prodigal as he was, and had taken to tinkering again with Tilly Toke's pendant.

Harry was sure it was merely to annoy him.

Whatever the pendant did, it was a moot point since they would be soon in Germany, and meeting Grindelwald for the first time, to boot. But Tom knew just how much Harry despised that pendant, how much he had feared what it could possibly do, whilst they had been in Norway. He didn't want to activate any trinket related to Grindelwald, at all.

Barely paying attention to the Potions tome in his hands, Harry wriggled on his seat, feeling the stack of parchments folded inside his back pocket.

Many good things had come from his and Alphard's incursion into Diagon and Knockturn Alley several days ago, most predominant of all, the information held in Borgin and Burke's ledger.

He was brimming with the need of sharing it with his brother. To show him that a 'Miss Hepzibah Smith' was currently in possession of the Slytherin locket, to show Tom her address and plan a visit to the witch's home and devise a way in which to nick their ancestors' heirloom.

Nevertheless, he knew it was best to do such when they were far away in Germany, to present it all in such a way that Tom would have to forgive him.

Not being on speaking terms with his brother for over a week felt wrong, exhausting, and painful. He needed Tom on his side for when they met Grindelwald, he didn't think he could manage on his own.

Harry knew how very challenging and difficult the moment would be for him, having to mask his fury, hatred, and disgust for the Dark Lord, having to play nice and behave with meek adoration…

He glared when a faint click resounded, seeing Tom with a look of utmost concentration tapping the pendant with the tip of his wand once more, at the other end of the common room.

Harry lowered his Potions book, though, when he caught sight of Orion Black leaning towards Tom with a pleading expression on his face, a stack of lesson notes in his hands.

Brightening, seeing a window of opportunity, Harry stood up from his couch.

"Where are you going?" asked Alphard, emerging from his own studies.

Harry silently waved him away and weaved through the packed common room. As he approached the other pair, he saw his brother momentarily absorbed in apparently explaining the properties of some potion ingredient to Orion Black.

Tom had left Tilly Toke's pendant on the small round table by his couch's side, and Harry slipped forward as covertly as he could, snatching it when his brother had his head turned around.

Without wasting a second hitch of breath, he sprung through the crowd of the common room, pelting towards the entrance.

He was tired of having to deal with Tom's stupid, mad plots, always one after the other. And he was putting an end to this latest one, whatever it was.

Just as Harry was jumping into the dungeon's corridor, he heard Tom's furious yell, and he forced his legs to run faster, gritting his teeth in anger.

* * *

Julian Erlichmann staggered as he approached Nurmengard Tower. He had just apparated back from a meeting in the Reichstag with the Führer's advisors and he was exhausted, Gellert having left the task of taking notes regarding what was discussed since the Dark Lord was busy with some other matters.

He frowned as he saw much buzzing activity as he came closer to the Tower. A moment later, he nearly froze in his tracks as he caught sight of what was happening: the dungeons' guards were frog-marching a group of prisoners into daylight, spilling into Nurmengard's front lawn, wands aimed at the crowd of cadaveric men and women who feebly dragged their feet in a line.

One of the guards he had long ago established a 'friendship' with gave him a cheery wave of a hand.

"_Bernhard, what's going on?" _said Julian with a mere tone of vague curiosity instead of alarm, as soon as he reached the young man.

"_They're finally getting their just deserts – that's what,"_ replied Bernhard with a wide grin splitting his broad face. He sharply jabbed the tip of his wand into the ribs of the nearest prisoner. _"You hear – eh? Know where you're going, filth? To the camps –that's where!"_

"_The camps?" _echoed Julian with a slight hitch in his tone, his gaze darting to the prisoners.

"_Ja!" _guffawed Bernhard cheerily_. "Dark Lord decided that they ought to share the same fate as them muggles, they do!" _He shot the prisoners a nasty, dour look. _"Maybe then you'll flap your gums, won't ye? Only spilling the beans will save ye, you hear?"_

None of the emaciated wretches answered the guard and the man angrily shook his head, before he winked at Julian._ "See? Useless. But a stint in them camps ought to do the trick." _He slinked closer to him an instant later, excitement brimming on his face. _"Say, is it all true about them camps? What ye've been hearing about 'em."_

"_Yes," _said Julian with a wide smile on his face._ "Very interesting things going on over there. Mad muggle 'doctors' doing all sorts of bizarre experiments, chopping off twins' limbs and sewing their parts back together – you know, that sort of thing." _He waved a hand nonchalantly._ "And our own Healers testing mudblood prisoners, to discover how they've come to have magic-"_

"_And them making new creatures, aren't they?" _interjected Bernhard eagerly._ "All kinds of – sticking Manticore jaws on prisoners, Chimera or Dragon parts in them too!"_

Julian nodded, shooting him a smug look_. "The Dark Lord's very own Eugenics program. If the muggles are doing it, so can we."_

"_Human-creature super beings!" _Bernhard chortled in a thrilled tone._ "Under the Lord's control, ja?" _

"_Certainly." _Julian cast him a warm smile_. "That's the goal. To fill up the ranks as much as possible."_

"_And with them Dementors and new Inferi too, we'll be invincible!"_

"_That's the idea," _said Julian as he encouragingly patted the man's shoulder. He cast a glance at the shuffling prisoners once more, careful of not being too obvious in his desperate search, as he continued in an amiable tone,_ "Tell me, how are you transporting them to the camps?"_

"_Portkeys," _replied Bernhard cheerily._ "As soon as we have them outside the wards, we're taking 'em away."_

"_That's good," _Julian said distractedly_. "It'll be very quick and easy for you, then." _

"_Sure will!"_

Julian barely paid attention as Bernhard kept enthusiastically rambling on, nearly becoming petrified when his gaze locked with a very familiar one: the sunken and heavily wrinkled black eyes of Abel Boschkowitz, the leader of the Guardians of the Vessel.

The tongueless old man didn't give him any sign, not a twitch of a facial muscle, merely held his gaze for a moment and then slowly looked away.

Julian needed no further indication than that, his throat constricting as he then caught sight of several other Guardians amidst the prisoners, that only he knew of.

The old leader's grandson, Aaron, who always spoke for him, and Aaron's little son and daughter were thankfully not amongst the crowd.

It wasn't as encouraging as he had expected, even if he had known that morning -when he woke up and realized what date it was- that it was all bound to happen then.

Nevertheless, Julian didn't feel remotely prepared. He was filled with countless doubts, uncertainties and misgivings. It all seemed so very unpredictable, delicate, and unstable to him now.

_"You must only free us on the day the first of us are taken to the camps. She was very clear on the matter," _Aaron had firmly told him after the fall of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, when Julian had found out about the Nazi's and Gellert's plans to establish a network of concentration camps, when Julian had tried with all his might to convince Aaron and Old Abel that they had to take Dumbledore's portkeys and escape before it was too late.

The Guardians of the Vessel had been so thoroughly convinced that what Sybilla Spyros had once told them in her Seer's Truthspeech had to be correct, that they hadn't heeded Julian's anxious urgings.

And now, the first of them were going to be taken to the camps – Aaron had said they'd be called 'extermination camps'. Julian felt as confused about that as ever before, though it was certain it bode nothing good.

Nevertheless, he hadn't expected that it would be the Guardian's leader who would be taken. That it was a coincidence, because Grindelwald had never found out that he had had the Guardians under his very nose all that time, didn't bring him any relief.

If Old Abel was going to be imprisoned in one of the concentration camps – the only one who knew the secret location of the Vessel- how was Harry supposed to find it?

Harry, who was the 'Finder and Key' as Sybilla Spyros had once said, the one who had to locate the Vessel before any other – it was of the utmost necessity that it came to happen so, Santi had frequently insisted.

Not to mention that Old Abel could very well exhale his last breath any day now, once he was suffering the ghastly living conditions of the camps. And with his death so would his knowledge disappear.

Julian didn't like any of it one bit. He had come to be increasingly wary of the unfathomable repercussions that Sybilla Spyros' everlasting plot of revenge was causing, no matter Santi's assurances that her convoluted plan would ultimately fail.

Worst of all, he didn't have Santi with him any longer and felt the absence like a hollow wound in his chest.

Things had moved too fast, too strangely, lately.

A few months back, Santi had gone to Hogwarts to pay Harry a visit, then returning to Julian's chamber in Nurmengard Tower in a state of clear agitation.

"_I must leave at once,"_ Santi had told him in a strange, choked voice, and Julian had seen the fear and apprehension in his eyes.

"_Where to? The future, you mean?"_ Julian had pressed, frowning concernedly. _"Did something happen when you saw Harry?"_

Santi mutely shook his head, before he pinned him with a hurried, demanding gaze. _"You can manage on your own?"_

"_Of course,"_ replied Julian, giving him a wane smile, hiding the fact that he felt the urgent need to discuss so many things with him, about Kasimira, about his increasing doubts regarding his role with the Jews. _"You won't take long, will you?"_

"_I don't know,"_ muttered Santi, before he vanished in the blink of an eye.

Santi had never returned.

And just a few weeks later, he had received a letter from Albus Dumbledore of all people.

Julian had smashed the glass figurine set up as a communication link with Laurent -and through him, his aunt Aurora and ultimately Dumbledore- time ago, when he hadn't been able to bear Laurent's letters anymore.

Ever since, he had considered that his task of reporting information back to Dumbledore had ceased.

His surprise had been staggering, one day he had entered his chambers to see a Phoenix perched on his chair.

"How did you get in here?" Julian had stammered in a choppy English, utterly taken aback. He recognized the bird, certainly. Had seen Dumbledore's familiar with his very own eyes, flying above the heads of the members of the Order of the Phoenix as they battled alongside Norwegian Aurors, against Grindelwald's forces. "But – Nurmengard's wards…"

He trailed off, as he remembered that even back in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore's Phoenix had been able to break through the ancient wards of the building to make an appearance.

His astonishment had only increased when Fawkes had lifted a talon, displaying a small scroll tied around his leg.

Unfolding the piece of parchment, Julian blanched as he read what Dumbledore was demanding to know – and taking such risks in his need.

The first two questions hadn't surprised him much. The last one, though, had made him swallow thickly.

"He wants to know if I've heard Gellert speaking of any Harry or Tom…er…" He made a point of checking the parchment "…um, Riddle?"

Fawkes skewered him with a black-eyed gaze, that somehow felt too knowing and shrewd to him.

"I know of no Riddles," Julian had asserted quickly.

The Phoenix kept gazing at him, making him feel quite disturbed, and he had hastily quilled his reply:

_G still seeking Vessel. Doesn't appear troubled by lack of success._

_Guardians will be broken out soon. Not yet. Not the right time._

_Riddles? Know of no Riddles. Heard of no Riddles. G has never mentioned such._

Watching as the bird gratefully and finally vanished in a flash of flames, Julian warily rubbed his face.

Just _what _had Harry been up to at Hogwarts to make Dumbledore take such keen interest, going to such lengths to discover more?

He had never been able to find out. Santi would have been the one to go to in such occasions.

At present, as Julian heard the first pops of portkeys being activated, he turned his head away from the sight, knowing he could do nothing for the Guardians and other prisoners being spirited away.

"… _and I can't wait to see one of 'em camps with me own eyes!"_

Julian shot Bernhard a forced smile, as he waved him in farewell. _"You'll have a splendid time, I'm sure."_

The moment the guards and prisoners had all vanished from Nurmengard's grounds, the smile stretched on his face dropped, and Julian hastened into the Tower.

He entered his chambers in a sprint. Grindelwald was away for the time being, Anacleto Armonious as always ensconced in his locked room, Konrad Von Krauss was out with the muggle Himmler supervising the 'efficient' running of the camps, and he nearly had the Tower all to himself.

The time had come.

He was terrified, utterly scared out of his wits – not what he had planned to feel at the end of his road. Alas, he felt no stoic bravery before his imminent death.

Moreover, he had never spent so much time without Santi by his side, offering him advise and support.

Ruefully shaking his head, he made a dive for his desk and the hidden velvet pouch containing Dumbledore's galleons. Yet he paused when he caught sight of something. A small, yellow bird made of parchment – 'origami', Kasimira had once called her spellcrafted, quaint creations, she did always like bizarre muggle things from exotic places.

"_A sweet, lovely songbird, to remind me of you – see?" _she had said with a sharp smirk.

Julian touched the bird figure's head, causing the parchment to unfold from its convoluted twists until it laid flat on his desk.

"_I have a wondrous birthday present for you,"_ Julian read aloud under his breath, a pinched expression on his face. _"Meet me at my flat."_

Feeling a twist in his chest, Julian pushed the parchment to a side. He didn't need the guilt of knowing that she had given him so much, and he so little to her.

Rubbing his chest in remembrance, he could only hope that Mahala had known what she was doing. Surely the portrait of Kasimira's grandmother wouldn't have taught her a Romani Blood Ritual that could threaten Kasimira's own life.

Mahala had never liked him much, the few times Kasimira had shown him the portrait. Moreover, the portrait knew her granddaughter well enough to realize just to what uses Kasimira could put the Ritual to.

He couldn't afford to worry further about it.

However, now that Santi didn't seem about to come back, he could take a chance. He could dismiss Santi's rules and dire warnings.

Ever since finding out about the Vessel and Grindelwald's plans for it and Harry, Julian had not agreed with Santi.

Harry needed to know the real reason why Grindelwald had unleashed a war in the Muggle and Wizarding World. The boy needed to know, he needed to be prepared and protect himself.

He needed to be spared from the horrors – he needed to know about Sybilla Spyros, and the Guardians, and Ulrich Von Krauss' research, and Anacleto Armonious' work, and the altering of the timelines.

His resolve solidifying, knowing he had barely seconds to spare, Julian ripped open the lowest drawer of his desk, fishing out the matching pendant he had once used to communicate with Grindelwald's unwilling spy at Hogwarts, the long deceased Tilly Toke.

Julian knew the boys had taken it after the wizard's death. He could only hope they still had it…


	67. Part I: Chapter 66

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Here's another speedy update!

First off, I've seen that there are many mixed feelings about Kasimira, and I'm glad for it. That was my intention, since when I was imagining her I also had conflicted opinions, lol. The point is that she is very selfish and capricious, obtained Julian through coercion, is not above using despicable means, is still foolish and immature in some ways, like when she disregards all Durmstrang students and sees herself above them all, when of course not all can be 'sheep-like', and is dangerous and ruthless when she's fighting for what she wants. Anyway, she did bring Julian a peace of sorts, and –to clarify a doubt- they never had sex. She came to highly value this eventually.

Also, in this 'secondary timeline', she's the one who raised her son Lucius while Abraxas was off gallivanting with 'Lord Slytherin', and she went to live to Argentina when Lucius was a teen yet old enough to manage on his own. In the original timeline –the canon's past imagined for this fic- it was Abraxas who raised Lucius, until he died of Dragon Pox when Lucius was in his last year at Hogwarts. But it's the 'secondary timeline' that matters, since it's now, due to Harry, the one that will remain.

On another note, thanks to the reviewer pointing out the mistakes in German terms. I've corrected them, though, as you well said, the Haupte Kommandanten one will remain as is, for continuity's sake ^.^ I'll still appreciate if you can keep pointing out similar mistakes in the future.

Also, another reviewer mentioned he's not getting the update alerts for this story. Please let me know if this is still going on, so that I can see if there's a way of fixing it. Thanks!

As for the pacing, well, I do always like to take my time, as readers of my other fics know. And I'm sorry for those impatient, but I'm not changing that. I like to give a deep understanding of the times and characters, especially in this fic that's taking place during WWII. There are just so many things to cover! And I'm already skimming through most.

So, this Part I will be extensive. The boys are now ending their Third Year and there are still a few more to go. Regarding Part II – that someone asked about- I'm not sure yet how long it will be or the length of time-jumps I'll be making. I don't even know if I'll write it in this same fic or make a sequel. What would you prefer?

Now, on with the story – enjoy!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 66**

* * *

Tapping the pendant with his wand and muttering the incantation, Julian said urgently in the clearest English he could muster, "Hello? Is anyone there? Riddles?"

A startled yelped answered him, before a voice bellowed as though Toke's pendant was being pressed against a mouth, the other person clearly under the impression that it had to somewhat work like a muggle telephone, the voice sounding panicked and yet also so loud that it made Julian flinch backwards, "Who speaks? Identify yourself!"

Julian stared at his own pendant. "Harry? Is that you?"

"I said, who's that?" growled what was certainly Harry's now infuriated voice. "If you're one of Grindelwald's minions you can go stuff yourself and leave us alone – you hear! Isn't it enough that we're bound to be in Germany by tomorrow-"

"Harry," interjected Julian swiftly, feeling his heart thundering in his chest with elation. "This is Julian. Julian Erlichmann."

A brief pause answered him, before Harry's voice barked, "Prove it! I'm not falling for any dodgy tricks-"

"I saved you and Tom in the Norwegian Ministry," interrupted Julian hastily. "I gave you my magical flute and turned it into a portkey that took you to-"

* * *

"Erlichmann!" breathed out Harry, staring at Tilly Toke's pendant with a gobsmacked expression.

He had just halted in his mad sprint across Hogwarts' grounds, still with Tom hot on his heels, his brother giving him chase since the dungeons, like some rampaging, berserk Cockatrice, the pain in his scar killing him.

Even now, he shot a wary look over his shoulder and saw Tom quickly gaining distance, about to reach him in a few moments.

It was sheer luck that he had just stopped in the middle of the bridge over the waters – he'd been about to furiously hurl the pendant into the Black Lake, hoping it would end up in the Giant Squid's bowels.

Thrilled excitement encompassed him as he returned to the pendant. "Where are you? What-"

"Listen to me," Julian's voice pressed urgently. "Listen carefully, this is of the utmost importance, even if it doesn't make much sense to you now. You must-"

"Give me that!"

The locket was snatched from Harry's startled hands as Tom suddenly loomed over him, panting and looking crazed with rage.

"Who's there with you?" came Julian's voice, sounding deeply wary.

"It's my brother," Harry retorted, shooting said brother a dark glower, as he added angrily, "Give it back, Tom – it's Erlichmann!"

"I see," muttered Julian's voice sounding distressed. "Well, it will have to do, even if he listens-"

"Erlichmann?" spat Tom, looking livid as his dark blue eyes narrowed, darting from pendant to Harry and back. "What does _he_ want?"

"He's about to say, you idiot!" snapped Harry heatedly, shooting out a hand to tear the pendant from his brother's grubby hands. "Give it!"

"I think not!" snarled Tom poisonously, swiftly raising it in the air, way above Harry's reach.

"Will you listen!" thundered Julian's voice with urgency.

"I will – as soon as the prat of my brother gives it back!" bit out Harry hotly, glowering at Tom and not about to make a fool of himself by attempting to jump to reach the pendant dangling above his brother's head.

"Of course," hissed out Tom, fulminating him with a murderous glower. "Because you can use the pendant to speak to Erlichmann, of all people, but I can't to speak to Grindelwald? Your self-serving hypocrisy never ceases to astonish me, little brother-"

"…Harry, you must…"

"Oh," snapped Harry, glaring daggers at Tom. "So now I'm back to being your 'little brother', am I? And you're speaking to me again too, I see!"

"…. but don't…"

Harry jabbed a finger hard into his brother's chest, fuming. "Who's self-serving now!"

"… do you understand? And also…"

"At least I don't pretend, as you do," spat Tom seething, his dark blue eyes flashing. "Beware, however - that I'm trading a few words with you now doesn't mean I've forgiven everything you've done. You backstabbing, two-faced, little-"

"Backstabbing?" roared Harry furiously. "Because I stopped you from _murdering_ a girl, Tom? Really?"

"Did you hear!" boomed Julian's voice, sounding both exasperated and anxious.

"No!" barked Harry irritably, then shooting his brother a dire look of warning. "But we will now, Erlichmann – promise. If you can repeat it?"

"Will we?" Tom jeered, his gaze fixed on Harry's, a nasty smirk spreading on his face. "You've always been one for fairness, have you not, little brother? If I can't use this to communicate with Grindelwald, then you shall not with Erlichmann!"

"Yes, I'll repeat. Harry, you must-"

"No, you idiot!" bellowed Harry, as the pendant soared through the air, splashing far away in the Black Lake, making him instantly jump after it.

"What are you doing, you lackwit!" snarled Tom's voice as Harry was violently yanked backwards by the scruff of his school robes, the moment he had been about to topple over the bridge's railing.

Wheezing, Harry rounded on his brother, spitting mad with fury as he howled, "It sounded important, you git!"

Tom sneered acidly at him, "As if I have any interest in what _he_ has to say." His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he demanded sharply, "Why were you so adamant in speaking with him?"

Staring at him incredulously for a moment, Harry then spluttered, so outraged that he could barely string two words together, "Y-you – you-"

He finally clamped his mouth shut, shot Tom his most filthy of looks, and stomped away in high dudgeon.

Let's see who wasn't going to speak to the other now! He couldn't believe his brother – Tom was absolutely incredible – the nerve!

Harry angrily raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

Well, he would just have to find a way to see Julian in Germany, that was all. It wasn't that bad.

* * *

Julian stared at the pendant in his hands when a strange, gurgling and then chirring sound came from it, until it all suddenly went silent.

With a deep sense of impotence and devastation, he angrily hurled it, hearing it smash against a wall.

Breathing hard, his sky blue eyes desperately roved around his chamber, until he leapt towards his desk, taking hold of the yellow parchment, hurriedly scribbling what little he could on it, knowing he had wasted too much time already.

With a frantic whisk of his wand and a spell, the parchment swiftly folded itself back into the origami songbird and Julian clutched it in his hands, as he had seen Kasimira do in the past, as he intoned, "Kasimira Von Krauss!", and blew hard on it.

The origami bird shot forwards, out his window, like a shooting bullet, soon spreading its small paper wings as it continued zooming at top speed, a dot that disappeared in the horizon.

Hopefully, Kasimira would receive it in an hour or less.

Finally, he tightened his grip on the velvet pouch and leaped to open his chamber's door.

Abruptly, Julian halted with doorknob in hand, when he felt a wash of immensely powerful magic tingling his skin.

Spinning around with a hopeful hitch of breath, he stared at the new arrival, as he breathed out, _"You came back."_

In all his ethereally glowing luminescence, Santi muttered, _"Of course."_

Julian's sky blue gaze roved over his friend's countenance, frowning at what he saw. Santi looked wane and exhausted, his usually bright, milky-white eyes opaque, even his sheen of golden glow looked dull and muted.

"_You look terrible,"_ Julian said with raised eyebrows, before a deeply worried expression spread over his face. _"Things not going well in the future? With – Antares?"_

Santi rubbed a translucent hand over his face, as he muttered under his breath, "_I've made a mistake. I don't know exactly how it came to happen…"_ He shook his head, looking apprehensive. _"I didn't foresee it – this turn in events… He…"_

He trailed off, looking immensely troubled, and Julian stared at him in alarm. _"He? Harry – Antares, you mean? What's happening!"_

Santi shot him a dull look, and Julian sighed, as he mumbled, _"Of course. I can't ask about the future… It won't matter to me in a few moments anyway, will it?"_ He then shot him a frown. _"But what mistake are you speaking of?"_ Becoming angered, he added, _"Because I need your absolute certainty right now, Santi! – You do know what date you've landed in, don't you?"_

"_Your twenty-fifth birthday,"_ said Santi quietly, with a jerky nod of the head. _"Precisely in three hours and twenty-nine minutes from now."_

Julian nodded and then dryly chuckled. _"Yes, indeed. If I'd know that you had been so literal when you told me long ago that I wouldn't live to see my twenty-fifth birthday… just a difference of mere hours…"_

"_Would it have made it easier if I had?"_ interjected Santi, gazing at him with a tight expression on his face.

Julian glanced at him, considering, before he sighed. _"No. I'm glad that you were vague."_

Santi mutely nodded and Julian stepped closer to him, as he pressed, _"But nothing has changed for me, right?"_

"_No,"_ muttered Santi quietly, slowly meeting his gaze and holding it.

Julian let out an exhalation of breath, not quite knowing if he was relieved or crushed by the extinction of a sudden frisson of foolish hope.

He glanced once more at Santi – his friend didn't look well, he looked sorrowful and pained- and Julian couldn't help it, as he took another step forward and crushed him in a hug, as Santi immediately became solid to his touch, for his benefit, and embraced him back.

"_I regret nothing,"_ muttered Julian into Santi's ear, as he tightened the embrace. _"Every choice I made, I made with eyes wide-open, and I have you to thank for it. Do not mourn me, my friend-" _he released him, and quirked a reminiscent smile_ "- my father, my brother, my guide and mentor – remember?"_

"_I do," _said Santi softly, giving him a warm yet strained smile.

Julian chuckled, before he hesitated. The first time he had attempted to carry out the most important mission Dumbledore had given him, he had been glad he could spare Santi from witnessing it. Now, he found he didn't feel that courageous or selfless any longer.

"_Will you -" _he began tentatively, not liking the hint of plea in his voice or the reason for it, yet unable to mask it, as he held Santi's gaze with his own. He swallowed thickly._ "Will you be with me?"_

"_Of course," _said Santi firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle squeeze.

"_Good," _whispered Julian, before he heaved a deep bout of breath, and added determinedly, _"Let's do it then, once and for all."_

With Santi like an invisible specter by his side, they soon reached the first dungeon level, and they made short work of the few guards that had remained behind. They took the wizards by surprise, as bored and off-guard as they had been, quickly stunning or petrifying them.

Julian dove for the rings of keys in the immobile hands of two of the guards, and jumped back to his feet, panting haggardly as he ran to the nearest cell.

_"Get up! All of you!"_ he cried to the prisoners inside, as he clicked the lock open and swung the barred door to a side.

The emaciated people stared at him, slowly dragging themselves up, swaying and staggering, using the walls to support themselves.

Quickly identifying the Guardians amongst them, Julian tossed one set of keys to one of the men, along with Dumbledore's pouch of galleons. _"You know what to do – open the other cells, begin distributing the galleons amongst yourselves!"_

"_Aaron-"_ croaked the cadaveric man, with previously dull eyes suddenly blazing.

"_I'm going to get him right now,"_ yelled Julian hastily over his shoulder, already sprinting towards the other distant cell. _"Group here and wait for me - I'll return with the rest!"_

He ignored the weak calls of other prisoners stirring awake as he dashed past their cells – he couldn't afford to release anyone but the Jews and their Guardians, his time was running short already.

"_Aaron!"_ Julian bellowed loudly the moment he halted before the man's cell, quickly opening it and pelting inside.

The muggle's two small children, girl and boy, stirred and cracked their sunken eyes open, as Julian grasped Aaron by the shoulders and lifted him up to his feet.

"_The time has come?"_ wheezed Aaron weakly, as he staggered against Julian's frame.

"_I need you to help me release the others,"_ Julian said urgently, fishing out a small flask from his robes and pressing it into the muggle's bony hands. _"Drink it – it's Pepper Up Potion – it will help."_

Aaron nodded feebly as he downed the potion in one fell swoop, color almost immediately rising to his gaunt cheeks.

"_Go to the second and third subfloors,"_ Julian instructed hurriedly as he handed him the other set of keys. _"I'll take the other levels – we all meet back here." _

He pointed a finger at the other end of the corridor where the first Guardian had already gathered a large group of his people, still opening more cells.

Aaron nodded in understanding and Julian dashed away, seeing Santi's blur accompanying him as he took the stairs.

He heard Aaron's voice instructing his children to reach the other Guardian, before he heard Aaron's footfalls following them deeper into the underground dungeons.

Acting to clear Aaron's way, Julian wasted no time in disarming and then disabling the guardians in subsequent levels, always getting more rings of keys and distributing them amongst the prisoners he went releasing.

However, on the sixth level things took a turn for the worse, as the guards there seemed to have caught on that something untowards was happening, no doubt having heard the sounds of unusual activity coming from above.

Julian was deluged by a storm of curses as soon as he jumped the last couple of steps and landed on the floor's corridor, making him dive to a side, wildly taking aim as he roared, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The green jet of light struck one of the guardians, who instantly toppled over, as another one seemed to have gotten a clear glimpse of him, bellowing irately, _"Erlichmann? Filthy traitor!"_

"_Santi – help!" _Julian yelled as he took cover once more and shot a curse around the corner that was shielding him.

A resounding crack and the ensuing silence made him take a peek, seeing Santi standing behind a limp guard with an oddly twisted neck. But there was still one other standing, with a look of utter horror and fear in his expression, eyes fixed on Santi, backing away, with wand trembling in hand.

Julian jumped forwards, heart pounding hard and fast in his chest as he swiftly took aim. _"Avada-"_

The guard shot him a look, eyes widening before he grasped his own chest.

"_-Kedavra!"_ roared Julian, but the beam of bright green light struck empty air, and he stared, utterly dismayed. _"No!"_

"_He's apparated – he's gone to fetch him,"_ Santi said sharply as he dropped the body in his arms, instantly reaching Julian's side. _"You have no time left."_

Julian jerked from his numbness, and rushed to the nearest cell as he aimed and bellowed,_ "Bombarda!"_

There was no longer need for subtlety. Indeed, he instantly heard the loud, deafening shriek of Nurmengards' wards as the cell's door exploded into bits of metal.

"_Get to the first level!" _Julian yelled at the prisoners, as he sprinted for the next, and the next, and the next. _"Bombarba – Bombarda – Bombarda!"_

Wheezing and panting hard, he jumped into the following stairway, but something clutched him from behind.

"_He is coming, Julian-"_

"_But – the seventh floor-" _Julian gasped out, frantically struggling against Santi's hold_ "- there're still Jews there-"_

"_You have no time left!" _snapped Santi sternly, shaking him hard. _"Grindelwald will be here in a matter of seconds!"_

Julian swiveled his head around, horrified_. "I can't leave them behind!"_

Santi gritted his teeth, and Julian suddenly found himself wrapped in tense, hard arms, his feet leaving the floor as he felt a pull around his body.

A split second later, his stomach giving a sickly lurch, Julian staggered as his feet landed hard on stone floors.

"_Save those you can," _said Santi curtly as he released him, making Julian stumble against a wall.

Cries and yells, joyful yet anxious and urgent, made him realize he was back on the first dungeon level, hundreds of Jews and their Guardians congregated together in tight groups, galleons in their hands, wary, hopeful expressions on their faces as they all caught sight of him.

Swallowing thickly, Julian straightened and rushed towards them, swishing his hand in the air as he ran, yelling the incantation Dumbledore had long ago created to momentarily disable Nurmengard's wards.

The shrieking siren abruptly stopped as Julian reached the Jews, and urged loudly,_ "Raise your galleons – all of you!"_

As though as one, they all complied, bony, stick-like arms weakly lifting in the air with bright, shiny golden galleons clutched hard.

"LIBERTATI!" Julian shouted with a flick of his wand, Dumbledore's keyword for the activation of the portkeys.

Hundreds of golden galleons bobbing in the air began to glow blue in the gloomy darkness of the dungeons, it was a beautiful, eerie sight as Julian observed, riveted.

A hand on his shoulder made him glance to a side, seeing Aaron with his two small children, their hands around a glowing blue galleon – extended towards him.

"_I'm staying,"_ whispered Julian, understanding the offer, meeting Aaron's sunken black eyes.

Aaron frowned at him._ "Why?"_

Abruptly, Julian winced as the mark on the nape of his neck burned and blazed, the pain piercing, thunderous, ravaging, his hand automatically going to it.

"_Because there's no escape for me," _muttured Julian as he rubbed the Dark Lord's mark.

Aaron's eyes darted to the motion, understanding crossing his shriveled features as he nodded. _"You have my people's eternal gratitude, Helper. May your journey be peaceful-"_

Julian didn't hear the rest of the Guardian's words, as several things seemed to erupt at the same time.

Spine-chilling dark waves of power flooded the narrow corridor of the dungeon, roars and shouts of fury booming, meshed with cries of fear from the Jews as jets of light exploded and careened towards them – but met nothing but thin air, as the galleons flashed their brightest and the prisoners vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving Julian behind, standing alone.

"_Julian,"_ said a very familiar voice, the tone disbelieving, furious and murderous, meshed with so many unfathomable feelings that it almost sounded garbled and incomprehensible.

Julian stared at the Dark Lord.

Grindelwald had not come alone, there were countless followers by his flanks, all with wands aimed, yet they all seemed to have frozen and halted their curse-casting at the Dark Lord's uttering of his name.

Lifting his own wand, trembling, Julian gazed into Grindelwald's hawk-like eyes, seeing the expression contorting the wizard's handsome features. There was no boyish, charming mischief there any longer, but rather a hint of insane rage, like that of a wild, savage beast that had lost its wits.

"_Why?"_ snarled Grindelwald, breathing hard, skewering him with his eyes, wand rising straight at him.

With something twisting in his chest, Julian mutely shook his head, before he cast a furtive, desperate glance at his side – where only he could see Santi, shimmering, standing by his side, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"_Not like this,"_ mumbled Julian from the corners of his mouth. _"Please – not by his hand."_

He had no chance of winning a duel for his life against Gellert, he knew well. Nevertheless, he didn't want his last moments to be such – to have to battle a man that had come to mean so much for him, a man he still held contradictory opinions and feelings for.

Not only to not give Gellert the pleasure of killing him, in the most brutal, torturous and savage of ways without a doubt, but also because it would be insupportable for Julian to have his lover be the one to end his life, it would be painful and devastating, and not only in the physical sense.

"_I understand,"_ came Santi's quiet voice, and for once, there was no disapproval or judgment in it, but sympathy.

Julian's breath hitched when a flash of light erupted at a swift wave of Santi's hand, accompanied by Grindelwald's roar of fury as the wizard leaped towards Julian, image and sounds which were instantly blurred and muted when whatever spell Santi had cast produced a block between them – like a thick wall of rippling water that stood dividing the corridor in half.

With heart thundering hard in his chest, Julian panted as he saw the blurry image of Grindelwald, who seemed to be shouting and spitting and roaring from behind the block, moving his wand frenetically, casting spell after spell at it.

"_It will only hold for a few moments."_

At that, Julian turned to face Santi, mumbling, _"I understand. Thank you."_

He clutched Santi's forearm in gratitude and farewell, Santi soon returning the hold, and Julian gave him a half-smile as they remained connected so, in a strange embrace of forearms.

Suddenly remembering, Julian quickly broke it, as he plucked something from his robes, handing it to Santi as he intently peered into his eyes. _"I've thought about it and I want Harry to have it. Will you give it to him?"_

Santi stared down at Julian's most treasured possession, the magical flute Laurent Didier had given him long ago. He eyed Julian and gently took the flute without saying a word.

Julian shot him a smile of gratitude, before he swallowed thickly and looked down at his wand. Already knowing what he wanted to do, he took a deep breath and muttered the spell, seeing how the tip of his wand became sharp, like the blade of a dagger.

He raised his eyes to meet Santi's gaze, as he lifted his wand and brought it to his neck.

It helped staring into Santi's glowing, milky-eyes, it even felt soothing, like being enveloped in a warm, loving, comforting presence, for a moment chasing away his fear.

Holding the gaze, Julian finally swiped his wand's tip hard and quickly across his neck, gasping and letting it fall in the next second, as the wound felt as though it was burning, as spurts of bloods shot out and began to copiously drench his robes, as he felt dizzy and weak, his knees buckling.

Santi caught him in his arms as Julian's head rolled backwards, his eyesight becoming blurry as he felt cold and wet all of a sudden. He wondered, distantly, as he felt Santi gently lowering him to the floor, if it looked like he was gracefully falling to the ground in slow-motion – if Gellert was seeing it through the block of magic.

With distending pupils, Julian gasped, gurgles of blood spurting from his mouth and neck, as his head was rested on Santi's lap, as Santi's hands caressed his face tenderly and he saw his friend's regretful, torn, and pained look.

Santi brought his face inches from his own, for a moment making Julian wildly and insensibly believe he was going to be kissed, but instead, Santi lifted the magical flute, as he whispered softly, _"I will not give this to Harry. I will give it to you, Julian."_

Julian stared up at him, his body completely immobile now, not feeling an ounce of strength or warmth, feeling as though everything had flooded out of him, yet his eyes widened in faint understanding a second later as he drew his last, gurgling breath, an expression of vague hope remaining forever etched on his dead face.

* * *

Kasimira Von Krauss sat in an armchair in the Headmaster's office, tense and wary, across from the wizard. Two of her father's underlings were still standing guard around the room, while one other had already vanished into the Headmaster's fireplace with her trunk.

It had made her spitting mad and fretful, for Mahala's portrait had been in her trunk and she had no doubt where the minion had taken her possessions to, and to whom.

She had been sitting there, waiting for her father's arrival for over an hour, and her nerves were getting the best of her.

Kasimira shot her Headmaster another silent, filthy look, and then looked away, gritting her teeth as she fingered the wand on her lap. She could not take them all or she would have attempted so.

"_What's that?" _spat one of the guards, making Kasimira glance around to see one of her father's minions raising his wand, towards one of the office's windows.

Frowning, Kasimira took a look for herself. Apparently, some sort of bird was making its way towards the Castle.

She scoffed acidly, nearly turning her face away in sheer disinterest, before she suddenly recognized the 'bird' as it kept approaching in a dizzying speed.

Her icy blue eyes widening and her heart racing fast with elation and hope, Kasimira instantly jumped to her feet, flicked her wand and shouted, _"Alohamora!"_

The window flew wide open just as the 'bird' came shooting inside.

"_Fräulein von Krauss!"_ boomed the Headmaster thunderously as he angrily rose to his feet with wand in hand. _"Get back to you chair-"_

"_Accio owl!"_ roared one of her father's minions, making Kasimira nearly snort derisively at the wizard's utter ignorance.

"_Accio origami!"_ she bellowed instantly, jumping to catch the paper bird as it abruptly turned and zoomed towards her.

Utter havoc seemed to unleash around her as the Headmaster and her father's underlings yelled and shot spells at her, as her heart thumped and the blood in her veins coursed frantically and excitedly, as she ran towards the door and shrieked, _"Bombarda!"_

With a deafening explosion of splinters, Kasimira ducked and ran with all her might through the blasted door.

She pelted down the corridors with her pursuers hot on her tracks, panting haggardly as she willed her willowy legs to move faster, to let her reach Durmstrang's entrance doors and grounds, to allow her to set one toe outside the wards to be able to Apparate – she knew how, and it no longer mattered that she didn't have the license at her young age, let the German Ministry of Magic try to find her in Argentina if they could!

Julian had written back! Julian had to be waiting for her in their flat, had to be wondering concernedly at her lateness - she had to get there!

Screams, shouts, and roars of fury followed behind her as she dashed madly through the hallways under a deluge of curses, as she ducked and swerved to avoid them, as she shot her own, nastiest of curses over her shoulder in an attempt to halt her chasers.

"_Exprimo!"_ she snarled as she flicked her wand, seeing one of her father's underlings being lifted off his feet by the Dark curse and blasted against a wall as a series of cracks ensued, meshed with the wizard's screams as his ribs cracked and caved in, sinking into his chest.

Moments later, she cried with jubilation as she saw the Castle's entrance before her, just a few feet away, as she ran faster, as she momentarily halted her haphazard curse-casting to be able to read Julian's reply, in the off chance he had decided to meet her somewhere else after being tired of waiting in the flat.

Without halting her mad sprint, Kasimira tapped the origami bird with the tip of her wand, the bird's folds unraveling until it was a smooth piece of parchment, her eyes instantly devouring Julian's words-

And she froze.

She suddenly halted, her body chilled to the bone, her eyes wide and unseeing as she held the letter in stiff, trembling hands, as she lost all color in her face, as she felt as though something had pierced through her body like a lightning bolt.

Because she knew what those words had to mean. But it was simply not possible… the Romani Ritual…

"_Mahala!"_ Kasimira screamed in distraught, betrayed rage, her eyes burning, becoming wet as she crushed the parchment in her hand.

"_Petrificus totalus!"_

With a chocking sound from the back of her throat, Kasimira toppled over, her stiff body crashing hard against the stone floors, crumbled piece of parchment still trapped inside a frozen fist, as one of her father's minions stood over her, a snarl on his face.

"_Let your father deal with you, slut!" _the wizard hissed with fury and disgust, bending over to tie something around Kasimira's immobile neck, before he tapped it with his wand and snapped,_ "Nurmengard!"_

Kasimira shrieked and roared maddeningly inside her own head as her lips refused to move, as she felt a familiar pull around her navel, as she felt her heart being torn and shorn with the distraught sobs she couldn't release, as she suddenly vanished.

* * *

Harry tripped as he was about to toss a Valerian root in his cauldron. Swaying, he clutched the edge of the table.

He shook his head for what felt like the umpteenth time, trying to clear it.

He was well into his Potions practical examination, with only five minutes left, and he'd been making mistake after mistake for the past few minutes.

He felt disoriented, as though he had forgotten something. But having checked the brewing instructions on the board, he knew it was not the case.

Frowning and rubbing his chest, he checked that he had not forgotten to chop the beetle eyes. But there they were, on his table.

He kept feeling he had misplaced or forgotten something, he kept retracing and re-checking all the potion-brewing steps, he kept feeling weird and dizzy. He kept feeling a hollow, strange emptiness inside his chest.

Perhaps it was the fumes? Making him feel so ill and sick?

Harry staggered backwards, trying to cover his mouth and nose, but the movement only served to make him dizzier.

"Mr. Riddle? Are you feeling well?"

The jolly face of Professor Slughorn came into his line of sight as the wizard peered down at him worriedly.

Harry could only muster the will to slowly shake his head. He could already feel his scar blazing with pain, and it only worsened his condition. It was no time for Tom to be mad at him because he wasn't managing to brew a perfect, stupid potion!

Horace Slughorn sighed, shooting a glance at Harry's cauldron, his expression falling with disappointment, before he gazed back at him.

"If you're feeling ill, m'boy, you're excused to go to the Infirmary," said Slughorn kindly. "Let us hope your scores in the theoretical examination will compensate for-"

The wizard's words were swallowed by the ringing of a bell, making the Professor boom jauntily, "Time is up! Please leave your flasks on my desk and clean your workspace…"

"Are you alright?" said a voice worriedly as Harry was straightened up to his feet.

Seeing Alphard clutching him, Harry croaked, "No."

"Want me to take you to Miss Nightingale?" said Alphard softly, giving him a very concerned look as he helped Harry towards the door.

Harry scrunched his nose at that. "No – thanks. Common room."

Alphard nodded as they began to make their way, followed by the other Slytherins quietly discussing and comparing their brewing results. Thankfully Tom was being deluged by questions and the attention of their housemates, and thus didn't get a clear chance to nastily berate Harry for his lackluster performance in the test.

As soon as they entered the common room, Harry dropped on one of the couches, Alphard swiftly sitting by his side, fretting like a mother hen.

"I'm fine," groused Harry under his breath, rubbing his chest. "I'm feeling much better now-"

"You're still looking very pale," insisted Alphard, intently peering at him, to then press a hand on Harry's forehead, his grey eyes widening in distress. "You're cold!"

"I'm fine," grumbled Harry crossly as he batted the hand away. "It was the fumes-"

They both nearly jumped off their seats as loud whooshing sounds resounded all around them, as the students gathered in the common room jerked in startlement and attention, as a veritable army of owls seemed to have swept in, pouring from the fireplaces.

Harry blinked dizzily, taken aback. He'd only witnessed such in very few instances, only when the Slytherins' parents had pressing news of great importance to relay to their children and couldn't be bothered to wait for meal times in the Great Hall.

The moment a nasty-looking, enormous black eagle owl settled itself on one of Alphard's knees, Harry leaned closer. "What's happened?"

Alphard shrugged, looking befuddled as he rid the owl from the rolled parchment it carried.

"Well?" pressed Harry wheezily as he felt another strange, dizzy spell about to cloud him, seeing Alphard reading his father's letter with gobsmacked, widening grey eyes.

"…he's dead?" a Slytherin loudly gasped, sounding utterly stunned.

"… a traitor…"

"…the Dark Lord killed him…"

"… but he couldn't have been! He was the Dark Lord's favorite, wasn't he?"

Harry slowly moved his foggy, swimming head around, glancing at his housemates with a frown, their words incomprehensible to him.

He stared back at Alphard, blinking slowly. "What's going on? Who's dead?"

"The Dark Lord's lover," murmured Alphard, staring back at him with a perplexed expression on his face. "Julian Erlichmann."

"What?" croaked Harry feebly, all air escaping from his lungs in a pained, piercing, choked wheeze, before everything seemed to swirl and go dark.

* * *

Drowsily cracking his green eyes open, feeling as though it was costing him tremendous effort, his eyelids feeling heavy and draggy, Harry caught sight of a face inches from his, so close that it was blurry.

It took him a moment to recognize it as Tom's face, heavy with a frown, even looking mildly concerned, though it must have been his imagination because his brother instantly jerked backwards and gave him a scathing sneer, "Finally awake, I see."

Harry blearily blinked at him, before he gazed at his surroundings. "I'm – in the Infirmary?"

"Yes," hissed out Tom, shooting him a contemptuous look. "You _fainted_. Could you be any more pathetic? You've been unconscious for nearly a quarter of an hour-"

"What?" Harry incomprehensibly stared at him, before his green eyes widened and he sat bolt upright, gasping, "Erlichmann!"

"Yes," jeered Tom venomously, his dark blue eyes flashing with relish. "The traitor has been found out and dealt with. Good riddance, at long last-"

"But it can't be!" Harry choked out in a strangled voice, as he jumped to his feet – or attempted to, that was, because he was soon clutching the edge of his bed, swaying.

"Go back to bed and lay still, you imbecile!" snarled Tom, clutching one of Harry's forearms in a restraining, hard grip, as though about to slam him back into place with a surge of angered violence.

"Geroff!" hissed Harry furiously under his breath, giving his brother such a hard shove with all the strength he could muster that Tom released him as he staggered backwards.

Harry instantly took his chance and rushed towards the Hospital Wing's doors.

He heard Tom snarling and thundering behind him, but worst, Miss Nightingale just then walked out of her office, mere feet ahead of him, with a flask in hand, staring at him.

"And where do you think you're going, Mr. Riddle?" she snapped angrily. "Back into bed, young man - you need a dose of Pepper-Up, I should think! You're still looking rather peaky-"

The Mediwitch's eyes widened and she shrieked, though, when it became evident to her that Harry was not pausing as he rushed towards her like a determined, stampeding bull.

"I'll take it - Thanks!" shouted Harry as he snatched the flask from her hands and dove around her, breaking through the swiveling, Infirmary doors.

He heard Tom raging after him, as he quickly downed the potion and threw the flask over his shoulder, beginning to feel a bit better, gaining speed and strength as his heart fluttered anxiously in his chest, beating chaotically.

It made no sense! They all had to be wrong – the news mistaken. He had spoken to Julian Erlichmann a mere hour ago!

Blanching, feeling as though he was drowning with lack of breath, with a sudden surge of panic, of frenetic need to disbelief, of sheer horror, he knew he had to know the truth.

And suddenly he knew exactly how to find out. Exactly who could aid him. Who he could blackmail.

The time had come, and for what better cause but to ascertain that Julian Erlichmann had to be well!

Harry turned around a corner like a madman, and entered the corridor of the girls' loo.

The moment he tore the door open, there was a furious yell and a jet of light struck the wall just behind Harry, barely missing him by an inch.

Swirling around, Harry stared at the sight of his brother, who looked livid as he caught up with him.

"What do you think you are doing?" snarled Tom under his breath the moment he reached him, wand upheld and aimed at him.

"I'm going to the Chamber," spat Harry, incensed. "Not that it's any of your business – now, stand aside!"

"To the Chamber - what for?" bit out Tom, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him, his expression then turning into one of scorn and anger. "What harebrained plot are you up to now?"

"Stand aside!" snapped Harry furiously.

"No." Tom eyed him with a frosty, quelling look. "I'm not letting you do anything stupid." He gave him a scathing sneer. "If this has anything to do with Erlichmann's demise and your disgustingly maudlin display of sentimentality-"

Seeing red, Harry launched himself at his brother, pushing him hard against the wall as he clutched him by the lapels, and roared, "You shut up about him! He's not dead – so don't interfere –"

"Unhand me at once!" hissed out Tom, glaring at him and at the hands gripping and crushing his robes, as he menacingly brought his wand's tip to Harry's neck in a flash of movement.

At that, Harry let out a hard laugh as he instantly retaliated, pointedly raising his wand as well. "What – two can play this game, brother. Want to have a go at the Priori thingy again?"

Tom pierced him with eyes narrowed to slits. "There are other ways I can employ to restrain you. Do not forget."

"Oh – the memory of that is still painfully clear," bit out Harry hotly, as he used his free hand to rub his neck, now only baring faint bruises of the time Tom had used his magic to strangle him.

"Good," sneered Tom caustically as he lowered his wand and shoved Harry away, straightening up from the wall. He took a step forward to loom over him, scrutinizing him, before his expression turned contemptuous. "You cannot possibly believe that Erlichmann is still alive. Furthermore, you have no means by which to ascertain the veracity-"

"Spare me your puffed-up drivel," snapped Harry short-temperedly as he briskly tucked his wand away and faced him head on. "I know what to do. And I need you to leave me alone and go away-"

"Not until you tell me-"

"I'm telling you nothing!" bit out Harry heatedly. "If you care one bit about me, you'll pull your nose out of my business and you'll do me the favor of-"

"Favor?" jeered Tom nastily, looking down his nose at him. "Why would I do _you_ any favors after the things you've done?"

Harry caustically chuckled at that. "Of course – what was I thinking?" He shot him a filthy look as he quickly fished out the piece of parchment from his back pocket, waving it in front of Tom's face. "Know what this is? I wasn't planning on showing you this soon, but…" He trailed off, giving his brother a sharp grin. "Tell me, would you like to know the address of the witch who has the Slytherin locket?"

Tom's dark blue eyes darted from Harry to parchment and back, with an excited, hungry and greedy look, before he pulled himself up to his fullest height and scoffed acidly. "You lie. Where would you have acquired that from?"

Harry shot him a toothy grin. "From Borgin and Burke's, naturally. In fact-" he waved the piece of parchment again "- there's plenty more from where this came from. An entire ledger, filled with entries of dark artifacts sold throughout the years – the description of what they do, and the names and addresses of those who bought the items."

He paused to widen his grin at his brother's expression. "Yes, imagine all those dark artifacts – so many of them, so nasty and powerful – and you used to complain that you could get galleons and rare Dark Arts tomes from students in exchange for tutoring them, or doing their essays or helping them study for their examinations – but not one was willing to give you any family heirlooms in return." He quirked an eyebrow mockingly. "Wouldn't it be nice to have pages upon pages of information of how to get any dark artifact that struck your fancy?"

Harry waited as he saw his brother mulling things over, undoubtedly weighing what was most advantageous for him. Though, certainly, he had no real intention of giving Tom such information.

Borgin and Burke's ledger was safely tucked away with the original Slytherin diaries and Tom's notes, in the Fidelius-Charm-protected hidey-hole. And it certainly held information about tons of very nasty dark artifacts that had passed through the shop. Harry shuddered at the mere idea of any of those in the hands of his brother.

Nevertheless, it served as a bargaining chip. And there were some artifacts that were mild in comparison – those, he could trade for more favors from Tom, in the future.

Remaining silent, Tom eyed him carefully, a look of calculation on his face before he hissed out quietly, "You are bluffing. I don't believe you. How could you have anything from Borgin and Burke's?"

"Because I've also discovered," retorted Harry coolly, "a way in which to go to London." He shot him a smug smirk. "To Knockturn Alley itself, actually. Directly from Hogwarts – without anyone knowing, without raising any alarms, without Hogwarts' wards taking notice."

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, before he snapped in an imperious, whiplashing tone, "How?"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Surely you don't expect me to tell without getting anything in return." He gave him a broad, hard grin. "This is how it's going to work. I'll give you the location of the Slytherin locket right now, as proof that I'm not lying. And in exchange, you'll go to our common room and wait for me there. And you'll let me do what I want to do with no questions asked."

"I think not," griped Tom sharply, giving him a dark, threatening look. "I want the whole ledger."

"Nope," said Harry with a forced, bright smile on his face. "It's going to be tit-for-tat and one artifact at a time."

"I could take it forcibly," hissed out Tom venomously, his eyes narrowing to slits, his gaze flickering to the piece of parchment in Harry's hands as he fingered his wand.

"You could also Legilimize me, I reckon," quipped Harry nonchalantly, quirking an eyebrow at his brother, "to find out where I've stashed the ledger – but then again, you must know that if you ever try that on me, I'm through with you, brothers or not."

Indeed, he knew that Tom's progress in their studies of the Mind Arts far outstripped his own. His brother simply appeared to have a knack for them, whilst Harry still struggled with Occlumency alone, barely being able to construct feeble mind-shields to protect his thoughts. While Tom's mind seemed to easily build the most impenetrable of fortresses, and just as easily could pierce through the mind of others, brutally so.

Thus, Legilimency was the one thing that Harry had never allowed his brother to practice with on him. And Tom was well aware of how he viewed the matter – Legilimency having always felt to Harry as one of the most horrible of violations.

"If you accept," added Harry in a soft, cajoling tone, as he waved the piece of parchment in his hand once more, "I'll even help you get the locket. We can plan it over the holidays."

The parchment disappeared from his hand as Tom brusquely snatched it, giving him a flat look as he jeered venomously, "Very well, we have a deal. It's not as if I truly care what you're up to. Something imbecilic and dim-witted, as usual. Don't come to me crying if you get in a fix."

And with one last scornful, malicious look, Tom quickly pocketed the parchment and turned away.

Harry contently watched as his brother disappeared down the corridor. A second later, he ran inside the girls' loo.

* * *

Harry ran a hand through his hair, agitated. He was standing in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, knowing that much depended on whether he was absolutely right in every guess and speculation he had made lately.

This was not the circumstance he had imagined when planning the situation. Nevertheless, needs must, and he was already beginning to feel dizzy and ill once more, Miss Nightingale's Pepper-Up Potion only having served as a momentary relief.

He needed to get to the bottom of it. He needed to see Julian Erlichmann.

Harry eyed the green and silver magic that he saw interwoven in the cavernous walls of the Chamber, seeing the glittering Ancient Runes dancing across, and strengthened his resolve.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and yelled loudly, "Fawkes! I need you – FAWKES!"

With heart beating hard in his chest, breath hitched, Harry waited. When nothing happened, he was quick to change tacks.

"Salazar is here!" he bellowed in a distressed tone. "Fawkes – please, HELP!"

Abruptly, there was a blinding flash of flames and the Phoenix was suddenly there, soaring high in the Chamber, letting out a shriek as he apparently caught sight of his surroundings.

"You can hear me, no matter the distance," muttered Harry under his breath, one point of his theories proven, as he eyed the wand in his hand.

He wondered vaguely if it was just a general Phoenix ability or if it had something to do with the feather. Though that issue still left him mightily puzzled and uncertain.

That one of Fawkes' wands had chosen Tom was understandable, as brilliant as his brother was. But that the last of the wands had chosen him made little sense – he wasn't a prodigy like his brother and the other five Slytherins of the past.

Granted, he had some bizarre, uncommon talents, like his Magic-sight ability and his Animagus Transformation into a magical creature, not to mention the fact that he could get inside wizarding portraits and that ghosts could touch him…

Harry shook his head. Still, it must have been because he was Tom's twin. After all, how intelligent could a magical feather be? It must have been confused when it chose him, must have mistaken him for Tom or something of the sort.

Another piercing shriek from the bird made Harry break out of his musings, turning his head backwards to observe the creature.

Fawkes now seemed to be immensely and fiercely excited, as he kept soaring around the Chamber, black-eyed gaze darting right and left, intent and determined, apparently inspecting every nook and cranny of the room.

"He's not here!" yelled Harry, his jaw clenching. "I lied. Zar is safe in his Lair."

Fawkes' neck instantly snapped around, the Phoenix skewering him with his black, hard gaze as he let out an ear-splitting screech, sounding angry.

Harry shot him a tight-lipped grimace. "And no, I'm not telling you where his Lair is, or how to access it."

Fawkes shrieked again, this time sounding furious and undoubtedly about to vanish after the trickery.

"But I've given you something, haven't I?" Harry shouted. "This is the first time you've ever been able to get here! You knew about the Chamber, but not where it was, exactly – and you could have never gotten inside if a Slytherin and Parselmouth didn't call you – because of the wards!"

Fawkes flapped his fiery wings violently as he took a turn and shot towards him, flying nearer and nearer at top speed.

Not too sure what the Phoenix was planning on doing –perhaps even doing him some harm in retaliation- Harry roared, "I still can't let you hurt Salazar Slytherin! But I can make you a deal!"

Mere feet from him, Fawkes seemed to come to a halt, suspending in mid air as he kept batting his wings, his black-eyed gazed zeroed in on him.

Harry exhaled with some relief, before he continued speaking, his tone now quiet as he met the creature's gaze, "I've hidden the Slytherin diaries – they contained instructions of how to liberate Slytherin. My brother thinks them destroyed. No one will ever be able to find them. No one will try to free Salazar again. The secret will die with me."

Fawkes pierced him with his eyes as he let out a sharp trill. It sounded grudgingly accepting, in some small measure, yet not fully satisfied, as the Phoenix then proceeded to cast his gaze around, searchingly, as though not giving up in his mission of finding the Basilisk.

"That's not all," gritted out Harry, feeling a flare of anger at the creature's behavior. "I'm going to blackmail you now."

The bird let out a loud trill that sounded more like a vastly amused, dismissive chuckle, before he took flight once more around the Chamber.

Gnashing his teeth, Harry roared at the top of his lungs, "I'm serious – Gryffindor! GODRIC GRYFFINDOR!"

Suddenly, there seemed to reign nothing but silence, and some faint swishing noise as Fawkes dropped to the floor as though poleaxed, landing on his talons, clicking on the stone floors as he gave one shaky hop.

"Yes," whispered Harry with much relish, a wide, sharp smile spreading on his face. "I finally know who you are. I was right."

The Phoenix let out a strange, strangled sound, sounding partly like a chirp of agitation meshed with a sharp cry.

At that, Harry cocked his head to a side, grinning broadly. "You'd like to know how I figured it out, I suppose? After all, you should know what I'm planning on spreading around if you don't do what I'm going to ask."

Pausing to crouch on the floor, to be at eye-level with the creature, Harry resumed with a cheery tone of voice, "I reckon it began when Santi told me how someone had witnessed the last moments of Sherisse Slytherin's life – someone who tried to help her, _despite_ her being a Slytherin. That always sounded odd to me – who would refuse to help someone just due to their blood? And then, when I discovered that it had been you, and also you who raised the alarm, who made the teachers give chase to Morgon Gaunt as he fled with his newborn son…"

He shot the bird a large grin. "Well, it makes sense now, that you didn't want to lose track of Slytherin's descendants. You had them all under your watch when they were at Hogwarts. It must have worried you when Gaunt vanished with his son, never to be heard from again. Until, centuries later, my brother and I came to Hogwarts…"

He trailed off, raising his wand pointedly. "With your feathers having chosen us. You must have known then, that we were Slytherin's descendants – that the line hadn't died off, as you must have hoped."

Harry chuckled under his breath. "Keeping track of Slytherin's descendants by giving your feathers to the Ollivanders throughout the ages was smart, I grant you. And to have your feathers pick only those of Slytherin blood who were powerful and bright enough to be able to release Salazar! It ensured that you were alerted the moment anything of the sort was attempted – you would act then, to put an end to it!"

He shot the bird a pointed look, as he added coolly, "Because you didn't manage it before, when you were a wizard. Helena Ravenclaw's ghost told me much." He gave Fawkes a sharp grin. "Her reaction to you, when we all met for the first time, was also a clue. Though the things she told me later cinched the deal – how you came back from your duel with Slytherin, mortally injured, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff working hard, trying to save you, but they couldn't. You were dying, and you had seen how Salazar turned into a Basilisk, you cast the charm to imprison him in his form, but he was too quick. He escaped, he used the caves and came to Hogwarts – to the Chamber, where you couldn't go."

Harry eyed Fawkes, who was staring back at him in complete, frozen silence, and musingly tilted his head to a side. "I suppose you had no other choice, in your view. You knew Slytherin's son Saturnus would recognize the Basilisk as being his father. You knew Saturnus would work tirelessly to free him from your charm. But you also knew that he wasn't smart enough to pull it off. So it wouldn't end there, and you had to be alive for as long as there were Slytherin descendants trying to free their ancestor. The only way was for you to change to your immortal Animagus form."

Frowning as the thought struck him, never having thought of it in that way, Harry mumbled quietly, "It was your sacrifice of sorts. Being forever a Phoenix, and not only for as long as Slytherin was the Basilisk. Because even if you one day had the chance to kill him and fulfill the duty you took upon yourself, you would find no peace after that. Phoenixes cannot die."

Shuddering, and unwittingly wrapping an arm around himself, Harry stared back at 'Fawkes', suddenly feeling a frisson of sympathy and compassion he didn't want to be experiencing.

Though, admittedly, the fate that Godric Gryffindor had chosen for himself was a lonely, grim one.

It made him wonder just how very desperate and guilt-ridden the wizard must have been at the time. Sorrowful, for having his own best and closest of friends become such a menace that he had to duel him, to imprison him in his Animagus form? Then perhaps also guilty, because he botched the duel and Slytherin escaped, forever to be a threat inside the castle and to its students - an unresolved problem and pending burden that Gryffindor had chosen to carry on his shoulders alone.

Abruptly, a soft, quiet chirp echoed in the Chamber, and Harry blinked, to then gaze at Fawkes, who had hopped closer to him.

The Phoenix laid its feathery head on Harry's knee, and Harry gazed down at him, green eyes narrowing.

"I bear you no ill will," gritted out Harry, not liking what he considered to be a play on his emotions, a clear attempt at manipulation. "But I'm still blackmailing you."

Fawkes raised his head and stared at him keenly, black eyes piercing and intense.

Harry huffed, before he shot him a hard look. "I don't care about your tiff with Salazar Slytherin. He'll not be freed, and that's that. You, at least, know who you are. While he's paying whatever dues he owes – if any. But I don't want him dead – he's no threat to anyone. It wouldn't be right."

Fawkes jerked away, letting out a shriek that certainly sounded sour, disagreeing, and angered.

"Let's get to the point," snapped Harry crossly. "I'm going to tell everyone who you are unless you-"

The Phoenix let out a loud, deep trill that sounded exactly like a bout of laughter.

Harry shot him a filthy look, as he bit out, "I'm not saying I'll be believed right away! But I can write to the Ministry. They won't believe the letters from a schoolboy, at first. But they're getting pretty desperate, aren't they?" He shot the bird a nasty grin. "Especially since, according to The Daily Prophet, they've been trying for ages to convince Dumbledore to battle Grindelwald personally, and he still won't do it."

He sardonically arched an eyebrow when Fawkes skewered him with his black gaze, and he continued placidly, "Yes. The Ministry is getting so desperate that they might just decide to believe the insane ramblings of a schoolboy, in the off chance that they could have a Founder in their hands. And you were supposedly one of the most powerful wizards to have ever lived – a 'good', noble one, to boot. The perfect savior against Grindelwald, no?"

"Not to mention," added Harry loftily, "that I can also tell your 'master' – because Dumbledore has no idea, does he?"

Fawkes let out an infuriated shriek, brusquely hopping away from him, batting his wings fiercely.

"And," continued Harry, raising his voice as he shot him a large, stony smile, "I could also decide not to wait for the Ministry or Dumbledore to believe me or act on it. I could do it myself." He lifted his wand demonstratively. "I know the spell that forces an Animagus to switch back to his human self. Your natural lifespan as a wizard expired ages ago, what do you think will happen to you if I cast the spell?"

Fawkes suddenly stilled and leveled a hard look at him, while Harry's smile widened as he ticked off his fingers. "Only two possible outcomes, really. One, the instant you are a wizard you'll crumble into a pile of dust and bones. Two, if you just happen to be incredibly lucky, your Phoenix's immortality is one of the traits you've acquired, and you'll live." He shot the creature a mock-mournful look. "Just, who-knows what kind of human-creature hybrid you'll be! Do you want to take the chance, Gryffindor? Especially when Salazar is still alive?"

The Phoenix stared at him, before he let out a low, nearly grumbling trill.

Harry beamed a sharp grin at him. "Thought so. I'm glad to see you're a sensible bloke."

He jumped to his feet in hurried excitement and triumph. "I'll keep my mouth shut and you'll just be one more secret I'm keeping. In return-" he eyed the Phoenix who was now shooting him a baleful glower, and grinned wider "- you'll come to me whenever I yell your name. Wherever I am, in whatever circumstance, you'll come to me, and you'll aid me in the ways your Phoenix form allows you to."

Fawkes gave him a sharp, keen look at that, and Harry nodded as he pointedly fingered his wand. "Yup, you heard correctly. I know we're linked because of the feather in my wand. I know you can hear me no matter how far away I am. You proved that today." He gave the bird a smug look, as he lowered his voice, "And I also know that you can cross any magical barriers, and not only when someone is calling out in distress."

The Phoenix squawked in some sort of attempt at denial, and Harry sighed impatiently. "I was in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, Gryffindor. No one called you or yelled for your help, yet you arrived, even though the wards were still up. I remember clearly."

He shot the bird a speculative, scrutinizing look. "I think your ability must work kind of like Apparition. As long as you've been there before, as long as you can visualize it, you can appear again – and you're powerful enough that magical barriers are no impediment, even when no one 'worthy and good of heart' is asking for your help. Except, of course-" he added smugly as he gestured at their surroundings "-when there's the impediment of having to be able to speak Parseltongue –that, you can't bypass on your own. Salazar certainly knew what he was doing when he warded this place."

Fawkes ruffled his feathers in jerky, agitated motions, and Harry pierced him with a grave look, as he pressed flatly, "So, do we have a deal?"

The creature shot him what Harry could only consider a dour, grumpy glare as he trilled a reluctant sound.

"Good," said Harry swiftly, his blood abruptly rushing fast in his veins again. "Now tell me, Gryffindor, have you ever been to Nurmengard?"

It earned him an alarmed look, yet it all proceeded without any further delays.

And as Harry grasped the Phoenix's tail feathers, he vaguely discerned that the whole affair of having unmasked yet another Founder-in-hiding, on top of having carried a conversation and even blackmailed the famous and revered Godric Gryffindor, should have felt surreal and even staggeringly bizarre and overwhelming.

Yet, as he vanished, Harry felt nothing but tiredness, and that strange and persistent empty numbness. And fear.


End file.
